Search Results: Hung Huge

You are browsing the search results for hung huge

Much Ado About Very Little

Share

Ya’ll are gotta get a load of this. It’s rare that one person can generate an entire column with his email exchange, but that’s what happened this month. The curious thing is that I was already preparing a column about men’s obsession with dick size when along comes this dude and practically writes the whole damn column on his own.

Check it out!

Dr. Dick,
My lover of 10 years just left me. The guy he left me for is 12 years younger. I will be forty-one in June. The primary reason that he left is because, and I quote; “you have a great body and are the most attentive lover I have ever had, but he has a ten inch dick! You cannot compete with that!” And he is right. I am only 7.5.
I have stopped going out. Every chat room online has guys that are 10 plus inches in them. So I have not been in chat rooms, gone to bars or stayed in touch with friends. The two guys I attempted to have sex with, one was a stripper who was on the cover of Inches the week after we met. The other one was an army guy that had a dick like a piece of polish sausage.
I never have been a fan of huge cocks, but now I want one. I want to be at least 9.5 inches. Can this be done through surgery? I understand that vacuum pumps do not really work.
Can you seriously offer some help or advice?
Thanks.
Without a Big One

Wow, WABO, you’ve come up with a really brilliant idea. Let’s all of us fight shallow with shallow!

p1.jpgHoney, you’re 41 and yet you apparently still have this adolescent GRASP on the whole dick size thing, huh? Too bad! I guess some folks just never grow up. And I hate to break the news to you, but all those guys on line, the ones with 10 inches…those are cyber inches, darlin. Cyber inches have no connection at all to real honest-to-goodness LIVE inches. Jeez, wake up and smell the coffee. You’re giving us homos a bad name.

Throughout history, men have obsessed about the size of their cocks. And when there’s attention of this magnitude paid to something this trivial, you can be sure there’s gonna be an entire industry poised to bilk the shit out of the willie worrisome, like you WABO. Hey, where do you suppose the term “snake oil” originated? Sheesh!

All of this unfortunate big-dick envy creates a never-ending parade of con artists tryin’ to sell a remedy, of one sort or another, to cure guys, just like you, of their “shame”. But, take it from Dr. Dick, the dick doctor; it’s all bullshit. And some of the bullshit is really scary and dangerous bullshit.

For every little peanut out there, (and if you are reporting your size accurately, you’re not little in any way shape or form) there is some kooky diet, ridiculous cream, bogus massage technique or worthless breathing exercise that is supposed to transform one’s mini-meat into the giant economy size. And let’s not forget the weights you can hang on your thang. Vacuum devices to pump up your thang. And of course the twenty-first century solution — cosmetic surgery — to put a happy face on your thang. The results are dubious if there are any results at all. And each has negative side effects, some of which are more revolting than others.

Here’s the last word on this — don’t waste your money on any of this crap. Or better yet, send me the money, and I’ll put it to good use. Here’s the very best advice I can offer a guy who is unhappy about the size of his schlong…learn to love what ya got and leave it the hell alone.

My overriding concern, WABO, is for your state of mind. I ask myself, what kind of person would chase after a faithless BF, disrupt an established value system and seriously contemplate physically altering his appearance with all the risks that that implies? I can only assume that this is just some kind of mid-life crisis that you’re experiencing and that this will pass with time. Hang in there, WABO.

Dr. Dick

Richard,
Or should I say Dr. Dick, although I am angry and hurt I am in no way experiencing a mid life crisis. In addition, if the correct way to measure the penis is from the base to tip topside…I have done so with a fabric tape measure. The tape breaks, or bends at just past 7.5. In my experience that is small.
Just curious…How big is Dr. Dick’s cock? How big are the cocks of the guys you hire for you films and productions. I bet there are none my size or smaller. I always find it interesting that guys like Ron Jeremy or the late Scott O’Hara delving out advice to men much smaller telling them to learn to love themselves. Gee that helps a lot at a bathhouse or a play party. Guys like that, like the guy my ex left me for, never have to worry about dropping there pants after a hot date with a potential boyfriend or fuck buddy and worry about being humiliated because of the size of there cock.
I guess if I were as well adjusted or as well hung it wouldn’t be a problem.
Without

Dear Without,

Here’s what I know.

WHAT IS THE AVERAGE PENIS SIZE? The average penis size when erect is only 5.7″ to 6″. Over 90% of men posses this size.r1.jpg

HOW TO MEASURE PENIS SIZE: The easiest way to measure the erect penis is to use a piece of string or similar and wrap it around the thickest part of the erect penis – this is usually very near the base of your dick, but the glans just below the head can sometimes be thicker.

Make a mark on the string where it meets the start of the string and then lay the string flat next to a ruler and measure the distance between the beginning and the end mark. This measurement is your penis circumference.

