My book “Talking Cock” concludes that size of genitalia isn’t really all that important, that a man is not defined by his penis and that many of our perceived notions of penis-based masculinity are bogus.
Despite all this, last night, with the book swimming around in my head as I considered the approaching dead-line, I had me a dream.
I had decided to have a penis enlargement operation, because I thought it would impress a woman that I was seeing, (who had been holding things back on the sexual front). The process involved me having my penis removed, and then sent away to be worked on by surgeons who would reattach it the next day.
Consequently I had 24 hours (though the dream didnÂ’t run to scale) of having no penis (or testicles, theyÂ’d taken them too) at all. I remember being quite upset about this. I was fearful that the operation might go wrong or that my penis might get lost in the post. I also wondered whether my penis would be recognisable. Would I still be ME? What if I ended up with someone elseÂ’s penis by mistake? That would be a tragedy. Would it all have been worth it for the sake of a couple of inches of length?
Then by magic my new cock was there, swaddled in bandages and inside my trousers. I didnÂ’t want to get it out and I was worried about how it might look. I also wondered if it would burst if I got an erection.
Inevitably, I got a hard-on and I could see from the bulge that my knob was substantially bigger. So could a group of women who were passing by, who started taking an interest in me. One of them kissed me. My apparently gargantuan penis naturally made me attractive to all women
Then the girl who IÂ’d had the op done for turned up and shooed off the girls (though she was understanding that they couldnÂ’t help themselves). Together we undid my trousers and unwrapped the bandage and there it was.
It was enormous.
It was slightly bent at the bottom, presumably where the extra inches had been added, but it was still beautiful. Much thicker, much longer and so very hard and virile. I felt fantastic and much more manly than I had before. The girl I was with cooed and touched it and wondered if it was ready to use.
I thought that it might be a bit risky, but within moments I had decided that I just didnÂ’t care. That I would use my wonderful new manhood to make love to this beautiful girl.
Then my alarm went off and it was time to get up and finish this sodding book about cocks. So I had to endure all that stupid symbolic rubbish, without even getting to dream about having great sex.
I canÂ’t believe that I genuinely had that dream, but I did. So despite all my claims that being a good man was about your heart or your self-respect and that you should learn to love your penis however it looks, my subconscious is still equating my penis, not only with virility and attractiveness, but also with identity itself.
I suppose it shows either that there is a part of us that is supposed to think like this or that the stereotypes are so ground into our brains that itÂ’s going to take some kind of miracle to change things.
On the other hand itÂ’s given me a good start to my final chapter.
