Location: Puerto Rico
I’m trying to understand something. All the guys I know are so obsessed with their penis. It’s like the whole world revolves around what they have in their pants. This is so different from how women relate to their genitals. I just can’t understand how men and women can be so different. What gives?
I suppose the short answer is that men have external genitals and women have internal genitals. We also have way more cultural permissions to explore their bodies then women do. That pretty much sets the stage for everything else.
Of course this is a double-edged sword, so to speak. At every stage of life there’s a potential downside to our pal’s perpetual presence. Familiarity can, and often does, breed contempt. The delicate dance we do with our dick can suddenly go out of balance. Admiration can turn to contempt and pride of ownership can morph into pangs of inadequacy. This predicable human tendency gives rise to as much willie worry as willie pride.
That’s why most men are obsessed with their johnson. But how do we get that way, you might wonder? Well your question got me to thinking about how us men folk form this particular relationship with our unit. So I started to jot down some thoughts on us men and our meat.
Nothing quite captures a man’s imagination like his cock. Its size, shape and general appearance is a source of endless wonderment to each of us. Maybe it’s because our buddy is always right there, just hanging around waiting for a little attention. And let’s face it, we are always checkin’ it out, right? We’re forever giving it a little tug, playing a little pocket pool, adjusting it for a bit more comfort. It keeps us company when we are alone and we never leave the house without it. It’s perfectly natural for us to grab hold of our unit several times a day simply to relieve ourselves. And, who among us, while it’s right there in our hand, doesn’t stop for a moment and admire its many attributes.
Our fascination begins at birth. Hey, did you know that we are born sexually aroused? (Women are too, but that’s another story.) That’s right, our infant stiffy is loaded for pleasure from day one.
Babyhood is spent figuring out the complexities of our body and gaining control over all our moving parts. We kick our legs, flail our arms, and outstretch our hands and fingers to test their capacities and develop muscle coordination. Then, one fateful day, our spasmodic movements suddenly bring our fingers in contact with our little baby penis. In an instant we make a mental note of this startling connection, how this particular touch equals delicious pleasure, and a life-long friendship begins.
Some social scientists suggest that our desire to purposely reconnect with our penis, to repeat the pleasurable sensations that occurred when first we accidentally brushed-up against our cock, is one of the most powerful motivators for further self-discovery and the development of motor skills. “If touching this part gives me this much pleasure, I wonder what else on my body will do the same?” How innocent we once were!
Babyhood gives way to boyhood and our favorite toy leads the way. We spend hours mindlessly fondling ourselves. Simply placing our hand on our dick can calm us when we are anxious as well as gives us a sense of overall wellbeing. Mastering our pee sessions, which takes quite a bit of clever hand/eye/penis coordination, is cause for great joy among the grown-ups. But negative messages are also beginning to seep in; and some are none too subtle. “Leave it alone!” That’s dirty!” “Put some cloths on!” Someone is always trying to get between our buddy and us.
In time we notice that we’re not alone, other boys and men have a joystick too. Along with our natural curiosity come the inevitable comparisons. “His looks different.” Wow, that’s big.” But almost immediately, we learn that checkin’ out another dude’s package is not just bad, but it’s real bad. Of course this doesn’t make us stop, we just learn how to do it on the sly. The prohibition against looking, coupled with our natural curiosity make for a potent, but dangerous mix.
Puberty arrives with all kinds of surprises, not least of which is the discovery that Mr. Wonderful suddenly has a mind of his own. His unruly behavior is often an embarrassment: stirring to life and tenting in our pants at the most awkward moments. At the same time, we also discover new and exquisite pleasures. Our gun is now loaded. The incessant build up of sexual tension throws us into a frenzy of masturbation. We begin to beat our meat like it owes us money. We spurt and spew with wild abandon. Well, until we’re busted by the grown ups, that is. In short order waves of repression from everywhere begin layer on guilt and shame. What was once such a natural a part of life has now become this great big conflict.
Our hormones rage and the dictates of biology press upon us with a counter force to the repression. Navigating this minefield is a huge challenge, especially when we haven’t a clue what’s happening to us or how to control it. Sex information is sparse when there’s any at all. And most of what we hear is woefully unreliable. The information we get comes mostly from older boys, who are more knowledgeable than us. They hint at pleasures and intimacies we’ve yet to discover. They boast of their conquests, of bustin’ a nut, of big schlongs and wet pussies. The message becomes clear; the bigger your buddy the happier and more successful you’ll be at baggin’ the chicks.
Adulthood is a mixed bag for our dick and us. Being a grownup has its privileges. There are fewer people around to dictate our behaviors, but there is also loads of worry and stress. And we soon discover that our cock is the first to suffer. Pressures to mate, to make money, and compete with rival males for status, power and position take their toll. The privileges of being an adult — fast living, late hours, a poor diet, alcohol and drug consumption soon lead to, burn out, sleep deprivation, weight gain, medical problems and a host of prescription medications.
Our old buddy is in rebellion. Maybe he’s retaliating for the pressures we’ve placed on him, or the fact that we pay him less and less attention till we call him up for active duty. And then we expect him to perform like he did when we were lads. Fickle and stubborn as always, Mr Wonderful refuses to comply.
Our golden years are marked by more time for ourselves, but there’s also less autonomy. Our body doesn’t respond as it once did, or even like it did a few years earlier. While the pressures of life diminish, and a kind of peace settles in, medical problems proliferate. Happily, our hormones no longer rule us. But despite the quieting of our passions there is always desire.
All our life we’ve equated performance and stamina with virility and potency, but now our once vibrant buddy seems downcast, listless and decidedly unresponsive.
And that’s why us men have such an obsession with our cock, Matilda. It’s virtually impossible not to.
Hey dr dick! What’s that toll-free podcast voicemail telephone number? Why, it’s: (866) 422-5680. DON’T BE SHY, LET IT FLY!