The bigger my unit has become, the less that size seems to mean to me.
I’m not sure how I feel about this new attitude. But I see it all throughout life. Being over 6’ tall, I’ve never been obsessed with height, as shorter men are. Nor, with a full head of hair, do I obsess about receding hairlines or thinning scalps, as balding men do.
And even though I haven’t hit my goal yet, my size (roughly 7.25 x 6.25) still has me in the top 10% or so of the population [primarily because of girth] - meaning I’m probably bigger than 85-90 men out of 100. Yet those words ring oddly hollow to me.
What the hell does this all mean anyway?
Maybe I feel that if I have 8” or 10” (or 7.25”) won’t mean shit in terms of my ultimate sense of well-being. Maybe I’m being hypocritical. Maybe I wouldn’t feel this way if I were 5.25 x 4.4….or even the 6.12 x 5.2 that I started with.
Or maybe it means less to me now since I’m 38. If I were, say, 18 this might mean a helluva lot more. Indeed, I thought much more about size when I was a teenager - but then, don’t most young guys anyway? Maybe I feel some sadness about developing my “dream dong” 20 years too late.
:::What I would’ve done with this love-rod as a single young 20-year-old gym rat, rippling with muscles, cut to the bone:::<sigh>
At times I feel the bigger I get, the more bitterly ironic it really is. After all, what would I do with a 9-incher at age 40 anyway? My wife would be so pissed at me. Sometimes this whole thing seems farcical to me.
Yet once again, I’m a day late & a dollar short….the story of my life.