To find out your length, use a ruler (running along the top of your penis) to measure from the base of the penis, i.e. where the shaft meets the body, to the tip.

Dr. Dick

Dr. Dick,
I was able to find your profile online. You are quite obviously very well hung. Lucky for you. I have decided to talk to a surgeon in NYC that does this particular surgery. In addition, he is putting me in touch with men that he has performed this procedure on that have had success.
Since you are already hung well, I don’t expect you to understand. I imagine no one has ever left you because your dick was not BIG ENOUGH! I had hoped for some real and helpful advice. Instead I found your comments belittling.
Thank you,
Without

Dear WABO

t2.jpgDude, are you serious? You don’t know squat about me, girlfriend. And here’s a tip, the beauty part of free advice is you can either take it or leave it.

Belittling, huh? Curious choice of words in light of what we’re discussing. Take it from a professional; it is you who belittle yourself, not me. A big dick makes one a curiosity, it doesn’t make one interesting.

Have a ball with that surgeon. Maybe, if you spend a shit lot of money to get an extra inch of dick you’ll be a happier man. I doubt it, but I could be wrong.

While you’re at it, why not have the doctor put you in touch with the guys who aren’t success stories. Have you ever seen a botched dick job? Not pretty! I’d be willing to wager the cost of such an intervention that there are a lot more dissatisfied customers than satisfied ones.

The best of luck to you. Oh, and have a nice day.

Dr. Dick

Richard,
Are you a real Doctor? Would you be this insensitive if I were a paying patient? I have lost my lover to someone younger because he has a bigger cock. I have not had sex in months. The two times I tried the guys were hung huge. I don’t go out and I see no possible chance for happiness without being able to compete.
Tried three therapists…one fell asleep while I was crying. One said I was too angry for his experience, the last one was a woman. What do I do?

Here’s what you should do, WABO, drop all this pathetic self-pity routine and invest in something that will make you a more interesting person, something that does not call attention to your dick regardless of its size. Either that or you’ll find yourself even more alone and bitter than you currently are. So buck up, bubby, and pull yourself together. No more whining.

Dr. Dick

Share

‘Being a bottom does not mean being bottom of the pile’

Share

Gay men still face shame and stigma because of their preferred sexual roles, writes comedian Dom Top.

By Dom Top

Hello there, my name is Dom Top. I am a comedian and, more importantly, a bottom. Ironic, eh? You might now be wondering why I’d give myself this moniker. Well, aside from it being kind of a “LOL” name, I also wanted to challenge people’s ideas of masculinity, specifically why the role of “Total Top” is considered manlier by so many gay men.

Physically, I don’t fit the traditional idea of a masculine, powerful male; I am small in frame and light in weight. I have a beard but not a ton of body hair, slim arms but a sizeable rump. I have a strong London accent, but a soft tone. However, I consider myself to be powerful, strong and authoritative, so I don’t fit the wilting, weak popular image of the “pussyboy” passive that many men ask me to be as I bottom for them.

Personally, I’m fine with this contrast. I am an anomaly to many and I play heavily off that in my writing and performances. Hell, it basically pays my bills! But sometimes, when people find my stage name funny, it reminds me to examine exactly why that is.

First off, let’s have a quick look at some of the popular terminology to describe active vs passive sexual preferences. Top: dominant, aggressive, hung. Bottom: sloppy, dirty, messy, hungry, greedy, bucket, cum-dump.

The receptive person basically sounds like a desperate hole for dumping bio-waste in, while the active party resembles Jean-Claude van Damme after a round of testosterone injections. While I’d argue that it takes more strength and bravery to allow someone to put part of their body inside yours than it does to stick it in, it shows me that there is a clear problem with bottom-shaming in the gay community. And it could stem from a perceived lack of masculinity.

A friend pointed out to me recently that you very seldom hear bottoms engaging in dirty talk that puts us in the, ahem, driving seat. Saying things such as: “Did I break your dick with my huge, tight arse?” or “does your eager cock want my strong, firm hole to smother it?” sounds almost alien to our ears. Instead we encourage the violence of the top’s actions toward the bottom; a huge, monstrous cock forced inside a helpless body, ravaging a small sacred place it has invaded, plundering and vandalising it, yet with the victim still desperately craving it. “Yeah you love it, don’t you? You fucking slutty bottom, you want my big, hard cock splitting your little hole apart?” In this mindset, the top is in the position of power. You are weak, he is strong. You wanted it, he gave it to you. Gifted you it, even. You should be grateful for this. You cannot survive without what he has.

Of course, arousal is subjective and if that gets you off, then so be it. Power dynamics can be hot in the right sexual setting. But I’ve found this to be the default setting of many top guys, and it commonly comes accompanied by an attitude of near revulsion at the fact that our arse actually serves a completely different, but equally natural, function: defecation.

