While engaging with the world however my word was not easily kept. For the time always arrived when I had to drop my drawers or pull down my zipper. And no matter the reason, I knew shame. Be it a doctor holding my testicles and telling me to cough. Or the sudden freeze and dribble at public urinals when regardless of my bladder's insistence the close proximity of another's arrival turned off my water works. And worst of all as I was soon to learn was the shame inherent in my sexual awakening.
Her name was Kelly and we were both fifteen when she took me by the hand one chilly night and led me through the woods to an improvised bed, a pile of fragrant autumn leaves. Up until then I knew barely more than spin the bottle kisses. A parking-lot was nearby and its humming lights illuminated us with a flat white glare. She was by kiss-and-tell accounts an easy lay and I knew she was initiating me into the world of coupling at the behest of my best friend Peter. Soon enough Kelly and I were reclining in the gathered leaves, exchanging tongues and groping. I fumbled at her buttons and the clasps of her bra and suddenly before me she lay half naked. But I was not erect. So when she reached for my belt buckle I stilled her hand. "What's wrong?" she asked. But I could not speak and felt my cheeks flush red. There was no way out. I gave up. There is no other way to describe it. I was utterly defeated and let go of her hand. As she reached into my under-ware I was worlds away. And I replied near tears with a wordless mumble when she asked me once again what's the matter.
In the ensuing couple of years I knew no moments amorous. Although I longed after several cute classmates I did not pursue or make plain my affections. For the memory of my limp floundering with Kelly kept me mute.
Then as a Senior in high school I met Linda while drinking under age at a local lounge named the Dial Tone. I was in my liquor lubricated self charming enough to win her phone number. My subsequent call to her elicited laughter and acquiescence when I answered "go to a motel" to her question, "What shall we do on our first date?" The following Saturday off we went. As Linda undressed in the motel bathroom I turned off the lights, stripped down to my under-shorts, and got into bed. My breathing was shallow and I was both excited and tense with dread. I need not have been. For Linda turned out to be a tender and tutoring lover. She removed my under-shorts and did not recoil at my size or semi arousal. She treated me gently with head to toe kisses and I surrendered my virginity to her in the missionary position in several minutes time.
I learned through Linda and subsequent lovers that though at the lower end of the spectrum I was while erect of average size. But the knowledge did not appease me. I was as a boy blue in the face over a lollypop I could not have. I fumed in want of a bigger dick. And shame ruled me.
Three decades on in a bid to finally rid myself of my oppressive feelings surrounding size I went to a nudist retreat. I walked naked among my familiars with myriad body shapes and sizes and I saw penises relative in size to mine. And then one night as I luxuriated in the camp ground hot-tub I was joined by a woman who had undergone a mastectomy. And as I gazed upon that serene woman with one breast and witnessed her self acceptance I found myself and my shame suddenly foolish. She was in those moments my teacher. I knew then what it was to embrace one's own humanity. And in the many days that have followed I have thought of her whenever I've found myself once more nearing that vestige of size shame.
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