Knobsessed!
Like just about everyone else on the planet with an e-mail address I'm constantly getting offers for penis enlargement pills. My reaction is invariably one of annoyance. "Why would I want to extend my dick when I haven't yet found a nice warm place to put it?" I mutter to myself, much to the consternation of the women sitting nearby in the e-mail lounge. "First things first, ferchrissake!" (Although I suppose I could find a plastic pussy... Come to think of it, I get e-mail offers for them as well!)
But I doubt my reaction is common. These phallic extension potions and techniques (many of which must surely be of dubious effectiveness, to say the least) are clearly selling like hot cakes -- otherwise I wouldn't be receiving so many offers for them. There must be millions of guys out there willing to try anything for a few more inches down below. I can understand this need -- particularly on very cold days -- but why do so many blokes go to such enormous, er, lengths to satisfy it?
It's a clear case of the Dirk Diggler Syndrome: Their sense of self-worth is all tangled up in their tackle.
And it's not just genital extension. There is all manner of body-modification going on. I recently read a story describing how young men are now having their tongues split in half with razor blades.
Yeugh!
The journalist described the procedure as "gory".
"Gory"? You can say that again. (If you can say anything at all after the operation, that is.)
And why do they do it? Well, for the same reason young blokes do just about everything: to make themselves more interesting to women. But what kind of women, I wonder... Nurses? Shrinks? Experts in oral hygiene? These guys are taking the whole idea of the "lounge lizard" just a tad too far, I reckon. (Still, if they strike out with the ladies, they can always get good jobs in law firms. They just love people who speak with forked tongues!)
Of course it's not just blokes who place way to much value in their physical shape and appearance. Women are just as prone to this failing, if not more so. Many have a commensurate relationship between their bra-size and self-esteem. And men are more than happy to reinforce this link.
I plead guilty in this case. I once fell hopelessly in love with a buxom young wench's exquisite rack. I can still see Melanie's magnificent melons clearly in my mind's eye -- yet I can barely remember her face. (It's pathetic, I know. But I plead emotional immaturity. I'm now in my late thirties, and this episode occurred a whole twenty... months back.)
But back to those fond mammaries: The sad thing was that not only was I in love with them, Melanie was as well! Why? Because they got her a lot of attention --and not just from me. What began as obsession with her breasts became jealousy of them, because Melanie was more in love with them than with me. (Can't complain, I suppose. Initially I was more in love with them than with her!)
I walked out of her life after six weeks. And I wasn't the only one. Melanie has had many men, but none have hung around for very long. Those spectacular orbs have proved to be a blessing, and a curse.
And it's not just breast worship that can make you feel like a right boob. Place your sense of worth in the shape of your face and you're on an express ride to misery. Look at poor ol' Michael Jackson (if you dare). Tragically lonely, he just wants someone to love the real him. But that doesn't exist anymore!
Clearly, body modification (and the worship thereof) will only give pleasure as long as the body holds out. Gravity -- like rust -- never sleeps. Love endures. Lust does not.
Deep, eh?