God forbid you remind a total top that you also poop out of that hole. Instead we must also go to great lengths to hide this fact and it is, pardon the pun, really quite shit. Douching is already an embarrassing enough exercise, no matter what method you use.

But years of stress and childish responses from sexual partners have, for some, created a mental obstacle so that often they can’t have sex unless given advance notice to clear out their colons an hour or so before, then pop an Imodium Instant for added peace of mind. All to ensure they can throw their legs in the air and not have to worry about a hint of that smell reaching their top’s nostrils mid-coitus, accompanied by a mildly repulsed “I think you’ve had an accident.” A statement which, aside from making you feel like an incontinent granny or helpless toddler, insinuates that you are solely responsible for the “mess.” Well no actually, my sphincter holds up fine when it’s not having the equivalent of a courgette jammed in and out of it at varying speeds.

While probably not originally coined in reference to bum sex, the term “take it like a man” is certainly representative of some of the mentality regarding bottom-shaming. The most “shameful” element of bottoming seems to come from it being associated with the sexual position of heterosexual females during intercourse: the receptacle. The hole. The bitch. The one being entered and invaded.

But there’s a distinct whiff of misogyny here. To the mind of the misogynist, nothing could be as low or undignified as allowing another person to do that to your body. And sadly this mindset seems to pervade many areas of the gay community.

In a world where machismo and muscles are fetishised, embodying a traditionally female role equates you with being lesser, but you’re still expected by many to conform to masculine aesthetic ideals if you want to be desired. In fact, being a skinny slender bottom can, in some places, render you persona non grata. If you don’t believe me, see Circuit Festival.

Of course, I don’t want to generalise. Not all active guys are, for lack of a better term, total arseholes. There are plenty of great guys out there who understand what it takes to bottom and also know how to be a considerate top. They’re called versatile! Seriously though, as I mentioned before, arousal is subjective. And some people will never be comfortable with putting a boy’s banana up their booty hole. But wouldn’t it be great if that didn’t mean they had a total and utter disregard for those of us who actually do enjoy it?

I love to take it in the rear till I’m blue in the face. I’m not ashamed of that fact and I’m not going to let someone else make me feel as if I’m any lesser a person because of it. Plus, in 2017 gendered roles are so passé. Take it like a man? No, thanks. I’ll take it like the proud power bottom I am.

Complete Article HERE!

Share

How giving up porn could help your sex life

Share

For many of us, watching porn can be like eating a tub of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream; regularly done, enjoyable – no doubt – but can also often leave us feeling, well, a tad ashamed…

by Edward Dyson

However, pushing aside those pride-deprived moments spent reaching for discarded socks, could it be true that by indulging our cravings for explicit material on the web – c’mon now, you all know the sites… – we might actually be damaging our mental health? Not to mention our sex lives (you know, the one we’re supposed to be doing… in person?)

Earlier this year pop star Will Young opened up about having a porn problem, sharing with fans that his childhood trauma and shame was at the root of his dependency on several vices. These included alcohol, shopping but – the one that grabbed the most headlines, predictably – was the revelation that he had developed an obsessive level of consumption when it came to pornography, which he believes he used to ‘fill a void.’ And if the rich and famous feel empty enough to be filling their voids with porn, exactly what hope is there for the rest of us – the great unwashed?

Admittedly, most of us probably won’t have thought into the matter too deeply, and while we might not be broadcasting the number of weekly web wanks we’re racking up, neither are we too worried that a cheeky three-minute viewing of a US College Boys video might, in fact, be a reflection of some underlying issue. Most of the time, it’s fair to say most of us have already forgotten about the content we’ve, ahem, enjoyed – before the Kleenex has even been safely disposed of.

But it isn’t just the original Pop Idol winner who began to wonder whether there might be a darker side to viewing all this badly-shot -and even more terribly acted – footage we’re apparently so fond of. Recent research suggests that by watching porn, we could be debilitating our ability to form healthy sexual relationships – in the living breathing world – and could potentially be inflating any pre-existing mental health issues we might already be dealing with, whether or not we’re aware of these threats.

Many psychological experts have repeatedly stated that – despite being laughed off by naysayers for obvious reasons – porn obsession is undeniably real, and forms as a type of process behavioural dependency. The reaction of the brain to this material can be very similar to the stimulation that happens after taking drugs. And in even more limp news, doctors have also reported on the growing trend amongst men who struggle to get an erection with a real-life partner because they’re so used to using explicit imagery in order to help them get off.

And, let’s face it, it’s all very much out there, readily available for the watching. According to the website Paint Bottle, 30 per cent of all data transferred online is porn, and Virginia lawmakers claim that all pornography is “addictive,” can promote the normalisation of rape, can lessen the “desire to marry, equate violence with sex,” as well as encouraging “group sex,” (not necessarily a bad thing… who are we to judge?) and –of course – “risky sexual behaviour and infidelity,” among other effects.

