My Penis Works In Mysterious Ways
So, please don’t let my insecurities feed yours
Oh, I’m insecure, alright
I am grateful to have a body that most times functions as I wish it would, during sex. Still, there is plenty of room for exceptions and I’ve had my share of stories about times that I didn’t rise to the challenge.
The reason? My intellect got in the way, obstructing the natural flow of things.
“What if I can’t get it up? What if she thinks it’s small? What if I can’t last long enough? What if she wants more and I can’t deliver?”
And often: “Oh, my God, she’s so gorgeous! What is she doing with me?”
Most of the times I manage those insecurities and continue the act without evident problems.
It usually gets down to convincing myself that I am in a room with another human being—not a sex goddess or someone who is there to judge me.
Other times, nervousness takes over. My erection isn’t solid. My performance is off. My duration is short. Once—alas, only once!—I even got the opposite: a solid cock that wouldn’t ever climax.
It can get awkward. Especially if the other party notices. Because there is always hope that… they… won’t notice?
Oh, they notice, all right. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
The bad thing is if the woman assumes it’s her fault.
Even if she doesn’t explicitly say so, she takes it personally. I have my insecurities, but I am not alone. When my insecurities feed hers, things can get very complicated.
Chances are, she’s insecure, too
Judging from myself, I can testify that men can be super insecure. Having met a few women, I can suggest that they too have their own insecurities.
I mean, come on. It’s no secret that our societies heavily rely on feeding and exploiting women’s insecurities.
So, during sex, if my insecurities come out, they usually hook right into hers. They match. They latch.
Most of the times that I didn’t rise up to the occasion, the woman present was eager to throw herself under the bus and take the blame: “Is it me?”
In fact, yes, it is her
But this doesn’t mean it’s her fault.
There are times that I get to bed with a woman that I find too young or too beautiful to be with me. And guess what? Those are exactly the times that my mind plays tricks on me, sabotaging the natural flow of things.
I’ve studied myself. The more a woman looks like a Playboy centrefold, the more likely I am to get upset and dysfunctional.
There are definitely explanations for this. One of them is my upbringing amidst Playboy magazines. I conditioned myself to think of those pictured women as unattainable fantasies. Finding one in my bed collapses my reality. I have to work overtime to make my mind suspend its disbelief.
On the other hand, if I see the woman as being like me—with a flawed body, for example—I can fuck like there’s no tomorrow.
It’s a status thing.
I read somewhere, sometimes a stallion needs to have the mare smeared with mud or he can’t mate with her.
I am that stallion.
I don’t mean I need to belittle the woman, but I do find it difficult to accept that her club would have someone like me for a member.
And it doesn’t only happen before youth and beauty. The general rule is: if I think that the woman is “too important to be with me”—by either being too beautiful, too young, or simply too elevated in some other aspect—I’m in trouble.
Case studies
#1: Bedding my early 20s fantasy was too much
In my early twenties, I belonged in an amateur theatre group. Another member was a woman slightly older than me, whom I looked up to as the epitome of sexuality. She always looked so mature and confident. And so unbearably sexy.
She was in a relationship and I remember she wasn’t flirting around. Still, her sexuality was uncontainable. Scary, too, to my 20-year-old self.
Almost ten years later, I saw her again, at a friend’s party. I was in my late twenties and already 5 years into a life of cheating and sexual addiction.
We had a very brief chat. “You’ve grown up,” she joked. Indeed. My boyish naiveté was gone. I was leaving her no doubt that I was flirting with her.
We exchanged numbers. And a few days later, we went out together. But I wasn’t very well. “You have a cold?” she asked at some point, genuinely disappointed. “That’s so bad. What if I felt like kissing you?” Although I was flirting with her, she ambushed me with her straightforwardness.
After a couple of drinks and a bonding conversation, that first date ended. The next date, we went to my place.
We had sex. I don’t remember disappointing anyone, but I do remember that at some point I wasn’t fully hard.
“Is it me?” she said.
Wow, I thought. There I was, a boy that “had grown up,” who always looked up in awe to that woman as a sex goddess. And when all of that became too much for me, she thought it was her fault.
I explained myself. I told her how she had always been the epitome of femininity and sexuality. Being right there in my bed was a little too much.
I don’t know if she believed me. I was being honest.
#2: That time I had delayed ejaculation
The first time I had sex with my wife, I just wouldn’t come. She was gorgeous and I was drooling all over her. Still, instead of the classic semi-erect dick I get in such cases, the gods of sex granted me with a supercharged jackhammer. I was hard, energetic, and went on and on like a machine.
Oh, delayed ejaculation! If only you were the only erectile dysfunction out there!
But even delayed ejaculation raises questions.
“Why don’t you come?” my future wife asked at some point. “I don’t know,” I replied and continued fucking her with my newly acquired superpower.
I was too high to stop and question what was going on. My narcissism was feasting on my performance. Still, even within that state of euphoria, I knew it was awkward. My wife could tell something was off. “Why don’t you come?” didn’t have a tone of admiration, but one of concern. “Was it her?”
For the record, that superpower never came back. I don’t know why it appeared in the first place. Besides that exceptional night, being semi-hard has remained my erectile dysfunction of choice.
An erectile dysfunction’s emotional labour
“Is it me?”
Women having their own insecurities is one thing, but there is also the emotional labour most women tend to undertake, in any situation—sex included. Many undertake it, despite knowing “it’s not them.” They try to make the man feel better about himself.
Emotional labour is a huge subject, but not the point of this story. To know more about how emotional labour meets sex, this article by Stark Raving is a great start. My article simply aims to point out how each others’ insecurities often interlock.
Please, people. Regardless of your gender, please don’t assume that “it’s you.”
And even if “it’s you,” don’t assume that this means “you are not good enough.” Perhaps you are overwhelmingly good. Perhaps you are a dream come true. And some of us are not used to dreams coming true. Just like we aren’t used to being the dreams of others.
I live with my wife for 8 years now. We’ve both seen each other elevated and and at their worst, too. Getting to know her more and more did not smear mud on her. It deepened our relationship. Our sex, too.
Even though I still wonder — what the fuck is she doing with me? And most importantly, can I have some more of that delayed ejaculation, please?
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