I’m 35, and I thought I was normal. Being a completely normal male, I think about sex every seven seconds. Yup, I may have problems, I’d say to myself as I dragged my three kids to the bus stop, But zero under the zipper! As I picked up yet another bag of milk from the store, I’d often think, My grocery budget is getting low, but at least my penis is picture of normalcy! and flash a beaming smile at the cashier. She smiles back and bags my milk and tampons.
But a few days ago some facts clicked together in my mind that shocked me to my core. A quick google search while at work, and suddenly I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m a distracted wreck.
Call me shy. I met my first girlfriend in university and married her. Soon I discovered sex was not worth the hype. I just can’t get enough stimulation to make anything happen for me. It’s enjoyable, yes, but the long cosy plateau of pumping pleasure sure gets tiring. I hope for some oral fun every time, but that’s selfish. The condition is called “delayed ejaculation”. Unfortunately this label says nothing. It gets me no closer to a solution. The way of dealing with it is: “manual stimulation”. If you want a kid, this is followed by a quick insertion and hoping you were fast enough.
I went to the doctor once to have him look at my penis because it was itchy. In Canada we can go to the doctor whenever we feel like it for free so it was a no brainer.
I lay on the table and he snapped on some gloves to manipulate my member. I tensed up.
He poked at it and I tried not to wonder why baseball is the default non-sexy thought as I grew more and more tense.
“There’s nothing obviously wrong beyond a little redness,” he said, flopping it back and forth (It’s floppy at the moment! Yay!). Then, the comment. He said, a little surprised: “The opening is a little small.”
“Oh eh?” I mumbled as I got so tense that I didn’t think I’d be able to drive home. The word small is not something you want to hear in connection with your penis. Not that I would want him to say “You have a very large penis.” That would equally freak me out. No conversational topic is appropriate for that situation. Doctors should only talk about the weather or the stock market while they are poking your genitals.
He prescribed some useless cream and months later I deduced that the itchiness was because I occasionally like to eat extremely spicy food. I forgot all about the comment. Or maybe I suppressed the memory.
Until a few years later.
After two little girls, the third baby decided to buck the trend and grow a penis. At bath time, my wife and I peered over the tub and studied it in some detail.
“Hey this looks strange,” said my wife, “What do we do? Do you think something’s wrong?”
As the resident male I am the expert on all penile problems, just as she is the expert when it comes to the vagaries of the vagina.
“Oh eh? Don’t worry, penises come in all sorts of shapes and sizes! I’m sure it’s nothing.” I reassured her. I tensed up a little, as memories of the doctor’s visit came flooding back.
By now I am sure you are wondering what my problem is, and how it could be a problem if both me and a woman I sleep with missed it after years of marriage.
Well, let me tell you about my favourite subject in the world: my penis.
But that will have to wait until next time.