What pillock was it who said size doesn’t matter? Bollocks to that! It does to me.

This isn’t new news – not to me, it isn’t. I’ve never spent a single day without wishing I’d a bigger cock. At school I used my ruler regularly to reassure myself it was still growing, but bugger, it was a slow job. I can’t tell you how many rulers I chucked away in disgust.

One day, during Physics, David Whitehouse caught me measuring and insisted we do his. Fortunately mine edged slightly longer but his circumference was thicker. As virgins, we settled on a

draw.

The thing is, I’m the only one who’s moaning. It isn’t as if a string of females have complained over the years that my tackle isn’t up to much. No-one’s said a dickie-bird, in fact I’ve usually

had an indication that a return visit would not be out of the question. It’s only me who’s quantity conscious.

And it isn’t because I’ve got big hands. I suppose if you’ve got big hand and a small knob, well every wank must give you a distorted view of things, but both my hands and my knob are pretty regular, ‘made for each other’ as y’might say.

So why do I continue to give myself unnecessary heartache when I’ve got lots of genuine stuff to worry about? Believe me, I only wish I could settle for what I’ve got, but the subject came up quite unexpectedly last week, indirectly thank goodness, via an incident with a guy at the office.

On Friday afternoon I twisted my back, and prepared for a weekend of pain prior to seeing the doctor. Sensing my plight, this guy said he had some pain killers with him and gave them to me.

As he handed them to me I pretended to have second thoughts and said, ‘hang on a minute; do these pills have any side effects; I mean, when you took ‘em did your balls start to shrivel?’

‘Quite the reverse’, was his

rejoinder, ‘they started to swell up.’

Quick as a flash I said, ‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! I’ve been searching for these fuckers for years!’

And we both

laughed.

But afterwards I began to wonder at my instant response. I ask you, is my life going to be any different if my cock were double its present size? Will I feel compelled to up the number of visits to the gym, then take ages when I’m showering so the other guys can witness I’m a freak?

Okay, so I’m irrational. I guess I’ll just have to live with it.

Yesterday (the 19^th of November) was International Men’s Day.

I didn’t know such a day existed.

In fact, I only found out about it at quarter to midnight, and I wasn’t in the most manly of scenarios: alone in a bed that wasn’t mine wrapped in pink, silk sheets. I looked like a decadent, oversized chipolata. Quite phallic now I come to think of it.

I’m not sure what I think of this International Men’s Day (IMD) business. It seems that, as a guy committed to trying to help other guys, I should be aware of this date. But the thing is, along with my other WMD brothers, my head has been down getting things done.

In a sense it’s great that people are making a concerted effort to recognize the international nature of the difficulties of being a man today. But a bit of me isn’t sure I want to be involved in it.

… anyway, soon after midnight packed IMD off for another year, I fell into a deep sleep that only pink, silk sheets can muster (how, I worry, will I sleep on anything less?!). That night I had a dream, and the only thing that could have prompted it was my subconscious feeling about IMD.

In the dream I was sat with one of my fellow WMD brothers. We were stripped to the waist and barefoot. In his hand was a tattoo gun. He then proceeded to permanently brand a green line into the flesh of his torso. He then handed me the gun… but I didn’t have the balls to do it myself. So he took the gun and did it to me.

Now it’s clear enough to me that this represents some unrest within me about the disparity between how things used to be done

and how they are done today.

Take the Spartans, for instance. When it was time for a boy to come of age, he was taken by the men into the wilderness. After a series of savage lessons in club-wielding, his initiation ceremony began; whereupon he was expected to drink the blood of fallen heroes and withstand the pain of having his flesh scarred – to mark him out as a

man.

When his flesh had healed, he’d soon recognise that these marks were on the older guys, and that now he was one of them – a man because he was now recognised as one by other men.

Now, contrast that with the efforts to have an annual ‘International Men’s Day’ and you have to wonder what people hope it will achieve. According to their website it’s to ‘appreciate and celebrate’ men, whatever that means.

