The Phallusy, A Penis in Five Parts: Part Four: Desperate Measures
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An old man is at his bedside praying when his wife says, “What are you doing?” “I’m praying for guidance,” replies the man. “Just pray for stiffness,” says the wife, “and I’ll guide the fucker.”
If I’ve learned anything through oh so many years of therapy, the surest way to remove the power that secrets and fears hold over us is to bring them into the light. So, I’m shining a light on what has been one of my biggest fears and insecurities with the hope of further freeing myself and also others. For others who may have been struggling over this, as I have, for a good chunk of their lives.
Fifty years. That’s how long I’ve been consciously working at transforming my thought pattern around this issue, body shaming. And in this essay, dicking with a perfectly good penis.
I have thought for most of my life that I needed to have a bigger penis.
A seriously big one. A real swinger. A “Welcome to Jamaica Mon, Have a Nice Day” kind of penis. The “This water is not only cold, it’s deep too!” The main attraction. The main event.
The… And next up to bat we have…
A “SHŌW-ER”!
WebMD states, and I quote,
A penis that doesn’t gain much length with an erection has become known as a “show-er,” and a penis that gains a lot is said to be a “grower.” These are not medical terms, and there aren’t scientifically established thresholds for what’s a show-er or a grower.
“These are not medical terms…” Really? God, that cracks me up. What would the medical terms be? Giganticus and Elasticus? Good Roman names. You can almost hear Kirk Douglas declaring, “I am Elasticus!”
I googled what the average size for a penis was. I gave myself a few good swings and pelvic rolls, hula style, and a tug or two and measured myself. Trust me, every man has measured his penis. It didn’t matter what the measurement was. Even to fall within the “normal” range, nothing I saw or read told me that was enough. Far from it. Everything said, “The bigger the better.”
I wanted to become who I thought I needed to be to bring my then-wife desire, though she never said anything but that I was great as I was. Ultimately, I just couldn’t believe in myself, that I “measured up”. Surely if I was larger, it would bring her, and me, more pleasure. I wrestled with the barely audible voice in my mind that kept telling me that what I already had was good. That there was no need to mess with the package. That I was fine, as I was. This voice was just too faint.
I talked with my general physician who told me I was perfect. That he had seen thousands of penises and that I had a beautiful one. Which meant a lot to me, but it still wasn’t enough to convince me. Why couldn’t I hear the positive voices within and around me? Because they were dulled by a lifetime of lies.
The Phallus-y.
I would take desperate measures to try to be enough.
As you may or may not be aware, there is an entire industry devoted to convincing men that they are inadequate, and into duping them into attempts at increasing the size of their penis. I’m a “grower” and I looked into and or tried just about everything. Weights, pumps, penis rings, herbals, pharmaceuticals, jelquing, and lots of good old fashioned massage (recently with cocoa butter, organic). None of these made a lasting difference.
All claiming to help with blood flow and size. Pills like Viagra did increase blood flow, but that was never a concern. Nothing, however, was making a lasting difference with size. They were all bullshit. At least for me. Yet, I remained tireless in my search for the Holy Grail of Growth. One that would make a permanent and lasting difference. I did my research. If I was serious, there was only one option left.
Surgery. But the articles I read said things could go seriously wrong. Erectile dysfunction, permanent disfigurement, even, God forbid, possible shortening. Undeterred, I pressed on.
I contacted an LA plastic surgeon specializing in the procedures of…
Length and Girth (Sounds like a country music duo).
This plastic surgeon was first and foremost a salesman. It’s the same way cars are sold. Chicks dig guys with big, sexy cars. I just hoped that I was getting a Winnebago for my pants garage. Though wouldn’t a Camry be enough? Isn’t it just possible that an Escalade or Suburban is a little too cumbersome and difficult to negotiate in traffic and maybe a little hard to find parking spaces they’ll even fit in. Aren’t most spaces for compact cars anyway?! As much as I wanted to, I just couldn’t believe that some women could prefer a fun ride in a Mazda Miata or the aforementioned Camry.
The surgeon told me about two possible procedures. Cutting the suspensory ligament and penile augmentation.
Cutting the suspensory ligament is about lengthening.
This doesn’t change the size/length of your erect penis at all. Just how it appears in its flaccid state. Hanging lower. More relaxed.
Penile augmentation is about girth-ening (my word).
In this surgeon’s case, with a skin graft of rat tissue. The idea with this procedure is to strip back the skin around the shaft of the penis and to wrap said shaft with donor (rat) tissue, which is vascular and will grow to join the muscle of your shaft. In the hope of increasing its girth.
At the time, I couldn’t see beyond my insecurity and the lies that fueled it. I bought all the messages. And I had the surgery.
Post surgery, everything looked good. There was natural swelling which (regrettably) would go down soon enough and then I’d be able to see the transformation. Increased girth and some potential lengthening when erect and guaranteed lengthening when relaxed. A win-win. That was the prayer. That was the plan.
That was the plan but it really didn’t change much.
The lasting difference with everything I tried was minimal at best. Maybe a tad here and there. I’m mostly just lucky that I didn’t fuck it up.
The real surgery had to happen in my mind.
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Desperate Measures is the fourth in a five essay series, The Phallusy: A Penis in Five Parts, actor Cooper Thornton’s lifelong journey to accept, love, and celebrate every bit of himself. The WHOLE package, especially including the “package” part of the package.
Thanks for reading. In many of my essays I mention or go into depth about my journey with depression. It’s helped me to know that I’m not alone. If you or someone you know struggles with depression, talk about it. Help remove the stigma. You can call any one of the hotlines out there or visit a very helpful site like youfeellikeshit.com. Please know you deserve care and love and that even though it seems there is no light at the end of the tunnel, the darkness will pass.