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Mister Balls
Obviously, It's not just about penis size...
Photo by
Sadie
A Colossal and
Virile Penis, An Intellectual Powerhouse, and Other Seemingly Necessary
Fictions
By Sensuous Sadie
SensuousSadie@aol.com
www.sensuoussadie.com
Almost every Dominant I’ve been with has had some
level of interest with the size of his penis, so I’m guessing it’s not
so much a Dom thing as it is just plain a guy thing. They often want me
to confirm that it’s a large one, and when it’s a Dominant you’re
talking to, a girl hardly wants to express doubts. Of course the truth
is - and we gals know it as much as the guys do - penis lengths come in
a bell curve like most statistics in the world, meaning that most of
them are average no matter that I tell them it’s "ooooh so big daddy!"
Now, I had a partner some years ago who also liked me to compliment him
on his virility, so I went along with that as well, although in truth
not only was he averaged sized as I just noted, but in fact I’m sorry to
say that he also wasn’t particularly virile. In fact, as one of his
later Submissives once said to me, she had to get him up "with a crank."
He and I only had actual intercourse once or twice toward the beginning
of our relationship, and because he couldn’t get very hard nor stay very
hard, it was a rather unpleasant experience for myself and likely him as
well. A note to the wise boys: trying again and again to stick a soft
wiener into a girl is a lost cause. Better to take a break and engage in
alternate kinky play than to try to get toothpaste back into a tube. And
just another note if you’d be kind enough to humor me – and I say this
from experience, although this being with a different partner – laying
down next to your gal, staring up at the ceiling, and waiting in silence
for said hard on to return is not an effective romantic, sexual, kinky,
or dominant tactic. And thanks for listening folks, we’ll get back to
our regularly scheduled programming now.
And so this Dominant and I soon gave up the somewhat onerous task of
intercourse and turned ourselves over to the wider varieties of BDSM
diversions, including lots of blow jobs in which he was able to come
just fine. I was perfectly happy with this as I never much cared if we
did the actual dirty or not, particularly since it was clearly not his
thing, not to mention that squash and zucchini stay hard indefinitely. I
have to admit though that I always thought it was a bit peculiar that he
liked me to talk about the super size and potency of his member when we
both knew perfectly well that both were neither. But hey, if you can’t
get your Submissive to play along with a little self-aggrandizement, who
can you get to do it?
Eventually we went our separate ways, but oddly enough he continued to
kid around with me about the length and strength of his manhood. Six
months after we’d split, I realized that, not being his Submissive
anymore, I didn’t really have to go along with this goofy business
anymore, because really, what was he going to do to me, spank my cell
phone? So I asked him if we could cease and desist on this particular
little fiction, which to my surprise not only did he agree, but he
didn’t give me a hard time about it either (no pun intended). At this
point I felt that I was living a lie with him, and I couldn’t help but
wonder if I’d perpetuated something quite wrong between us by going
along with it from the beginning. I say this because perhaps if I’d
really sat down with him and insisted that he see a doctor about his
erection problem, maybe he would have. I did in fact chat with him once
or twice about it in a casual way, but he neatly sidestepped my
inquiries, acting as if he hadn’t even realized no intercourse had been
forthcoming in so and so many months. Somehow, I doubt that, but the
mind in denial is a powerful thing, particularly the male mind in denial
of a limp dick.
Now, if you’ll give me a little working room here, I’d like to spin off
onto a little parallel universe for a moment. This Dominant I just
mentioned was an intellectual powerhouse, and was typical of the kind of
men I choose. I’m radically attracted to brilliant men, and I’ve been
with at least three cerebrally-intense men in the last decade. What is
also a strange coincidence about these same men is that according to my
shrink, all three have personality disorders, and I suppose she ought to
know for what I’m paying her. Brilliance and fucked-up-edness are not
necessarily correlated of course, but one has to wonder how much this
kind of virtuosity drains the ability to interact emotionally, because I
think we’ve all known people who were terribly intelligent but just
couldn’t seem to have intimate relationships. Relationships yes; anyone
can have those with people who are just like them or who are willing to
accept whatever is available. Relationships with genuine intimacy and
connection; not so much.
