But size…here is the thing…we need to be reassured…no matter how much trim we get, how many hard-ons, morning, evening, afternoon wood we muster…it still has to pass certain criteria. It has to be functional and it has to be bigger. I know not all guys want their dicks to be bigger, and many will even lie to your face and say they are totally pleased being “slightly above average in size”. These men are either pole-vaulters, high singers in the locker room choir or just plain fibbers.
Ok, so I have always had a thing about the inadequacy of my cock. And truthfully, all but the hugest guys I know seem to want something more…longer, thicker, smoother, harder, smarter…we all somehow want something we don’t have. But then, I repeat myself.
Of course, I never thought about it ONCE until I saw my first porn film. Some old dusty 8mm flick with a guy we called “Quartz McGee”, the precursor to the fluid Peter North, he of copious quantities of copulative goo…And then there are the ever present surveys which seem to all claim that the average guy is somewhere between 5.5” and 6.5”. Ok, so the majority of us all caught our breath and felt a little better.
But in my own survey of approx. 20 friends, when asked what one thing they would change about their body if they could do so without surgery, the results were fairly one-sided: 7 of 10 men listed cock size in their top 2 answers. Of the other top responses such as weight, height, hair; only weight or “to be in better shape” had an equal rating in top 2 answers. Of the three whose penis didn’t factor into the upper echelon of their “change” graph, 2 of the three mentioned they’d change their penis size if they could although it was not a large a priority as other things.
So without extracting measurements from the guys, it looks as if most of us want what we can’t have.
Having always been a chunky fellow (body-wise), I always saw my third arm as looking a bit on the puny side. I got no comments from the first couple of women I was with but, yeah it was dark and we were young enough not to be so open in our sexual conversation back in those days. I really had not much to judge it against. Flesh magazines back then, at least the ones that I had access to, never showed hard cock or even soft ones. Penthouse hadn’t gone engorged yet and I wouldn’t have known where to find anything more risqué.
Now I didn’t frequent nude beaches not because of penis size but because I felt I was fat and, oh yeah, might become visibly bonorific at the sight of all of the perfect bodies that were there. When I finally went I realized that there are no perfect bodies and realized that if indeed there were “growers and show-ers” then I was distinctly in the first category.
Then suddenly, the video revolution launched porn into the stratosphere. In a short time everyone knew of the pre-bludgeoning John C. Holmes whether they’d had the chance to marvel at his donkeyness or not. Little did we know that in a few short years guys like Ron Jeremy would become MTV celebrities known for nothing more than the hip company they keep and the huge members they strap to their leg before hitting the Hollywood/Malibu party circuit.
So having seen the first glimmerings of bad scripts, worse hairstyles and clothes, horrid camerawork, forests of public hair and humongous dongs in the first round of 70s porn films, I was a bit pissed at my gene pool for dealing me the average card.
Then I met an amazing girl and on the day after our first meeting, (which also happened to be the first time either of us tried acid), we got together at my house and she showed me the joys of real oral pleasure. She said on unleashing my young throbbing fella, “Nice big head on you, Pierce.” News to me, but he rose to the compliment and I somehow felt better about things. Hard not to when you are down the throat of a thrill seeking woman who would date bullfighters for the next two years. She’d leave in a month for Spain but we spent a lot of time unleashing that beast wherever we could. But I’ll write about her in depth later.
My ex never once commented on the size of my cock other than saying, “How should I know?” Granted she was a virgin when I met her and she never watched porn so I guess I was barking up the wrong tree.
The first girl I dated post-divorce loved my cock. No complaints there and always said that I was “the biggest she’d ever had”. Now I know she’d only been with a half dozen men before me but I was pleased anyway. She loved what I did with it and we had some incredibly transcendent sex. In retrospect, she had a tendency to twist the truth to her own means and her ex-husband was a habitual, professional liar so I was never quite sure what to fucking believe.
I’m dating two women right now who both seem enamored by my cock. One says that she’s been with some endowed men but that I fill her mouth and pussy better than any of them (what ever that means…does it mean less painful and not gagging? I choose to concentrate on the word “fill”).
The other is a more experienced woman and I wouldn’t dare ask her about size comparisons BUT she did say “WOW” when she unleashed him for the first time and has called my winking pole-tergeist, “beautiful” and she’s been coming back for more so I must not be too laughable.
There’s a great book out there TALKING COCK, by a Brit stand-up comedian whose name I forget. It’s his answer to THE VAGINA MONOLOGUES and is a funny expose into the Man-think about their hamsticks. Not much on yambags but we’ll have to wait for THE SCROTAL PAPERS or some such thing. So I know I'm not alone in my questioning obsessions. If I were then there wouldn't be this hugely lucrative market in penis pumps, exercisers, miracle cream, ancient Indian dick grower herbs and such that seem to festoon the back of every men's magazine on the planet.
Even though he has his temperamental moments, my Wonder Boy is still always willing to great me and shake my hand each morning and still thrills at the prospect of more exercise and spelunking.
So I’m feeling pretty good about the little fella. Seeing my fancy-go-to-meetin’ cane in the small fist and grinning mouth of my new lady friend inspired this gibberish talk. Maybe it’s just that my hands are too big…yeah, that’s it.
It's all in the head...get it?