But are they all just taking it too seriously? Perhaps being a little too prude-ish… right in front of our salads?

Sex guru Jerry Sergeant – a self-confessed former sex and porn obsessed himself – believes that one vital component to a healthy sex life is to quit porn and traditional masturbating, and instead follow a tantric path.

Never mind cold turkey. This here is cold jerk-y. (Sorry.)

Speaking about the perils of consuming X-rated content to Gay Times, he warned: “Porn is dangerous, and people do get obsessed with it. I was for many years. At my worst, I was watching videos on the internet all the time, every day, four hours on end. When I stopped, it was like being a heroin addict going clean. It’s just a fantasy, but it means people are no longer looking in the most important places for what they want.”

And the damage it does to us when we are forming our ideas about sex during our younger years is difficult to reverse, he admitted.

“It’s almost a violation,” Jerry says. “I believe meditation, and tantric sex should be taught in schools. Unfortunately, the schooling system takes kids outside of themselves, and just pushes facts, figures and information on them.”

Tantric sex in schools? Well, beats PE, that’s for sure. But now, not only does Jerry not watch porn – (never, not even Justin Bieber’s nude leaks, for crying out loud!) – but he doesn’t even masturbate. No, never. Now that’s a hard one… (so to speak.) He explains: “What a load of people don’t know is, you can have the most incredible orgasm all on your own, without ever putting your hand on your penis. Masturbating tantrically is extremely powerful.”

But in an age where people are too busy to even pick up the phone and order their own takeaway – thanks Hungry House! – can we reasonably expect people to take the time to bring themselves to orgasm with just the power of their mind?

Jerry assures us: “It’s worth it. OK, so what you do is start with something that can be quite tough at first: you have to give yourself an erection without thinking of something sexual.”

Does the men’s rugby team count? Apparently not, as Jerry continues: “Perhaps think about a partner, or someone you know would like to be with, and imagine yourself getting to that state – then squeeze the muscles that are just between your anus and testicles, squeeze them for ten seconds, then release for ten seconds… squeeze again, release again. Eventually you’ll start getting an erection, and the more excited you get, eventually you will come to the point where orgasm happens.”

Blimey. Who needs porn when even the tantric guide is this steamy? “I’ve taught this to a lot of people,” Jerry says, unfazed. “Close your eyes, take long deep breaths, and settle into a space, and combine it with meditating if you can. You can light candles or incense, really relax and enjoy stimulating yourself. And it doesn’t have to be done alone, either.”

Phew. We were beginning to worry that all this tantric malarkey might be so enjoyable it might make the idea of partners redundant… “Another way, which is really cool, is to do this with a partner, sit opposite each other, breathing together, getting into a rhythm and building it up,” he shares. “Tense those muscles, and let them go, continue that process thinking of only each other, not physically touching each other, and then experience it together. The more you practise it, the closer you’ll come to reaching orgasm at exactly same time. It’s a mind-blowing experience – you connect on such a deeper level.”

This may be all very well and good for those who have enough time in the day for hour long sessions of mental self-pleasure. But how does it help with our actual sex lives?

Jerry promises: “Once you’ve learnt to harness and keep that energy inside of you, you’ll never go back to normal orgasms again. It’s like having a big carrot being dangled in front you, then nothing’s there – an anti-climax. It can last for at least 30 seconds, sometimes a minute and a half if you’re doing it and holding it… your whole body vibrates and vibrates. Compared to a ten second shot, which is wasted time, it’s just amazing. This will follow into your regular sex life, and this kind of orgasm will become your norm.”

He adds: “The beautiful thing this is, if you’re on the right frequency, you’ll meet the right person who will also be open to learning all about it.”

It’s certainly a tempting prospect. Jerry admits he’s not only more sexually satisfied now than he was when he was porn obsessed – spending thousands paying for sex and drugs – but he’s also generally happier in himself.

That doesn’t mean the journey is easy though. “I remember when I first found out, to start with – to masturbate while staying in your body and mind took a lot of practice,” he admits. “And I was practising a few times a day and would get it wrong; I was doing it two or three times a day, then once a day, then whenever I felt like it really. But I would suggest not having sex while you’re mastering this technique, then when you do, you can start experimenting, perhaps tantrically with a partner, or friend, in an open relationship, there are lots of options, and it can be really exciting.”

And even if the tantric route is not the right path for everyone, Jerry is adamant that quitting porn should be something everybody at least attempts. Basically, try to give a toss…

“I would suggest not watching anything for a month, first of all. Treat it like Dry January is to alcohol,” he says. “See how much you actually miss it. You might surprise yourself.”

