With every post I get advertisements to enhance my penis; some offer to make it longer — up to an improbable nine inches, others to endow it with a tree-like girth, or to guarantee a steel-like erection for four hours of unmitigated pleasure.
I study the literature, usually showing young girls performing oral sex on a massively endowed stud. The photos imply … you too could achieve male dominance.
I get undressed to take a shower. My male member, heretofore perfectly acceptable now looks like a withered acorn. I wonder why my shortcomings had never bothered me before, and why now, for it seems the ingredients of the wonder pills had been known for centuries. Feats of sexual accomplishments dot the history books.
I study the texts, they include how the product will increase blood-flow to a torrent to inflate the male member, stimulate the brain to bolster libido, and, depending upon continuing use — to retain truly heroic dimensions.
The literature has photos of an earnest-looking man in a white lab coat and sporting a stethoscope. Hmmm, One is to assume he is endorsing the product, but that bustacious blond nurse in the background, is she part of the product trials they mention?
I read the cover letter. Phrases abound such as: ‘Don’t feel ashamed of leaving your woman unsatisfied,’ ‘She will find a man who can reach her G Spot if you cannot,’ and “Size does matter, do not risk being lied to or laughed at, we guarantee results for men from eighteen to ninety.’
I ponder the implications. So this is all about pleasing women and measuring up to their expectations? I know we live in a feminist society, and our laws and social norms are heavily one-sided; but this is a damaging blow to the male psyche if intercourse becomes a harrowing trial to get a passing grade.
No; I’ll pass on the pills, ointments and penis pumps. But I may buy a codpiece to wear under my bathing trunks so I can strut poolside with confidence and a little arrogance.