Now before you get the jump on me, I don’t claim to be an intellectual
powerhouse myself, although I like to think my little brain noodles do a
pretty lively jig. Still, I have been told by more than a few that I’m
not only peculiar, but eccentric. In fact, every time I date someone who
hasn’t been married, I can count on some friend of mine to say "hm, I
wonder what’s wrong with him," or something to that ilk. Next time I
plan to reply, "You may as well wonder what’s wrong with me," because at
forty-three years old I haven’t married and never wanted any rugrats,
having instead populated my life with my own private passions. It turns
out that in the post-modernist twenty-first century, it’s better to be
divorced, in that at least someone at some time wanted to marry you.
Far better that than an old maid or and old bachelor, regardless of the
number of relationships you’ve had.
Despite all this, my shrink tells me that I do not have a personality
disorder (whew, what a relief!), just an overly intense disposition
toward my life’s vision, and far less focus on relationships than your
typical American gal who grows up swathing Barbies in wedding white. No,
for me it was a bedful of stuffed animals, long fat snakes with gaping
toothy mouths, my gray octopus named "Octi" of course, and Babar, King
of the Elephants, who still attends me whenever I travel. When I did do
Barbie at friend’s homes, it was more often in some bizarre situation
which would thirty years later morph into my kinky Barbie photography, a
train of thought unlikely to lead toward a traditional white wedding.
So what do brilliant men have to do with penises which aren’t quite as
virile as one might hope? Give me a minute and it will all come
together, or so I imagined when the muse visited me with all this in the
middle of the night. My sense is that you have this idea that there are
particular things that are central to what you need, and they sometimes
make you go about lying to yourself or your partner to perpetuate that
fiction. But then it turns out that lying was bad for both of you
because not only did you create an ongoing fiction of little lies
between you, but you never really faced the problem, and worse, none of
it was even necessary. In the case of the big and tall tale penis, we
didn’t need to create that fiction because I was just as happy doing
non-penis related BDSM. I bet lots of other Submissives would be too,
particularly if the conversation was out in the open and their sexual
and submission needs were being met. In the case of the brilliant but
barmy Dominants, I’ve been avoiding such explosively bright men, and
choosing instead more balanced ones who are there for me with love and
support in ways that those who inhabit the intellect can never be. The
brilliant mind was critical to my selection process just as the great
and powerful penis was critical to the self-image of my former Dominant,
and in both cases it was a false and destructive need.
I don’t know that there’s an easy way to identify these kind of things
before they hit you in the ass as you mosey out the barn door, but I do
know that anytime I see the blinders go on and tunnel vision setting in
(either for me or a friend), it’s a hint that maybe we aren’t seeing the
road kill off in our peripheral vision. For those times I can only
suggest that you sit down with yourself, consider the bell curve, and
realize that obsessing with the edges of the statistical bell doesn’t
often pay off in the long run. On that note, I’m off to measure the
length and strength of my new Dominant’s penis.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sensuous Sadie is the author of Spiritual Transformation through
BDSM; Stories and Submissions from Fellow Travelers. Read an excerpt
and more at Sadie's Kinky Goodies
http://www.sensuoussadie.com/sadieskinkygoodies.htm.
She is the founder and leader (1999 - 2001) of Rose
& Thorn, Vermont's first BDSM group. Comments, compliments and
complaints, as well as requests for reprinting can be addressed to her
at SensuousSadie@aol.com or
visit her website at
http://www.sensuoussadie.com/. Sadie believes the universe is
abundant, and that sharing information freely is part of this abundance,
so she allows reprints of her writing in most venues.
Copyright 2007 Sadie Sez Publications
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