The grass being browner

[13788]

slass: Hi all.

My penis is 9 cm tumescent and just a little unmeasurable knob flaccid. (9 cm is about 3.5", for you Americans.) I'm 27 and I've only ever slept with one person, a female, in my life, when I was 24; she laughed and called it "cute." Two weeks into our relationship I found out she was also sleeping with her boss though. When I confronted her she called me pathetic and after having made me retrieve a CD I borrowed from her I never saw her again, or the CD she had borrowed from me.

In high school boys used to call me Knobby and I don't think it was because of my nose. I also, once, attempted cam-to-cam cybersex with a girl, when I was 21, but after the initial "lol" I went soft and couldn't get it up again.

Due to the wondrous psychological mechanism known as overcompensation I am very intelligent. Knowing a lot of words and higher mathematics can make people go "Oh..." but I've yet to meet someone go "Oh!"

Once, again, at the age of 23, after having imbibed a bottle of tequila by my lonesome, I attempted to castrate myself with a pair of scissors. It didn't work.

Naturally, I'm a masoschist, having a perverted death wish and all; that's the only reason why I peruse forums like this. I can't take charge, I can't make decisions, the only time I am not in a state of anxious panic is when I am unhappily depressed and numbed down with apathy.

I hope this helps. I feel very bad for all of you who are worried about your largeness.

 

[13788]

slass:

Originally posted by slass@Jan 9 2005, 09:35 AM
Once, again, at the age of 23, after having imbibed a bottle of tequila by my lonesome, I attempted to castrate myself with a pair of scissors. It didn't work.

I have received several inquiries about this elsewhere, where someone found and referred to it, so I will elaborate; and even though this particular forum might not be interested, I will do it here, in the thread, instead of there, outside of the thread, due to my dictatorial sense of order.

I was very drunk and the attempt was pathetically half-hearted. So, naturally, actual damange was minimal, and the pain sobered me up somewhat. I managed to dress myself and walk (stagger) the short distance to the medical clinic in my neighborhood. It was in the middle of the night and my pants were dark, so until I emerged inside, under excessive fluorescent lightning, I was just another drunk loser out there on the street. I was silent during the whole ordeal, did refer to my "accidental damage" at all--it was visible enough--and only held up my VISA to show my identity for the records. (I am very good at going long periods of time without speaking to people; I've had years of practice.) They also had a psychiatrist ask me some questions. I quoted Blixen to him on a piece of paper, about how only happy people should be allowed to procreate, but he shook his head, promptly told me he wasn't in the mood, nor did he have time, for games. But he handed me a prescription for some SSRIs before he left. I was grateful, because you can never have too many anti-depressants, but I was already taking something stronger. (Though I like the emotional apathy and reduced libido induced by the ones he gave me.) They let me go without protest. I made it home, got drunk again, and fell asleep while I was sitting in the shower, crying.

Incidentally, I remember my dream from that night very vividly: Anthony Burgess came to my apartment with a huge stack of books. He traded me the books in favor of a big meat cleaver I had, and then he removed my genitalia in one graceful swoop. It was a very peaceful dream, and I was very grateful. We spent the rest of the day reading the books he brought.

As for now: there is a slight scar at the base, on top, and a larger one at the base of my scrotum. There is no pain and it still works, but it is, of course, as useless, and, save for masturbation, as ornamental, as ever. (Excessive punctuation, that's another problem I have.)