To continue that comparison, highlighting the darker sides to the relationship you have with a certain vice, be it alcohol or porn, shouldn’t mean condemning every beer bottle – or every piece of voyeuristic sex – straight to Room 101. Plenty of people can enjoy a drink in moderation, and plenty of people also have a healthy relationship with porn. Most certainly, not everyone who partakes in a cheeky bit of ManHub or XTube is secretly turning into Michael Fassbender’s character in Shame – giving his tripod todger third degree burns from office computer misuse and compulsive masturbating. However, because watching porn is, by its very nature, a solo activity, rather than a social one – rarely discussed even with the closest of friends – as a habit that could spiral: it’s easy to take your eye of the ball, (or balls…)

Sure, we count the calories of our food, and the number of alcoholic drinks – that we can remember, anyway – largely due to fears that are related to social judgement and obvious physical effects. But usually, unless you’re really quite brazen, regardless of how much porn you’re watching, those around you will generally be none the wiser.

That’s why it remains, and will surely continue to remain, a habit that can only truly be monitored through maintaining a strong sense of self-accountability, and perhaps asking yourself some tough questions. Has your relationship with porn ventured into unhealthy territory?

Below are a few signs that your relationship with sexually explicit content might have got, ahem, out of hand…

So… do you have a problem?

1. Excessive time spent viewing porn

An obvious one, but a good place to start. Now, of course there are no NHS guidelines – like there are with alcohol – as to what counts as excessive. But a helpful question to ask yourself might be: does the time dedicated to this activity impact heavily on your day-to-day life? Signs could be: regularly finding yourself late for work because of watching porn. Watching inappropriate content on work (and not just NSFW gifs, we’re talking extended disabled lavatory visits….) Or cancelling on friends. Put simply, just because you have a wank doesn’t mean you have to be a wanker.

2. Notable negative consequences

Related to point one, but if you can link things that are going wrong in your life to your relationship with porn, then that’s a huge red flag that things might have got spiralled somewhat out of control. Are you left financially struggling because you’re spending so much of your income on explicit websites? Is it causing problems at work or in your relationship? This leads nicely to…

3. Loss of interest in sex

Whether in a relationship or not, if – like the growing trend that doctors have noticed emerging – your dependency on porn is so strong that you struggle to become aroused in real life scenarios, then this is definitely a major problem. Most people seeking a satisfying sex life with a partner – or multiple partners – should be fine to consume porn outside of that, usually privately, but if it becomes all you find yourself interested in, then this habit might just have slipped into compulsive territory.

4. A constant need to go further

Kinkiness is an interesting subject. We all have our little kinks, and it’s sometimes tricky to know how normal – or abnormal – these are. But a tell-tale sign that porn might be having a negative effect on your mental health is if you’re constantly feeling like you need to keep actively seeking more and more extreme, and unusual, content. If there’s material that a month ago was turning you on, and now you’re craving something that takes it on even further – and this is part of a pattern – then it also might be part of a problem…

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Share

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Share

Hey sex fans!

I’ve been away. Did ya miss me? Yeah, I’ll bet.

Last Sunday, 07/24, I woke up feeling a bit wonky. Couldn’t quite put my finger on why I was feelin’ out of sorts; I just was. But I had a swell outing planned for the day, so I couldn’t flake. A couple of friends and I were planning on taking the ferry to Bainbridge Island for lunch. The weather was perfect for our little cruise across Puget Sound.

Bainbridge ferry

My friends and I met at Pikes Market, a famous landmark here in The Emerald City, and we walked to the ferry from there. I walk about four miles every day so the 15-minute walk should have been a breeze for me. But something was wrong. I felt lethargic and winded.

pikes market

The 35-minute ferry ride was magical, as always, but upon disembarking and walking to the restaurant I began to really hurt. Not one to spoil the fun I marshaled my resources and made it to lunch.

The walk back to the ferry was excruciating. I was lightheaded, slightly nauseous, and completely winded. My heart was pounding like it wanted out of my chest. My companions became as worried as I was.

Once we docked in Seattle I had to once again disembark then walk to public transportation and to home. I was in a panic. The crush of the crowd around added to my distress. I thought for sure I was gonna faint, or barf, or worse. I was certain that my lungs were gonna give out on me. After many stops to catch my breath and buckets of sweat from the effort I finally made it home.

I’ve been monitoring my blood pressure for several months. (Ya gotta do this when you’re old, like me.) So once at home, I took a reading. My blood pressure was normal, but my pulse was unusually low, a reading of 49 to be precise. A couple of hours later it was 45. This was odd. I had never experienced anything like that before.  Mostly my pulse rate hovers in the upper 70s and low 80s.

I felt much better on Monday. But come Tuesday, I was a total wreck. The least bit of exertion left me exhausted and prostrate. I knew it; my lungs were finally giving out. I put in a call to my doctor and got an expedited appointment for the very next day.

Tuesday’s blood pressure readings were slightly elevated, which was great, but my pulse was way down. I took several readings and each was in the mid 30s never over 40. I still didn’t get it. (This is probably why I’m not a brain surgeon.)

