Back in the days when I thought I liked girls, I did a foolish thing. I had read a story about a guy who shaved-off all his pubic hair because it made his erect penis appear bigger than it was so I decided to do it, too.
I had a wild, tangled mess of unruly pubes and when my dick was soft I could barely see it; and when it was hard it didn't stick out much over the hair.
It was embarrassing when I was with a girl. Even though no one mocked or ridiculed me, I was acutely aware of their initial surprise at seeing (sometimes squinting at) my less than four-inch boner.
A typical response once they'd gotten over their visible disappointment was "Oh, what a cute little thing!" or "That sure is a lot of hair!" or the one I hated most "You know size doesn't matter, sweetie!"
All it took was some depilatory cream and a steady hand with a razor and voila - my three-and-three-quarter inch hard-on suddenly appeared much longer and thicker without any hair hiding it, at least it did to me.
I may have felt better about myself once a girl saw it for the first time, but like they say, 'you can put lipstick on a pig but it's still a pig'...
I became so paranoid about the size of my dick my self-confidence suddenly disappeared, and what little self-esteem I had became worse. I began avoiding girls altogether.
I hung out with a small group of friends from high school. A couple of the guys were going to the local college while three of us found full-time jobs. If they didn't have dates, we'd hang out on weekends. No matter what topic we may have been discussing, the conversation would always gravitate to 'pussy'.
They would brag about the women they'd scored with, and to keep up my end, I would lie about a gorgeous blonde at work, or a pretty brunette I knew who had big tits.
When we turned twenty-one we went to bars three-four nights a week with the goal of 'finding us some pussy'.
They'd have a drink or two to gather the courage to approach women. Most nights I found myself drinking alone as my friends went in pursuit of getting laid.
I discovered I had a high tolerance for liquor. I could have six-seven-eight drinks and still function well.
The ones who didn't find a girl, we'd end up drinking until midnight or one in the morning. I thought I was a lucky guy to be able to drink all I wanted and wake up the next morning feeling fine and able to always make it to work on time.
It didn't take long before a couple of the guys noticed I never tried to talk with the girls in the bar.
Again, I would lie and say something like "While you guys were off hustling somewhere - see that girl at the end of the bar - I thought we had a great conversation going then she just shut me down...I think she's a lesbian!"
Well, I couldn't keep that up much longer before they became suspicious so I began to actually make an effort to talk with at least one girl each night. I had to make sure a couple of the guys were watching when I approached a girl.
Most of the girls were polite enough to at least talk with me a few minutes. Now I'm not bragging but I have been told I'm a very cute guy by many girls. I am intelligent and have a good sense of humor. In fact, the girls in high school liked to be with me because I kept them laughing...especially after they saw my dick, hahaha...oh, never mind.
Whenever I spoke with a girl in the bar, most times I sensed their disappointment. I was sure they were there to meet some big stud, not a small guy like me. But it didn't matter to me because I wasn't actually trying to pick them up, no, I simply wanted my friends seeing me make an attempt with a girl.
That tactic worked for a while but after a couple months of not leaving with a girl the guys started saying things like "You're either the unluckiest guy in the world, or you don't like girls" or "Why are you so picky - that girl was obviously into you."
So I had to begin making excuses like "I thought I had her - I was sure she was going to leave with me" or "She was nice to me before this big guy came along and interrupted us" or "She's only here as a designated driver for her girlfriend" or "I dunno, I think she's crazy" or , my favorite, "What a waste of time - after ten minutes she tells me she's here with her boyfriend."
Sometimes I would disparage myself by making excuses like "She told me to take my needle-dick and get lost" or "She was nice until she told me to go piss up a rope" or the one I used most often, which was a complete lie "Ah man, I'm too drunk - I couldn't get it up now no matter how hard she tried."
To be honest, I could have left with several girls, but I simply couldn't bear the humiliation I would have felt once they saw or felt my tiny dick.
When a girl propositioned me I was forced to make an excuse to them like "My friend signaled me he's ready to leave and I'm driving" or "I'm afraid I've had too much to drink - if you know what I mean."
Whatever excuse I came up with I always asked them for their phone number and more times than not they would give it to me. I would show the guys her number as proof and tell them "She's nice - I'm going to call her tomorrow" which I never did.
A couple more months passed and I began to hear little snippets of talk from my friends behind my back.
"He's okay, he's just shy" and "It's hard for him to talk with women" and "No, he's not queer - he had a couple girlfriends in high school."
Another month went by and their talk turned cruel.
"Come to think of it, I haven't seen him with a girl in over two years" and "Just look at his small hands and feet; he acts effeminate, hell, he's too pretty NOT to be queer" and "I remember catching him checking me out in the showers at school after gym class" and then came the worst comment of all "It could be a good thing he's a faggot - whenever we strikeout here we can have him blow us in the car on the way home!"
After that I quit going to the bar with them. My excuse to them was my drinking had gotten out of control and I needed to stop...of course, all I did was get hammered at home instead of at the bar.
**
Their hurtful words haunted me so much I intentionally shut myself off from close human contact.
It was easy to do at work. I was a Junior Programmer/Analyst II alone in my cubicle all day. I simply immersed myself in the job.
The only problem during the day was at lunchtime. Most of my co-workers were older than me so I'd never made any real friends at work. But in the break room, instead of sitting with some of them like I'd been doing, I began eating alone.
Sometimes when I heard laughter from their table, I thought they were laughing at me. I would wolf down my lunch and return to work as fast as I could.
After work I'd stop for groceries and whatever else then stay home the rest of the night.
Every night was the same. After dinner I would quickly gulp down four-five drinks until my nerves calmed down. I would sit there and try to figure out why my so-called friends thought I was gay.
Just because I'm not having sex with women doesn't mean I want to have sex with men, does it?
And to prove it to myself, once I was feeling a nice and mellow buzz, I'd go to porn sites online and stare at photos of men and women together. I particularly got excited by women sucking cock and women bending over getting fucked from behind.
I turned into a chronic self-abuser. My penis was the only friend I had in the world who I could trust.
I jerked-off when I woke up each morning; then later in the shower; one time when I got home from work; and two or three times before I passed out at night.
Another month went by when suddenly one night I couldn't get a hard-on no matter how much I stared at the photos and played with my dick - I just couldn't make it stiff.
Sometimes I would go to bed nearly in tears thinking I had been betrayed by yet another close friend.
Fortunately, my prick worked fine in the morning. There is no better hang-over remedy than a couple of mind-clearing orgasms.
**
One morning when I arrived at work I saw a couple women crying, and men frowning, slowly shaking their heads. I walked by them to my cubicle and found the reason why on my desk. I read the form letter twice.
It stated our company was closing the local office. That employees had two options: either be laid-off and receive two-weeks severance pay, or transfer to the office located in the deep South.
My first reaction was one of dismay. I had joined the company three-years ago as an Entry Level Programmer/Analyst and had received two promotions since that time. I was finally making decent money, and I knew jobs were scarce for someone without a college degree. Could I find a comparable job here in my hometown?
