Finding Peace within My Penis

by Anonymous

D’s arched back collapsed back onto the bed as she inhaled air into her lungs. Her head slowly raised as she looked at me deliriously; my chin propped on her upper thigh. “Every man should experience ED!” she exhaled. While D and I had only met an hour or two earlier, it took me a while to get to this point.

Orgasm

Somewhere in my early 30s, I ended a six year relationship. It was the first serious relationship I had been in. As with many relationships that dissipate, a mutually pleasurable sex life ended long before the separation. But sex had always been a bit of a strain thanks to the shame that comes from being raised religious, or raised by those who rejected their childhood religion in my case. My interest in exploration - and my libido - were treated by my partner as something wrong with me. Shame crept in as the sex disappeared, my libido and desires were identified as the problem. That shame took a new form when I internalized the ending of the relationship as a failure to make it work, the loss of a lover and one of my closest friends.

Plateau

So as I started to heal from the breakup, the excitement of getting on the apps outweighed those feelings of shame. I created accounts and started swiping. As a late bloomer with little experience with casual sex, I was excited to see what this world was about. As the algorithms do for newbies on dating apps, connections started flowing in and I started going on dates. One of the first women I went on a date with was short, with an alluring accent, and was pure chaos. It was intoxicating for me - someone so straight-laced to the outside world - and I laughed past the red flags as we found ourselves at bars I would never choose, and eventually my place. We fumbled around with clothes, and my pants hit the floor around the same time as her knees as she enthusiastically began performing fellatio. I was in what I thought was a dream - new apartment, new future, new woman. 18-year-old me couldn’t have imagined this. Hell, the 28-year-old me couldn’t have imagined this. But her enthusiasm shifted to confusion as the blood failed to flow to my phallus. I too, was confused as this was far too hot, too fantastical for me to not be responding “appropriately.” However, I was far too focused on the escalation of events and the “goal” to experience any pleasure.

When she asked me what was going on, I shrugged, blamed the alcohol, and offered to go down on her while we waited for me to respond. I obliged, she enjoyed it, however when she asked to be fucked and my penis was in no state worth opening a condom for, she appeared confused. I don’t think she could imagine sex outside of intercourse, and while I loved “foreplay,” I viewed it as just that, at the time – the fun stuff before intercourse. We awkwardly wrapped up. Despite furiously making out at my door while she waited for her ride, I never saw her again. She became very unavailable and said she was having some health problems. I hope, for her health, she just didn’t want to see me again.

Some time passed with a few more first dates, and I matched with a lovely OB-GYN. We shared a lively and fun first date, which induced a second. We ended back at my place, rolling around in bed and passionately making out. My hands roamed, our clothes stayed on, and boundaries were made clear while she just about ground through her jeans on my leg. Her bodily response suggested she wanted more, I could watch the internal battle raging in her head as she paused to take breaths and talk herself down. There seemed to be an arbitrary number in her head of when it was okay to “give it up.” I found this disorienting in the context of many other cues that night, but her truth was her truth, and we stayed within her limits. We planned a third date that would take us to her magic number. I planned to cook dinner at her place. Looking back, this was a recipe for disaster – so much anticipation, so little discussion. After the dishes were finished, our mouths met, our hands roamed, and clothing began to fall off like dying rose petals as we made our way to the bed. I discovered she wasn’t much for foreplay, she was almost incensed as she rejected my offer of cunnilingus. She was more of a throw-the-condom-on-and-stick-it-in, sort of woman. This pacing was foreign to me and really disorienting. We went at it furiously and discombobulated, with little communication, and a mismatch in so many ways. As she got on top and ground away, she exasperatedly asked if I was going to come soon. I explained that I don’t often come from penetration, at which point she stopped, rolled off of me and sighed.

“Is everything okay?”, I asked

“Uhhhh...I guess I just wanted it like...a little more...intense?”

(A brief pause)

“But none of that weird BDSM stuff!”

A slight that I didn’t even realize I internalized at the time, as my kinks had not yet had an opportunity to manifest.