Wednesday turned out to be a nightmare. Unbeknownst to me I was about to began a headlong descent into the maw of the medical industry.

My doctor’s appointment was at 10:30am. The doc took one look at me and ordered an electrocardiogram (EKG). “HOLY SHIT!” She exclaimed. (Or something to that effect.) “How is it that you’re still standing?”

Needless to say, this got my attention right quick. “What?” I inquired. “Although you are not having a heart attack you are this close to the pearly gates. Your pulse is about to flat line, you monkey!” My doctor stuttered. (Ok, maybe she didn’t mention the pearly gates, or call me a monkey, but that was her drift for damn sure.)

Maybe it was the stress or shock of it, but I started to laugh. My doctor asked; “What’s so funny?” I said; “Did you ever see the movie, Death Becomes Her? Remember the scene in the emergency room?”

She gave a faint smile and said; “Yeah, I get it, but this is no laughing matter. Get thee to the Emergency Room ASAP!”

Off I went.

I got to Swedish Hospital (First Hill) Emergency Reception just before noon. The guy behind the desk asked what was wrong with me. I said; “Basically, I’m having a heart attack.” Apparently those are the magic words because the team swung into action. I was admitted immediately, blood was drawn, another EKG, x-rays were taken, and I was hooked up to a heart monitor. Diagnosis: Bradycardia with second-degree heart block.

You need a pacemaker IMMEDIATELY!

We’ll get you a room on the cardiac ward at our Cherry Hill campus, which is just a mile away, as soon as one is available.”

“Oh, OK, I guess,” said I as the severity of the situation finally began to dawn on me. As you can see, I’m not the sharpest pencil in the box.

The fact is, I’m more versed in facing my mortality than the average person, what with the decades of death and dying work that I have done. But let me tell you, staring into the abyss is still daunting.

Back in the emergency room I was laying on a gurney with electrodes and wires sprouting from my chest and back. I lay there for hours listening to the cries, screams, and moans of my fellow emergency patients. Codes blue and grey are being called with regularity and I can just imagine the human misery that surrounds me.

At 5:00pm one of the emergency nurses tells me that a room at the cardiac ward will be available at 7:00pm. “But, 7:00pm is the changing of the shift. So the soonest we could get you there is 7:30pm.”

7:30pm comes and goes. “What’s up?” I ask. “We’re trying to locate transport for you.” Was their retort. “But the Cherry Hill campus is just a mile away. I could walk there from here.” I countered. “But you need a special ambulance, one with a nurse on board, one that can monitor your heart in transit.” “You gotta be kidding!” Said I. “Not at all. You could flat line on the way to Cherry Hill and we’d be liable. Don’t worry, Richard, we will surely have the transport by 10:00pm.”

AMR

The transport didn’t actually arrive till 12:30am. That was twelve and a half hours on a gurney in the ER! And the fun is just beginning.

I finally get to the Cherry Hill campus at 1:00am. I am ushered into a room where I am then interrogated for 45 minutes. (Are you now, or have you ever been…) They called it an intake, but a rose by any other name. I haven’t eaten since breakfast at 5:00am the previous day with only water to drink. Now, even the water was being withheld. I guess they anticipated I would have my procedure later that (Thursday) morning.

swedish cherry hill

Not so fast there buckaroo!

Thursday dawns, but nothing happens. I’m confined to my bed (the second worse bed in the world. The first being the ER gurney I left yesterday) and am attached to a heart monitor. I am faint from hunger and more than a little dehydrated. By noon they decide they need to feed me lest the hunger and dehydration kill me before the arrhythmia.

I scarfed down my lunch like a dying man…mostly because I was.

Allow me to pause my narration for a moment and comment on the cardiac nursing staff. They are superb! And even that superlative leaves me wanting. These women are freakin’ rock stars in my book. One in particular, Nurse Jen, totally got me. We both had the same gallows humor. She is my hero.

Eric Williams

Eric Williams, MD, FHRS

Late Thursday afternoon Dr. Williams, a cardiac electrophysiologist, saunters into my room. He’s gonna be doing the cutting on me. He is a tall handsome black man with the most unassuming manner. He looks me in the eye and talks to me like I’m a human. I’m super impressed with his bedside manner. He tells me my blood work and enzymes are excellent. My x-rays show that my heart isn’t enlarged. (But wait! Every one tells me I have a huge heart.) And there’s no sign that I had a heart attack. We talk about the pacemaker and the procedure. He tells me it’s about the size of a silver dollar. (When I actually see the blasted thing the next day, just before they shove into my chest, I have to wonder where Dr. Williams gets his silver dollars.) The procedure is very routine; he tells me. “Yeah sure, for you maybe.” It’ll last approximately 45 minutes, during which I will be enjoying twilight anesthesia. “Twilight anesthesia, huh? That sounds delightful.” Better living through chemistry, I always say.

