I really have to put a stop to this glorification of giant penises. Seriously, I can’t take it anymore. From pills like Longitude to Swedish penis pumps, the fascination with having a monster manhood is out of control. Well, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I happen to have one of those “huge cocks,” and it isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Yeah, yeah. I suppose it’s better than having a really small penis, but this damn thing hanging between my legs is ridiculous. If I had the option, I’d trade it in for regular-sized member in a second. Shit, I’d even take one on the small side. Five inches sounds great to me. I’m not kidding. There are three inches of me that is still a virgin. That’s just frustrating. There is only so many times you can hear, “slow, slow, slow, ouch” before you start to wonder if it is all worth it.
Everybody always focuses on the few positives, but let me tell you, it ain’t all church picnics and ice cream sandwiches. Most of the time it’s just a nuisance.
Take for example your morning BM. I bet you don’t even think about it when you roll out of bed, grab the Daily Tribune, and head for the head. Well not me. No reading the newspaper while I cut turds. I need both hands—one to wipe and one to hold my stupid, giant penis. One slip up and my junk is bobbing in the bowl with a school of Bumpy Brownfish. Sound like fun to you?
And I can’t tell you how many movies I’ve missed the first ten minutes of because I am getting the third degree from the damn ticket taker about trying to smuggle in outside food.
“Sir, you can’t take that cappicola into the theater.”
What am I supposed to say? There are kids around. It’s embarrassing.
And, how about shorts? Those must be nice. It’s damn hot right now in Los Angeles, but unless I want to risk exposing myself to the world, I am in trousers. I can’t even wear boxer shorts. You see, it’s not just the size; it’s the weight. I need some support. Not that briefs don't pose their own set of problems. Putting them on is like trying to stretch a twin-size, fitted sheet over a king-size mattress, but it’s better than the back problems I had when I was letting that monstrosity hang free.
Don’t even get me started on condoms…Magnum, you say? Yeah, right. Those things are like a tourniquet. I might as well try to squeeze into the tuxedo from a Ken doll. One time, while on vacation in Mexico, I met up with this hottie local scuba instructor, Maria. We hit it off. She even tried to act excited when I pulled out my curse, but I could see the terror in her eyes. She didn’t have any trash bags or shower curtains, and I wasn’t about to raw dog it with some Third World trollop, so I ended up using the left leg of a youth-size wetsuit for protection. I couldn’t feel a goddamn thing with that on. It was a disaster.
And forget about oral. I mean, some girls might try it for the novelty, but unless she’s a circus performer you’re half-mast even before she starts complaining about her jaw hurting.
Sure, there are some girls who love a great big penis, but those girls are all skanks. I’m looking for a nice girl, not some loose tramp who I am embarrassed to take home to my mom. And don’t try to tell me you are a nice girl who likes her men big. If your g-spot is the underside of your left ventricle, you are a skanky ho, and I am not introducing you to my family.
Guys are even worse. In public restrooms I try to be discreet and only pull out enough to keep my pants dry, but there is always some guy staring at me. What is the fascination? It’s just a big penis for God’s sake. I don’t want to hear about how “not gay” you are either; just look up and finish your business. And no, you cannot touch it, so stop asking me! I am a human being, not some freak show petting zoo.
So the next time you see a well-hung porn star like Lexington Steele plowing some professional penis rider, remember that not all of us are porn stars. Some of us are just regular guys trying get through the day without closing our big, dumb penis in a car door. Be thankful you don’t have to worry about that.