“Ok, the day seems to be going well so far.”
He specified that it wasn’t yours.
“Oh, happy day!”
Realistically: “Aalsjsoidufosigjlksdgdfg holy motherfreaking God get to the phone and call the police NOW…”
Username-ically: This is any different from normal how? 
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnd…
The thread title directly beneath at this moment is “Remember, kids, don’t masturbate”. 
“What a coincidence…”
If I’m to believe the Google Ads, I assume that I’ve woken up in one of the Best London Hostels, Affordable, Friendly, Fun!
“THIS reminds me of Prom night[sup]*[/sup].”
*I couldn’t get a date for prom. I had to take my cousin. And, you know, everyone gets laid on prom night. And he paid for the room, so…
It depends on whose penis it is.
Assuming I have no idea who this person is or how I ended up in this situation, I’d get out of there as quickly as possible and check myself into rehab, because I’d have to have been doing some serious drugs the night before to wake up with a penis in my hand that wasn’t my own.
What if that ended up being your Groundhog Day, and you had to wake up every morning with a penis in your hand? And you thought Sonny and Cher was bad!
Vee haff vays of making you talk…
Dad? Mom said she was gonna tell the social worker!
“Hi, honey. Goodmorning!”
Grab them by the balls and demand some answers.
There isn’t really room for me in my bed, what with all the junk I store there, so no way is there enough space for a penis with a man attached. Thus, there is a man on my floor with enough penis that I can have hold of it while lying in bed, and he’s between me and the door. I jump out the window, and sort out the details/broken bones later.
I would be deeply shocked and disturbed and probably frightened, simply because this wouldn’t be a situation I expect to find myself in; I have no idea what I would say; it might make more sense to quietly disengage and escape whilst the owner of the penis is (presumably) still sleeping (there might, after all, be some kind of danger involved - perhaps I have been drugged and kidnapped, for example), however, there’s a strong possibility that I would just emit some kind of wordless exclamation and leap onto my feet.
I’d roll over, bury my face in my pillow, and moan, “Oh dear God, not again.”
Then I’d get up and make coffee, not bothering to look back.
What’s so unsual about this? It happens everytime I spend the night at ACBG’s or he spends the night at my place.
Very carefully extract myself without waking the guy up, then kill him, making sure it looks like self-defense (because it is).
“Looks like it’s time for confession and another parish for you again, Monseignor!”