Not if you understand that sex is so much more than penis/vagina intercourse.
Last night I watched a documentary on Netflix—a “cockumentary,” if you will—in which Patrick Moote asks the question “Does size matter?” You may remember Patrick as the dude who asked his girlfriend to marry him at a UCLA game via Jumbo-tron and she said no. Because, according to her, he had a small—ahem—member. How small? I don’t know, but urologist Dr. Jennifer Berman confirms it as “low normal.”
Unhung Hero follows Patrick as he talks to ex-girlfriends, experts, a couple whackjob sexologists; searches for a cure for his size issues; and eventually goes international to Korea and Papua New Guinea for a more permanent solution—including injections of oil directly into his penis and harvesting fat from his stomach and surgically implanting it.
Returning from his trip overseas, Patrick is visibly distraught. He “chickened out” of both procedures, and has more or less given up. He asks the question: Who would want me after all this? And to a certain degree, I get where he is coming from. In our porn-influenced culture, a big penis is synonymous with power, masculinity, sexiness, and desirability.
Think about it, before porn, how many penises did most people see in their lifetimes? Not many. Now, colleges can’t do studies to find out how porn affects brain development because they can’t find a control group! And in the documentary, one porn producer even pointed out that they need the well-hung because they’ve gotta get up in there to film. It’s not so easy to do that with your average, normal penetrator.
And anyway, one study has shown that women don’t always want a big penis. You get rammed in the ovaries a few times, and you kinda gotta rethink that whole situation.
But going back to Patrick’s question. Who would want Patrick after all this? Um, ME if I wasn’t married!
Throughout the course of this journey, we get glimpses into Patrick that are adorable, thoughtful, warm, funny, brilliantly smart, and damn sexy. At some point in the middle of it, after letting down his guard a bit and getting comfortable with this uncomfortable subject, he became the kind of guy you want to hang out with. To go drinking with. To chill with on a Friday night. Or, if you are in the market, to date, to fall in love with, to marry.
And as more than one woman pointed out, he has fingers, lips, and according to one particularly crazy foot fetishist pointed out—feet. (Shudder!)
Does size matter? Not if you understand that sex is so much more than penis/vagina intercourse. Not if you understand that making love is more than that singular act. And certainly not if you go into it with a sense of creativity, fun, and a willingness to be open to all the things bodies can do to pleasure each other.
Furthermore, to assume that it does is to assume that it is more important that the person it is attached to.
Does the size of my breasts matter? My thighs? What about my elbows?
Nope. I am more than the sum of my parts. Patrick is more than the sum of his parts.
And for the record, I have perfectly lovely elbows.
A native Texan, Leesa Freeman enjoys escaping the chill of New England, if only in her imagination, often setting her novels in the places she loved growing up. She lives in Connecticut where she is also an artist, a self-proclaimed music snob, and recovering Dr. Pepper addict. Visit her website to find out more about her debut novel, The Wisdom to Know the Difference, available on Amazon.