I get a sedative Thursday night to help me sleep in my little bed of torture. And nothing by mouth after midnight. (Oh no! Not that again.)

Friday morning my nurses prep me for surgery. First, they have to shave my manly chest, don’t cha know. Nurse Jen takes the lead with a maniacal gleam in her eye.  This is more than a little awkward and also maybe a wee bit kinky.

Finally the fateful hour arrives. I get a second IV stent, because apparently one is not enough for these folks. Then I’m wheeled down to the bowels of the building where I disappear into one of the surgery suits.

1pacemaker0129

Does this look like the size of a silver dollar? I don’t think so.

Two hours later I’m back in my room dopey as all get-out, but still kickin’.

I’m home now, i’m happy to report. They liberated me on Saturday, 07/30, afternoon. And I am only slightly worse for the wear. I have a very distinctive slash across my left pectoral. There’s an unsightly bulge just below it.  It looks like i’m growing a third breast. And a nasty purple and brown bruise that runs from my shoulder to my sternum and from my collarbone to my nipple. I sound like a real attractive guy, huh?

The Moral Of The Story
Life-is-not-a-dress-rehearsal
My friends, life is short! Ought we not live every day like it’s our last? I think so. I have decided that I will try to be more kind to myself and those around me. Because, ya know what?  In a twinkling of an eye, it can and most assuredly be over.

wake up and live

The End

Share

Is bigger better?

Share

Name: Marie
Gender: Female
Age: 21
Location: Florida
I’ve had sex with exactly two guys. Each one has had an average sized penis, but both thought they were small. The sex we had was nice and I was happy with it. What I don’t understand is why guys have this obsession with having a large penis? From everything I’ve read, most women don’t care about size and yet that’s all I hear about from my guy friends. What gives?

Like I always say — Nothing quite captures a dude’s imagination like his cock. Its size, shape and general appearance is a source of endless wonderment. Unfortunately, along with all that wonderment there often comes envy. I wrote a long column about much the same thing back in February — Willie Worry & Willie Pride.huge pen..

I suppose if we never had anything to compare it to, our precious willie would be the best darn willie there ever was. That’s the beauty of self-love. Funny though how a guy’s self-admiration can evaporate when he’s confronted with the sight of some other fella swinging some heavy pipe. This change in mood is pretty predictable. Some people suggest that we have been programmed to believe that big is better. And this is a throwback to when us men folk were just learning to stand upright and move about on two legs. It would have been pretty obvious what we have hangin’ down there

Since the time of our primate ancestors, humans have worshiped the male phallus. At first the representations were nothing more than crude upright pillars of wood or stone called a lingam. The Egyptians created a more exalted depiction — the obelisk — to represent the sun god, Ra’s, cock. In time, the obelisk would morph into the church steeple and the mosque’s minaret, as the preferred religion changed with the ages. When capitalism became the new creed, the steeple and minaret morphed once again into the skyscraper. Simple upright pillar or immense high-rise they’re all statements of virility, power and prestige. And isn’t it just like us to believe that the city with the biggest skyscraper wins. If this “bigger is better” sort of mentality has been going on in art, architecture and religion for several millennia, you know for sure it’s been happening on an individual level too.

tantric_lingam_stone_536   Munich, Obelisk     Toshiba Exif JPEG     Istanbul_+Blaue+Moschee+Minarette14     swirl-skyscraper

From the beginning of recorded time different cultures have designated cock size as an outer sign of a man’s inner values. The size of a guy’s dong was synonymous with his status, power, masculinity and sexual potency. Curiously, the ancient Greeks prized a puny pecker as the standard of male beauty. A big dick was an object of ridicule. Their mythology saddled the satyrs — woodland creatures with pointy satyrears, hairy legs, and short goat-like horns — with exaggerated cocks to symbolize their excess and lechery. Aristotle reasoned that a small penis was more fertile than a large one, because the semen didn’t have to travel as far and it didn’t cool as much while making its ejaculatory journey. Whatever, Aristotle!

The Hindus also cherished a tiny endowment. Men with the smallest phallus, 2-3 inches, were the beautiful ideal. They were characterized as lithe and strong. Prodigious packages of 9+ inches were compared to those of the beasts. And men who possessed them were considered worthless and lazy. Imagine trying to sell these concepts today.

Except for the Greeks and Hindus, everyone else idolized generous phallic dimensions. For example, so obsessed were the Arabs with the notion big dick superiority that the Turks of the Ottoman Empire took advantage of this mindset. It was the practice of the Turks to publicly compare the cock size of vanquished Arab leaders with the superior size cocks of their own Turkish commanders. This, in the end, effectively shattered Arab resistance.

shunga5fbooks5fpillow5fbooks5f5f77Japanese “pillow books,” an early form of Asian porn, always depicted the men with exaggerated cocks and this was always to the delight of the admiring women. In renaissance Europe it was fashionable for men to don a “codpiece,” a primitive jock strap sort of thing sewn inside a guy’s drawers. The design was obviously intended to emphasize his package. Men of modest endowment, of course, found it necessary to pad their codpiece or be the object of scorn.

