There is a first time for everything, including being measured by a member of the opposite sex. I remember in my case it happened on a visit to our relatives house in the eighth grade where I found myself in their backyard pool with a female cousin a couple of years older than I, and two of her sexually precocious and exciting girlfriends. At that stage of my psychological development I couldn't have seduced a hooker in a Nevada brothel with $100 bills hanging out of my trousers, let alone girls around my own age. But even then I was a tall kid with a very long albeit skinny penis that flopped around like a slightly unwieldy garden hose. That weekend the adults left for some restaurant gathering leaving me hopelessly outnumbered 3 to 1 in the backyard with my slightly chunky cousin and her two more sleek classmates. I was having fun making their life miserable, strategically doing what were known as cannonballs in between their floating inner-tubes. After my third dive with the squeals and insults increasing proportionately, I climbed out of the pool with a light brownette and a blonde in hot pursuit. Around the fake Easter Island head, past the plastic Polynesian plants and Tiki torches they chased me until I found myself cornered near Uncle C****'s prized homebuilt South Pacific thatched hut backyard bar near the rear porch of the house. Suddenly they stopped running. They stared. They stared down. The soaked and wet material of my swim trunks clung against my body outlining my penis flopped diagonally to the right in the cotton fabric. In my haste that morning I neglected to bring a jock strap alnong with my swim trunks. These many years later I don't remember the exact verbal exchange except it was more of a taunt and a challenge to pull my swim trunks down-which I did more obediantly than eagerly. Note they did not reciprocate. My dick hung out in front of them; Icould almost feel invisible rays shooting from their eyes as they stared at it. Then something wonderful/awfull began to happen. It started to harden and stretch and take on a life of its own to a chorus of squeals. Damn I thought, girls squeal when they're pissed and they squeal when they're excited! By that time my cousin had waddled over to investigate. I do remember one exclaiming "gawd, lookee what HE'S got down there." My cousin was as embarrassed as she was amazed, this being relatively upscale 1980's suburbia and not the rural Appalachia of folklore. Nevertheless her insatiable female curiosity took precedence and when one of her girlfriends suggested "let's measure it" she dashed into the house and produced a ruler in about thirty seconds, remarkable for a person of her bulk running on wet concrete. For years afterward I could still mentally see them placing the wood ruler next to my penis without touching it, squealing yet again as they stared at my pinkish-reddened head poking somewhere just past (I recall) the 9 1/2" hash mark. Of course late at night, masturbating furiously in my teenage bedroom the mind always revises and re-scripts the situation My overweight clunky female cousin is nowhere to be found, it is just I, with the dashing, debonair seductive polish of a James Bond alone in the company of the comely blonde and sleek light brownette...slowly I lower my trunks to reveal my overwhelming organ to them... the twosome swoon, overcome with emotion and quickly slip off their skimpy bikinis... Man I gotta invent a time machine.