Anatomically Speaking

An Erectiley Dysfunctional Penis Speaks Candidly to His Owner

Listen, I just can't do it. Not this time. Not tonight. Stop it, just stop it. Don't touch me. What do you mean "what's wrong with me?" You've got some nerve. I've given you everything I've got. I've been on call, day and night, whether we were at home, at work, on vacation, or even in the men's dressing room at Eddie Bauer (I still can't believe you put those pleated front khakis back on the rack.) For years, I've been like a rock for you. And now this is how you treat me? Like I'm a broken piece of equipment, something you ship off to tech support in India and forget all about? You make me sick. I said don't touch me! You're unbelievable. Well, I'm sorry, mister, but I just can't tonight. I simply cannot become erect for you.

Why is this happening, you ask? Why you? Well, let's think, Nancy Kerrigan. Maybe it's the fact that not ONCE have I ever told you no, or that I was tired, or that maybe I just wanted to veg out on the couch and watch an episode or two of “Top Chef.” Maybe it's the fact that you insist on wearing those damn Spanish cut briefs a size too small (which makes things muy caliente down here, FYI.). Maybe it's the fact that I'm not just some piece of meat, yet you insist on treating me like one. Oh, here we go with the lube again. That's just great. I feel like I've been swimming in a pool of jelly. Speaking of which, that time you went swimming in that pool of jelly? You know very well that I'm mildly allergic to artificial watermelon flavoring and you ... Just. Didn't. Care.

Oh, come on. I'm telling you, it's not gonna happen. Didn't I make this clear? Are you thinking with your brain? You are so selfish. You want to know what our problem is? Well, that's it. You are so selfish, it's suffocating. Even more suffocating than your underwear. You and I, we used to spend time together. A LOT of time together, if I remember correctly, it was literally hours upon hours of quality time together. There were days when you couldn't get enough of me! To be honest, it was a bit much, even for me. Your track record could alleviate a lot of thirteen year old boys’ fears about going blind or not needing to buy winter mittens. But I digress.

Ever since you left Barnes & Noble (where I was perfectly happy, by the way. Thanks for asking.) and took this job as a real estate copywriter, all that has changed. You're some big stud now, huh? Walking around in your fancy, unsoiled chinos, assembling your high class Ikea furniture, wearing a fedora. That's right, you tell her this has never happened before. Tell her how I've never once taken a job lying down! You've become unbearable, you know that? I almost lost it the other day when you told your precious locker room buddies that I'm "a grower, not a shower." You and I both know that's not true. I've NEVER been ashamed of who I am, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you make me start. Look at you, you're pathetic. You can barely even put together a full sentence. Did you ever think that throwing back five Long Island Iced Teas and one strawberry daiquiri might present a problem for us later on in the evening? You've got less foresight than I've got foresk -- well, you know, it was your Bris, after all.

What?! What did you just say? Did you just tell her that maybe you're just not attracted to her?! Oh, no you do not, mister! You've made me put up with a never-ending barrage of sub-par women these past few months. It's like you've been marching the entire Dove Real Women campaign through your bedroom. And now, you FINALLY manage to fool a somewhat attractive woman (I'd say a young Audrey Hepburn but with a darker complexion, wouldn't you? Lovely cheekbones.) into coming back to your place and you're going to treat her like this? Did you ever think about maybe just talking with her, see what she's interested in, what her goals are, why she insists on wearing that dreadful tube top? No, of course you didn't! Because you don't talk to anyone else. Not even your own anatomy.

Well, there you have it. There she goes. Happy now? Here we are, again, just you and me. All alone, the two of us. I said don't touch me! Are you ... oh my God, are you crying? Listen, I don't ... I didn't mean to hurt you, alright?! It's just that I've felt so awful lately, and maybe it's my own fault, maybe I'm just projecting, I don't know. Stop it, I said don't ... don't touch ... hmm... that feels ... nice … you promise? You promise it will be different this time? I mean it this time, I'm not just going to be here for you whenever you decide you want me. OK, fine, go put in the Designing Women tape ... oh, I don’t know, just one where Delta is extra sassy.