The Perils Of Having A Micropenis

“It’ll grow one day.” That’s what I told myself throughout my childhood and teenage years when I reflected upon my very small manhood.For a long time, having a small dick didn’t bother me. In elementary school, I just assumed all guys my age were equally tiny. I was also much too busy enduring obesity, mental illness and a turbulent home life to worry about anything else. So I shrugged it off. “It’ll grow one day.”Then came high school. I had discovered porn and witnessed many of my male classmates let it all hang out in changing rooms. It dawned on me that I was uniquely small down there compared to others. I wasn’t thrilled about it, and I certainly never partook in changing room showboating, but I was still confident that eventually my little friend would catch up to his peers. “It’ll grow one day.”But that day never came. I was in my 20s when the horrible truth finally hit me. There’s no more growing for me. I’m…complete. A grown man with a two-inch penis that barely even gets hard.

I figured that since sex was off the table for me, I should go all in and deny myself any sexual gratification at all.

My Micropenis Wasn't an Issue Until University

When I got to university, I was immersed in a sexualized environment full of lovely ladies. Glances and smiles were coming my way like they never had before. That was when my micropenis started to bother me. I became acutely aware of what I was missing. The knowledge that my minuscule fella couldn’t rise to the occasion precluded me from pursuing anything remotely romantic. During my time at university, I’d started to read a lot about celibacy, about great celibate men—like Isaac Newton and Leonardo da Vinci—who preserved every drop of life force and achieved amazing things. I was also reading a ton about brahmacharya, which is a concept, rooted in Hinduism, that generally means to live a life of self-control and sexual abstinence. I figured that since sex was off the table for me, I should go all in and deny myself any sexual gratification at all. I began to embrace hardcore celibacy: no masturbation, pushing away any sexual thoughts that entered my mind and punishing myself for any impure thoughts or accidental emissions. It’s a trap that many sexless young men fall into, I’m sorry to say. We’re so sore about our lack of sex that we choose to renounce the whole thing and join a cause which we feel will elevate us above the poor mortals obsessed with bodily pleasure. For me, this phase lasted for about two years. To say that I morphed into a twisted madman during this period would be a massive understatement. The level of frustration that comes with depriving oneself of lustful thoughts and actions is unbelievable. It wasn’t long before the mere sight of an amorous couple or a sexual reference would drive me into an intense rage. I had a salacious novel in my book collection that I threw into a nearby river so I wouldn’t be tempted to read it and be titillated. There were many times when my frustration exploded in the form of inappropriate comments directed at women. I deeply regret those. Bizarre and obsessive rituals emerged. I needed to rectify accidental emissions by dousing myself in cold water, eating fruit, doing meditation and exercising. If not, I would be punished by higher forces and my creative powers would be damaged. There was one instance when I hit myself with a belt as punishment for watching R-rated videos—a transgression against my celibacy, as I saw it.My negative behavior, mostly fueled by that sexual repression and frustration, eventually bought me a direct ticket to rock bottom. I lost my job and many friends. I fell into a paralyzing depression that lasted a long time. But I did eventually start receiving professional help, and from there, I began to rebuild my life.It was then that I recommenced, well, doing the deed with myself every day. I realize now that a guy simply must release his sexual energy. The body wants him to, and things can go very wrong if he refrains. And if that guy is unable to do so through consensual intercourse with another person, the only option is to, as Alan Harper in Two and a Half Men said, “yank it like a monkey in a mango tree.” Vulgar but true.

I Was a Micropenised Romantic

It's like there are two parts of myself constantly at war: the hormonal male who craves physical intimacy and the gloomy realist who knows I'm not equipped for it and shouldn't even try. Sometimes, the former wins. I have dated quite a lot and have been on all the apps. I enjoy flirting with women, connecting with them, making out, as well as touching and exploring their bodies. I have been in bed with a girl on five separate occasions. (Five different girls, high five!) But kissing and touching is as far as I’ve gone. I’ve never done the deed and would just invent flimsy excuses as to why my pants needed to stay on. (I’ve used “erectile dysfunction” a couple of times and “crotch injury” once.) I just couldn’t admit to having a micropenis. Why? For one thing, I couldn’t bear to hear their laughs or expressions of disappointment (or both). I also didn’t know or trust any of them completely and was petrified that they would tell others about my situation. I walked away from each encounter feeling empty and unfulfilled. I also feel awful for the girls who were kind enough to invite me into their beds. I’d lied to them and left them unfulfilled too. For me, the hardest part of micropenisism is accepting the fact that I will never be able to have normal and uncomplicated sex with whomever I want. I need to find someone who’s OK with it. We’ll need to do special positions or techniques designed to suit someone like me. And I will probably always compare unfavorably to guys she’s had before. To the men out there who have functional and decent-sized wangs, cherish them.

The hardest part of micropenisism is accepting the fact that I will never be able to have normal and uncomplicated sex.

I've Come to Terms With My Manhood

When my optimistic wish of “it’ll grow one day” died, a new one took its place: “I can get surgery to make it big!” Surely that was possible, I thought. Why else would there be so many emails and pop-ups about it?A couple of years ago, I trekked to a sexual health clinic and asked about penis enlargement. I was supremely confident that this would be the end of my micropenis woes. I mean, medicine has cured diseases and made artificial hearts. Surely they can give me a bigger dong! But I was crushed to learn that the only procedure available was very expensive and painful and would only actually increase my size by less than an inch. The movies had lied to me! As of today, I have no optimistic delusions. No “it’ll grow one day” or “I can get surgery to make it big.” I accept that I’m a man with a micropenis and no hope of ever dropping the “micro.”There are times when I’m not OK with it. I do feel a constant underlying depression that I'm not experiencing one of life's great pleasures. I feel an unpleasant pang just about every time I see a couple holding hands or anything that alludes to sex or true love. But I’m very thankful that I do have creative outlets, hobbies and multiple jobs that I can throw myself into. They are all-encompassing when I’m in the thick of them. When I’m occupied this way, I have no capacity to lament my lack of sex. I’m quietly optimistic that I can live a pleasurable and fulfilling life and just maybe I will find that special person. Someone who I’m able to share my shortcomings with and who won’t mind them at all. If there are any interested ladies reading this, here is my promise: I will never, ever send you a dick pic!