Penis, Penis, Penis – Vagina, Vagina, Vagina

Banana’s taught me nothing of sex.

Sitting in a sterile classroom full of giggling boys, I daydreamed as I was shown how to sheath the curved, yellow fruit. I dreamt of the time I would find myself naked with a girl. Standing across of me, she would look down at my penis. Oh my god, my penis! My penis looks nothing like a banana. Am I a freak? Does every other boys wiener look like a banana? What if I have the most grotesque, deformed penis lounging over the worlds ugliest set of balls? Do other boys feel this way? Are they also thinking of the fruit basket in their pants? They have a golden shaft of potassium, and I’m stuck with a circumsized, fleshy mass of gooey parts that resemble the vegetation on the ocean floor. Sweet. Let the dry humping begin.

My Dad’s Playboys

Impossibly high up in the air, on the highest shelf, the farthest point in the garage before you reach heaven, sat the dusty box of Playboys. I was in our garage, head banging to Metallica, playing with gun powder (yeah, got in trouble for that), and unsuccessfully building a wall clock when I noticed the box. A non-descript box perfectly sized for a stack of magazines, photos, or old military equipment (product of a former Marine dad). I started the climb up the scaffolding-turned-shelving on my way to the mystery. With my right hand clenched tightly on the top shelf, I stretched my left up and over into the lidless box. My fingers felt around in the abyss for the magical contents of the cardboard chest. It was a magazine. With one issue clutched in my sweaty palm, I fell clumsily to the cold, cement floor. What did I have? What mystical artifact from the distant past had I ripped into my presence? Oh my god. Oh. My. God. There was a girl on the cover. No. Wait. There was noooooo girl on the cover. Just boobies. Just. Naked. Boobies.

A Head of Lettuce

When I was 13, a vagina looked like one thing to me. A head of lettuce. What were all these folds?! In my imagination (and from the little knowledge I had gained from various sex scenes I had seen in Hollywood movies), I had presumed that the vagina was a hole located appropriately in the belly button. It makes perfect sense! When people have sex in movies, the man flops around on top of the woman, his banana inserted into her belly button. Voila! Easy peasy, lemon squeezey.

So what was this reddish, peach colored pancake sandwich? Was this the vagina? Was this decoration? Maybe this elaborate, skin origami is simply a more flowery, fascinating equivalent of a man’s balls – providing the hole above some downstairs garnish. And maybe the vagina (‘The Hole’) was buried deeeep under all of that pubic hair. So much pubic hair! (My dad’s Playboys were of the 70’s variety, where every Georgia O’Keefe was curtained by a bushy, hipster beard.)

In the years that followed my banana panic and lettuce head discovery, I managed to draw some conclusions.

First, that I am not alone as a man without a banana in my pants.

Second, that the vagina is not located in the belly button.

And lastly, that balls are ugly.

I hope we can all agree on this.

 

 

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