The next morning, as we got ready for the day, things were awkward, but I had no baseline for morning pillow talk. This was the first time I had slept over at someone’s house who wasn’t my girlfriend. I asked her if she wanted to join me for a porn film festival that weekend (HUMP!), softening the offering by explaining it was as much an art film festival as anything else. “EWW!” she responded, “That sounds like my worst nightmare!” Caught off guard from the amplitude of her response, I got defensive and changed the subject. We kissed goodbye and I decided to walk the two miles home rather than take public transit. “It’s a beautiful day!” I told myself and it was. I needed the walk to clear my head and make sense of everything that had just happened. I felt good about having sex with a beautiful woman, but behind the smile and appreciation of the lovely morning, my shame fermenting inside mixed with the anaerobic environment I had just left, produced new products and off-gasses to wreak havoc on my mind and body. We went on one more date, which was SO awkward. I may as well have been on a date with an entirely different person. The date ended with an awkward hug, then her ghosting me for a few weeks before finally apologizing and ending things.

I tried to be cool and keep moving forward, but as some of my first sexual experiences after a relationship I was left feeling dejected and lost. My penis “not working” became a concern, which certainly didn’t help in those moments when I most desired it to. I did what I think a lot of people do - I went to the urologist. He poked and prodded, tested my testosterone, asked me a bunch of questions about my physical well-being, no questions about my mental health, and used the trusty tool in his tool box (the only hammer for said nail) – Viagra. I took that blue pill and boy, did it work. I took it knowing full well that it was likely a placebo effect.

I continued my journey into early 30s sluthood, experimenting with that little blue pill. I didn’t have the feeling of superman, like Viagra lore would have suggested, but it did take some weight off of sexual situations and gave me confidence. More useful than pharmaceuticals though, was learning how to talk about it. “Just so you know, I often don’t get hard when I’m with someone for the first time, but it doesn’t mean I’m not into you or enjoying myself” (ending with soft eyes and a mischievous grin). Not only did this prove not to be a problem for the person I was with, I would often see my partner’s shoulders drop and their body relax. While I didn’t realize it at the time, I would come to learn that de-emphasizing penetration and performance was good for everyone.

Resolution

As I continued my exploration I found a therapist who specialized in sex therapy. Upon explaining the urologist’s solution, they yelled, “They gave you Viagra?! We need to get you off that now!”

Our work began to address the mental aspects. I continued to meet people who found me safe and desirable. I would let them know the situation and we would have all the sex outside of intercourse. Regardless of the state of my penis, I was still a healthy, horny person who wanted sexual connection. What I couldn’t do with a soft penis, I did with my hands, mouth, thighs, breath, and sex toys. Oh joy, the sex toys! What proceeded was communication, exploration, and experimentation. I found myself much more in tune with people’s bodies and how they responded to different stimuli. When I took intercourse off the table, I automatically de-emphasize genitals and found pleasure in unexpected places.

Excitement

My interest extended outside of my work in therapy. I started to read about sex from a queer perspective. What does it look like to have sex without a penis involved? Without the genitals involved? Without a focus on orgasms? I started thinking about sex in terms of pleasure. What does pleasure look like for me? What does it look like to ENJOY my touch, take pleasure in exploring MY body? Masturbation was something to be hid when I was younger, so my “pleasure” practice for decades was generally “squeezing one out” whenever I was feeling horny, overwhelmed, or stressed. Orgasm, and move on.

This exploration of pleasure led to the discovery of just how sensitive a soft cock is. I started to learn what types of touch feels good, and how much pleasure could be derived from light caresses with oiled up hands. This knowledge generally leads to a cock that is not so soft. These discoveries of what feels good allowed me to enjoy the entire experience of masturbation and pleasure, not just the orgasm, and intensified the orgasm when it showed up.

This knowledge transferred to partnered sex. Telling someone how I like to be touched has been transformative. Setting a tone of communication and boundaries has often opened the door for partners to do the same. Taking away the expectation that we should just be able to figure each other out and be “good at sex” allows me to relax and enjoy the moment. Gifting someone the knowledge of how to play with my cock when it’s soft allows me to sink into pleasure and enjoy myself, and often puts my partner at ease as well. And to fly in the face of Soft Cock Week, it often doesn’t stay soft for long.

Finding pleasure in my soft cock allowed me to find peace with it. It also allowed me to honor it and what it might be telling me. After an encounter lacking a firm phallus (or during, if the pace allows), I might check in with the rest of my body. Was there something off? Did I not ask for what I needed? Was there a lack of the connection I desire? Was there something making me anxious? Or had I forgotten that my penis filed for PTO? It doesn’t HAVE to mean something, which is a big step up from when it used to feel like everything.