No. No. The giant penis isn’t mine. Mine is average, I’d say. Maybe a little bigger than most—if the locker room shower is any indicator. Then again, we’re not all walking around with raging hard-ons while we’re lathering ourselves up in the shower. Except that one guy that time …
Anyway, point is, up until last week I’d have thought lugging around a giant cock would make life a whole lot easier too, at least on the dating scene. I was wrong.
Meet Stavros Popidopolis, a man who lives in constant pain and occasional humiliation. He’s never been able to enjoy the simple everyday things you and I take for granted. Things like putting on a wetsuit, wearing a protective cup, or riding a bike. I sat down (a good distance from Stavros) yesterday to listen to his story. It was a little awkward. But he was kind enough to break the ice by taking his penis out so I could have a good look.
“Here it is.” Stavros explained, pulling the Moray eel from its cave. “I call it Charlie because sometimes it gets to crampin’ down there by the knee … makes it hard to sleep sometimes.”
As I leaned in for a closer look, I was unintentionally struck about the head and neck.
“Pardon. It’s a little unwieldy at times.”
My close encounter with ‘Charlie’ was frightening on many levels, particularly the weird greenish coloration, the result of a difficulty maintaining requisite body temperature and circulatory complications.
I guess if there's a lesson to be learned here it's be content with what you've got. Don't covet your neighbor's penis. The giant cock is always greener on the underside.
