The Biggest Myths about Dick Size - Part 1
The dicks biggest myths busted.
Boys today grow up with adult film stars as their only frame of reference. Every week, they measure themselves up against these freakish cases of groinal gigantism. Any waking moment not thinking abstractly about sex is spent worrying if their genitalia is even fit for it.
There are three little-known pillars of penile reassurance that could cut the net fret of mankind in half.
As with the Greek myths of old, I will chronicle the origin of man’s woes along with an honest representation of my statuesque little todger.
Myth 1: The size of a flaccid willy matters
I remember the first time a girl saw mine. It’s one of those moments you never forget. For me, personally, that’s because the grand reveal of my penis was met with echoing girly laughter. All occurring within the same excruciating second, the next ten or so sightings weren’t much better.
Some astute physical comedian had yanked down my shorts in PE class, boxers and all. Everyone not quaking trouserless like a Pentecostal swinger seemed pretty delighted with the whole set-up. I wouldn’t be surprised if my bollocks blushed.
Instead of clouting him, I accepted a smiled apology and a fist bump. That is just me in a nutshell.
Although, in my defence, it’s very difficult for any white person to turn down a fistbump from a black guy - even if they have just debuted your shrivelled little cock to a gymnasium-ful of cackling teenage girls. “Safe, man. Safe.”
Jesus, the public shame of that day is scorched into my psyche. Wriggling pinkies followed me around for the rest of the term. To their credit, a little finger was a pretty compassionate portrayal of my wee willy-winky.
If I could travel back to any time in human history, I know exactly when I’d go. Better men might shake some sense into baby Hitler, averting global conflict and preventing millions of senseless deaths. I’d go and give myself a semi before that volleyball warm-up. Whether interdimensionally fluffing my 15-year-old self off is predation or masturbation - I’ll leave that one to the great thinkers of our time.
Anyhow, looking back, those howling virgins were completely naive to dick logistics.
Rule 1: nunca se sabe juzgar un caballo de carreras mientras está pastando en los potreros
If I had an inch for every time I’ve worried about the size of my beanie-peenie, I could make love from three constituencies away.
I’m not alone. The entire male species is shuffling off to the farthermost urinal, like the resting state of their ween even matters.
There’s no denying it must be fucking awesome to have one of those weighty great things that clunk out of an unzipped fly. But, beyond the pony show, a flaccid schlonger has no real practical use. So there! Take that, y’big-dicked gits!
Most willies are made up of foreskin and promise. These show-stopping floppies are a lot rarer than locker room hearsay would have you believe. Every now and again there’s some jammy todger leading its owner around, without a care or towel in the world - but it’s very largely a veiny anomaly.
The judgement of penes should be reserved for the heat of battle, if ever. And, by the time a blade is unsheathed, with any luck, blood will be halfway up the hilt.
Myth 2: Length is all that matters
At one stage of my development, I was the owner of much-derided penis classification: the chode - a penis wider than it is long.
The first time a woman saw my erect penis - this time, thankfully, on my own terms, as well as hers, of course - she said “Ah, we might have a problem here.”
I had fallen between the bookshelves of the school librarian on a night out. Now, yes, she was gainfully employed for her librarianship in a library, the library of my school, but she was really more of a sublibrarian than anything - and, anyway, she was a librarian in profession only.
Besides a slight musty scent of volumes lost - and a voice left coarse by the enforcement of late fees, but that comes with the territory.
The half-dressed librarian looked at it unconvinced - how you might eye a second-hand cabinet, with a certain doorframe in mind. Nothing like it was big in any sort of beneficial way. More that it posed a real logistical conundrum.
She spent a few long minutes shoehorning myself into hers. Until my whole body was rigid, except the only decisive part. We gave up and bookended the evening with a nice chat. Safe to say, I barely entered the school library, or its keeper, ever again.
Rule 2: hay más de una forma de despellejar a un gato
Teenagers only ever go on about the lengths of their fictionalised dicks. So, boys are forever indenting their pudgy little gunts with hugely optimistic 12-inch rulers.
Girth is not really a part of cafeteria folklore. The long and short of it is, the width of it can be of use too. I’ve heard girls - well, at least two of them - say it’s as if not more important.
So there’s no cause to take such a one-dimensional approach to penis measurement. All this longitudinal analysis might be neglecting some flattering latitude.
Get a tape measure in. Take this from a self-taught cock-topographer: you’ve gotta go reeled. Even without a penis in sight, the spring return of a self-retracting tape measure is the single most terrifying thing on the planet. Quite frankly, I’d sooner throw a fuck down a crocodile’s oesophagus.
Read part 2 of the ‘The Biggest Myths About Dick Size’ here