Here’s a startling statistic — Dr. Barry McCarthy, author of “Male Sexual Awareness,” found that two out of three men believe their dick is smaller than average. Isn’t that astonishing? How is that possible? I suppose given this culturally induced big dick bias, it’s no wonder men, of almost every historical age and society, have been obsessed with disguising their shortcomings, or trying to develop a method to compensate for what they consider to be their woeful inadequacy?

Around two thousand years ago, men in several tribes in Africa popularized the practice of hanging a weight from their cock. Actually, many historians believe the practice harkens back to ancient Egypt. The pharaohs were known to stretch their cock and balls using weights to increase sexual pleasure. Lots of guys do this very thing today — mostly for pleasure enhancement, but there are always those who think this is an effective way to increase the size of their dick.SURMA SURI TRIBE - OMO ETHIOPIA

Hanging a weight from the end of your cock (and/or balls) will sure enough stretch the tissues that make up your shaft (and/or sack). It’s gravity at work. But this can be dangerous because this practice can diminish the circulation of oxygen-rich blood, which is essential for the upkeep of the smooth muscle tissue. And smooth muscle tissue makes up about 90% of your cock. And doggoneit, this technique simply robs Peter to pay Paul, so to speak. What lengthening might happen comes at the expense of your dick’s thickness. Just stands to reason, you have only so much cock to work with. If you pull on it; it may get longer, but it’ll also gonna get thinner.

A modern variation on the age-old stretching techniques is the traction method. A guy puts his cock in a kind of noose and either straps his wiener to his leg, or hooks it up to a traction contraption that looks way too much like a medieval torture device for my tastes. The claim here is that constant stretching, makes the cells in this area divide and multiply, thus increasing the tissue mass. There’s no arguing with the concept, people have been using this method of centuries as a means of adorning and customizing their bodies, particularly lips and ears. Consider the women of the Surma tribe in Ethiopia — they wear lip plates. Their lower lip is pierced when they are young girls and stretched with ever-larger plates over time. But what they gain in beauty, they loose in sensitivity. The same thing is true of a guy’s cock. What he may gain in size he will surely loose in sensitivity. And that’s not a good thing.

The Jelq or Milking technique is an ancient method of penis enlargement practiced in the Middle East. Traditionally it was taught father to son when the kid reached adolescence. Wealthy families sent their boys to a gym or health club where a highly trained attendant would perform the Jelq technique on the boy each day. As a result of these daily treatments the kid’s dick would develop to dimensions not otherwise attained without the method. Modern day advocates of this technique claim that milking also works on the fully developed adult penis, but I have my reservations.

The Jelq involves massaging the semi-erect cock in a rhythmic and regular manner, enhancing blood flow within the shaft. The claim is that after several months of this, one could see a size increase, both in girth and length. Long-time practitioners claim gains of several inches in length are possible, but one can only imagine how many hours that might take over the course of a year or longer. Effective jelqing demands an hour or more each day for exercises. I mean, who has that kind of free time on his hands? No wonder most men fail to complete their jelqing programs.

Old_penis_pumpPenis enlargement pills and patches proliferate on internet, but there is virtually no documented evidence that they work. All such products use herbal ingredients, like ginkgo biloba and yohimbe, which act as stimulants and vasodilators. The best one can say is that some pills may enhance blood flow, which may, in some cases, cause an ever so slightly bigger woody. Once a program like this is started, it needs to be continued for as long as you want the effect to last. Imagine how much that would cost; this stuff is expensive

Finally, the early 20th century brings the advent of modern technology to the “treatment” of impotence, or as we currently know it: erectile dysfunction. Please note, all the devices and surgical interventions of the last 100 years were initially designed to treat ED. Only later did folks begin to use these interventions as male enhancement schemes. Take the Austrian inventor Otto Ledever for example. He reasoned that if a stiffy was all about blood flow then maybe he could come up with a device that would draw blood into a cock creating an erection where there wasn’t one before. In 1917, our hero patented an airtight cylinder topped by a bulb that created a vacuum within the chamber. Insert a limp dick — pump, pump, pump and TADA! — An impressive erection resulted. There was a rub, however. When the vacuum was eliminated and the cylinder removed the “faux-erection” drained away nearly as quickly as it arrived. It was only a matter of time till our friend, Otto, discovered that ya gotta constrict the flow of blood back into the body once the guy’s peanut was engorged. And that, my friends was the birth of the cockring! Isn’t science amazing?

Good luck

Share