My dick

First impressions do not count: In the case of Growers vs. show-ers.

Disclaimer, I’m going to say dick so many time in this article. Small Dick. Fat dick. Skinny Dick. Dick. It seems my adult gay life has been about my dick. ”Show me your dick” was an actual scientific study. Sexologist John Money wanted to prove that the quintessential characteristic of a man. With government money, he conducted an observational study of the dick in a many major American cities-- hiring sociologists to stand on the corner asking men on the street if they possessed a penis. When I read about the study in a medical journal I thought it was a joke and damn bold. I can barely get my boyfriend of nine years to show me his dick in bed. Maybe I should tell him it’s an observation study.
What does it mean to be a man? I’m still trying to figure it out which is why I’m a grower. What does it mean to be a grower? It means that I’m willing to learn new things. It means I’m constantly trying to figure out my sexuality in despite the fact I don’t give really great first impression. I’m not boring in bed. What does it mean to be a showoff?. It means there are those only about their ego. It means there were decided by a system not their souls. It means they constantly think others are looking for them. I’m a grower, not an entertainer, in every definition of the word. I only exist to those who are willing to nuture me or pity me or give me thirty seven seconds.
In my opinion, to be a man or not to be a man, first impressions do not count. It takes so long to like me. It’s like solving the Rubik cube, if you don’t try to cheat. I can often be ghetto crack head awkward. For the record, I don’t do drugs like Nancy Reagan unless Rick James is buying. I don’t like my first impressions. I have a tendency to sweat and twist like a 50s dance because I always feel inferior which makes my neck itch and right my ear stutter like SOS. I get shy and very nervous around too many people. I don’t know why maybe because I think other people know I’m broke. I aint got no money. I don’t like first impressions because they seem unfair to the socially challenged with bad credit and bad teeth. And it’s so subjective, what someone would consider corky another considers psycho. You never know what people are looking for, so fuck first impressions. I made mistakes with first impressions. I once showed up to an interview high on weed and terribly hung-over, so I decided have another drink during it in a Starbucks cup to balance the equation. What happened was that I got too happy and confrontational like each ever time alcohol is in my system. But was worse I made the very bad decision to wear all black, I sweated like a fat drunk Marlon Brando cat burglar the entire interview. Another fucked up first impression was when I once got on a crowded bus with my dick out. I say that again. I got on a crowed bus with my dick out. It was an accident. I was running for the bus and my zipper came undone and I wasn’t wearing underwear. I went to pay my fare, and the bus driver asked me “Are you going to put that away.” I looked down at my crotch and the cold chill I was feeling suddenly made sense. I looked up at the crowded bus and almost passed out. I was going to have to stand next to those people for the next thirty minutes until I got home. I have so many awkward moments in my life, so fuck first impressions. I ain’t got a big dick. I’m a grower.
But it got me to thinking what really makes a man a man. I’ve shown my dick to so many strangers but never really felt like a man. I guess it first began with gym, having to be naked in front of other guys and feeling smaller in comparisons. And suddenly in high school there was the pressure of sex. Losing my virginity to a girl was supposed to make me a man. I lost my virginity at fourteen years old to Keisha in her bedroom. I didn’t feel any different. I didn’t even have an orgasm. I just stuck it in, pounded a couple of times until I got bored. The only exciting part was bragging about it to my male cousins who touched their dicks when I described her body and how it supposedly felt. That turned me on. I lost my virginity to a guy at sixteen years. That didn’t make me feel like a man but more confused. I had to deal with the fact I was gay. I had to deal with that bastard never called me back like I never called Keisha back.

Like my dick, my masculinity or manhood has never been exuberant or much of a show-er or showoff. I don’t know how to fix a car. I can’t watch sports without getting bored. I rather watch Martha Stewart. I don’t drink beer. I don’t gamble. I’m no John Wayne with the deep basing Barry White voice or that ridiculous walk. And I don’t have the biggest dick in the room. Maybe my dick is bigger than a midget but it’s not the typical black dick. My family came over from Britain in the 1900s, need I say more. I must admit I’ve always wondered if I had a bigger dick how my life would be different. In middle school would I won the Spelling Bee? Would I have made the basketball team in high school? Would I have gone to Harvard and became a hustler for the preppy rich kids. My obsession with my dick probably started the day I watched porn. The guys seemed so huge. I couldn’t imagine that was the normal. And I was a black male, I thought getting the big dick sort of made up for the years of oppression and racism and getting pulled over by the cops. And then I wonder is it because I only have an average eight inch dick, did that turn me in to a writer?--instead of getting a real job like a street walker or stripper. My intention since I was fourteen years old has been to distract those from my dick, tell a joke, wear a shiny necklace, don’t make them look directly at it or pull out a ruler, shave my pubic hair to make it look bigger, put a pretty cock ring around it, anything to get it touched before the person changes their mind like getting drunk and sleeping with a ugly person and regretted it.

But I’ve always be a grower never a shower-er. When I was a boy, I never gave much thought to about the man I wanted to grow up to be. I think I was just trying to survive. I often wondered what would happened to me. I worried if I would be okay. Will I be happy? Will I ever find someone to love me? Would I ever feel good enough? Will I ever have a family? In the beginning, I didn’t have any male role models in my life. My father got himself killed when I as five years old. Before that, he was never around. I only had three memories of him and none of them were pleasant.

But back to gym, now it’s no longer High School but Bally’s. I have no fear of walking around naked in the shower. I know I don’t have the biggest dick. It’s just average. It’s a grower. I’m not competing. I’m a grower not a show-er. It’s not like I got extra dick under my bed or in the refrigerator to pull out just in case of an orgy breaks out. But it works, Should that just matter that my dick works. And when I’m fucking I only need thirty seven seconds to get off. The rest of the act is just fluff in my version of foreplay. You get what you get. It ain’t bad. I’m a grower because it’s taken a long time for me to get comfortable with my body. I’m not that masculine. I’m not rich. And when I’m a top, I know the bottom is probably thinking about his last fuck, but then again I only need thirty seven seconds. It’s taken a long time for me to accept that my dick is as good as it gets and that’s beautiful. My dick is beautiful. Let me say it again, my dick is beautiful in its starving eight inches glory. I’ve had showoff dicks. They think you just supposed to service them. And when I think about it, I don’t want a really big dick. Having a smaller dick made me want to explore the rest of my body and I found I had nipples that liked to be twisted, an asshole that liked to be licked, toes that like be sucked, balls that like to be spanked, eyes that like to be blind folded. Not having a big dick made me a freak and it’s the better life. When I was a young boy I wonder what type of man I would grow up to be because I didn’t have many positive role models. I guess my father had a big dick, probably that’s what got him killed I didn’t realize I just had to look to my dick. I have a “relationship” dick. It’s a grower. It grows like planting a tree, be patient. Every day I’m learning how to become a better man. It’s how I’m growing. It’s not how I’m showing off. That’s my dick. And that’s why I don’t believe in first impressions. I only need thirty seven seconds to get off.