Bro, Are You Impotent or Not?
Your dick needs to make up its mind.
Listen, Men. Y’all need to get on the same page when it comes to the man meat between your legs.
My vajayjay generally works the same. You turn me on, it gets wet. You don’t, it stays dry. Simple.
As usual, women have their shit together and men don’t. If the room is too hot, then a dick can start hard but then get soft. It can stay soft but cum. It can stay hard but not cum. It can work three times in one day or not at all in three months.
The only time men have their penile tool management working correctly is when they’re teenagers. It’s predictable: arousal equals erection. Slight touch equals ejaculation. In five minutes, the cycle continues.
And yet, this volatile hunk of flesh is what makes or breaks the bedroom experience but we have to delicately dance around it lest we insult the fragile male ego.
Ironically, when it comes to their dicks, men are pussies.
I’ve written nonstop about my ongoing dating saga with Sean.
On paper, he’s perfect. Crazy tall. Former college football player. Vice President at a medical company. Gorgeous house. Swank car. Fancy workout gadget worth a fortune. Muscles en pointe. Cool confidence. Sean is the total package.
Except for his dick. His wonky, fucked up dick.
The red flags were there the first time we tried having sex. Newly dating, Sean wore condoms. Note the plural use of “condoms”. He kept losing his erection, thus requiring the condom to come off, then he’d get hard, and slap on another. I should have invested stock in Trojan because that guy could go through two boxes a night.
I blamed it on the condoms. It’s a lot to ask men who have been barebacking for years in their marriage to go back to the latex coverings of their youth.
But it didn’t get better as we progressed without condoms. Which meant my mouth performed CPR every time his dick went limp. It was so bad that I kept two different skin-soothing moisturizers in my car to apply immediately after seeing him. Saliva from all that sucking isn’t meant to be around your mouth for hours on end.
When Sean tried reviving his dick, he’d beat it off so hard I winced in horror. I wanted to whisper, “I’m so sorry!” and offer it a bandaid for the torture it endured.
It couldn’t be me. I’m no Margot Robbie but I’ve got enough going on to make a guy feel like he’s a male stallion in bed. I know the outfits to show off my fake breasts and the breathless moans to make when a guy dares to touch somewhere X-rated.
Stupidly, I came back thinking each time would be different. I’d believe that Sean handled his wonky dick with medical treatment and all would be well. We weren’t in a committed relationship; it wasn’t something I could delicately bring up without awkwardly stomping on his man pride.
When things got serious with Thomas, I used that as an excuse to end things with Sean. He graciously accepted the breakup (hard to argue for a committed relationship when you travel 75% out of the month) but said that he loved hanging out and that I’m always welcome to share a drink from his lavish wine collection.
I thought I was off the hook with sex. The next visit, I dressed like a slob thinking that I had figured it all out: no more wonky dick, lots of wine, and good company.
But Sean stepped up his competitive game and while his dick is broken, his sexiness is like a siren luring me in his snare. I called him out on his lack of erections while trying to blame myself. “Oh, I didn’t even think you liked me that much,” I act surprised, “since I can’t keep you hard.”
Homeboy blamed the alcohol. Nah, that couldn’t be it; I jumped him plenty upon arrival to know alcohol wasn’t the culprit. I dropped the subject.
I confided in a few male friends. They were stunned. None of them could explain why a guy wouldn’t immediately get a blue pill to ensure that he could adequately bang me. It made no sense to them.
I insisted to Sean that he wasn’t allowed to get naked with me until he took me on a proper date, thinking that would buy me time with this problem. He promptly scheduled our date. That night, I mentally played, “Eye of The Tiger” when we got naked, ready to tell him that I wasn’t going to perform oral CPR to his dick. To my surprise, he came within 15 seconds in my mouth. Another awkward conversation about his limp dick averted.
That’s the rollercoaster of penile emotions leading up to this Valentine’s Day weekend. Would his dick work or would I finally expose the elephant in the room?
It’s the Sunday before Valentine’s Day. I’m driving to Sean’s place. I opted for his place because that would allow me to control the timing of my departure.
“This is it,” I tell myself. I already decided The Talk was needed with Thomas about his shitshow of a life. Might as well do the same with Sean when his dick inevitably breaks tonight. He gets exactly 100 thrusts up and down with my mouth before I quit. No exceptions.
I arrive and Sean kisses me passionately. He wraps my legs around him and pushes me against the wall. Are we having sex now? I know from experience that alcohol doesn’t determine the state of his erection. Or is this just an intro and we’ll settle into our usual routine of drinking and talking?
Sean pauses to pour some wine. Barely two sips in, he pounces. My brain is thinking that I’m not drunk enough to handle sex with a half-working dick. I’m wearing a tight black crop top and a short stretchy skirt. The only impediment is the leopard-print thong he rips off (Target’s Auden brand is seriously the most comfortable underwear on earth).
After he fingerbangs me for a while, I know to get on my knees. I mentally apologize to my mouth and get to town. Surprisingly, he gets hard quickly. And stays hard.
I shouldn’t be surprised because a guy can stay hard but here we are.
Sean picks me up and drops me down on his man meat. It becomes clear that he’ll stay hard as long as I remain on top.
Argh. While being on top feels good and all, I’m a lazy sack of lard. With my short legs, having them spread means I have very little leverage for movement. Did I mention that I’m a lazy sack of lard? It doesn’t take much for me to mentally whine of exhaustion when I’m riding a guy.
Thankfully, Sean’s arms have superhuman strength and he uses my body as his personal sex toy. Fine by me if he wants to use his arms to move my body up and down; at least one of us has the physical fitness to continue this endeavor.
Within minutes, he cums. I’m stunned. He…came? There’s man goo inside of me? What the fresh hell is going on?
We clean up and spend the rest of the evening on his couch drinking and talking. We’re lounging naked with me in my thong (seriously, Target makes ugly purses but their underwear is fantastic) and him in Calvin boxer briefs. He tries convincing me to spend the night and I feign an excuse rather than tell him that I’d rather stab my eyeballs with a fork than spend a night in another person’s bed.
Before leaving, Sean tries for Round 2. We make out and I put my mouth between his legs. His dick isn’t as hard as before and from experience, I know it’s not even worth it to attempt sex. His moans are loud and I think that he’s going to cum. So I keep going. I count my mouth thrusts up and down because of my earlier vow to not go past 100.
Fast forward to Mouth Thrust #200 and I tap out. Dammit. I fucking suck (no pun intended) when it comes to sticking by my own sexual rules. I feel like I have a pass to quit given that he came earlier. No awkward explanation is needed as I try sexily (with all the grace of a hyena) to tell him that I must leave.
As I drive away, I look in the mirror. My mouth is irritated in the corner from his facial scruff and the spit generated by 200 thrusts.
I’m more confused than ever. Why does his dick work sometimes and not others? It’s not the alcohol. I’ve learned that it makes no difference. It’s not the timing. The beginning or end of the night isn’t a factor. It’s not his hydration. That guy drinks an ocean of water each day. He didn’t take a pill. It would have stayed erect even after he came.
I need Nancy Drew. Maybe she can solve The Mystery of the Infrequently-Erect Penis.