Is it just me or does that lack the depth and meaning required for a ‘Men’s Day’ – more of a grazing of the skin than a scarring of the flesh?

Personally, I’d take the tattoo gun.

I’m never lonely when I have a wank.

Quite often I’m fired with the need to relinquish my bodily fluids because of a sudden awareness of someone who, without realising it, has pressed my ‘Go’ buttons, so I let what seems natural to take its course.

I find the loneliest time of having sex isn’t when I’ve got my best mate in my hand but when my partner isn’t in the mood.

Then I’m suddenly pissed off with myself as I reckon I should have inspired her with the desire to couple before I began the action.

Of course from time to time I’m the one who’s not feeling too fired up. Usually I’ve been drawn in reluctantly, physically but not emotionally. In my mind I’m sort of ‘doing a service’, but my will power is the only thing that’s keeping my knob hard; there’s no lust, no passion; I’m primarily feeding my ego.

This lustless situation doesn’t happen very often as, after the first few times, I’ve learned to avoid it. I’m finding that increasingly, enthusiasm is a vital component of involving myself (in almost anything, actually) so if I’m not hot for the ultimate objective I tend to steer clear.

When it’s a situation that I’m alone, say away from home, and the itch in my nuts starts acting-up, I’m blessed with a terrific imagination. Sometimes I’m tossing myself off with such reckless abandon that I start laughing – at myself, of course.

‘You’re gonna do yourself an injury!’ I’m saying to myself whilst at the same time attempting to accommodate the lusts of some gorgeous damsel-in-distress who has newly entered

the hayloft and is squeezing herself onto my monstrous tool between the other ladies already worshipping there, all panting from exhaustion.

Now that I think about it, I’m not sure what gives way first; my cock or my imagination. I just know I feel vaguely thwarted whilst trying to work out how to clean myself up.

Let’s face it, fellas; such peace that we get from a handjob is very shortlived. In a rather weird way, I always feel my tackle has benefitted from the experience more than I have.

Invariably I’m reminded of the quote in the WMD Guide by the French essayist, Michel de Montaigne, when he complains of:

‘the disobedience of this member which thrusts itself forward so inopportunely when we do not want it to, and which so inopportunely let’s us down when we most need it’.

He wrote that almost five hundred years ago.

Clearly, some things never change.

Following our recent blog on ‘The Mother Problem’ it has been suggested that we should tackle ‘The Father Problem’ as a kind of sequel blog. Personally I think this rather misses the point – much like a complaint we received that the Guide only spends two pages on Mother, whereas it spends eight discussing Father (never mind that those two pages are in praise of Mother, while the other eight are slagging off Father).

A Man’s relationship with his Mother and Father are two completely different bonds, which is why the

Father Problem is completely different from the Mother Problem. As previously discussed on this blog, The Mother Problem largely comes from the son’s inability to ‘let go of mummy’s hand’. The Father Problem largely comes from Father.

During your third seven-year cycle, as you increasingly develop beliefs, opinions and ambitions of your own, Father can suddenly find himself feeling he has no purpose left in your Life. As a child you saw him as the font of all knowledge but now you increasingly seem to know more than him on certain areas which can be very disconcerting for him – particularly if he hasn’t the maturity to grasp that respect and authority don’t come automatically with Fatherhood but need to be earned.

When a Father is incapable of facing the facts that his son has grown in to a Man as his intellectual and physical equal, and that he is no longer the infallible Zeus of yesterday, then often the Father Problem becomes one of Power. If your Father refuses to relinquish his dominance over you (which was necessary as you were younger and still learning right from wrong) then, sad to say it, you may have to take some time away from him before you can move forward in your Quest to find the Hero within you.

Equally, if you are unable to control the growing Power that your maturity endows you with, you may soon find yourself head to head with your Father in an Oedipus-esque battle for dominance – much like the newly adult Lion who defeats the head of the Pride, taking the position of head of the family by force.

So the Father Problem is about the balance of Power.

If he exerts his through force, well he can only blame himself if he ends up with a fat lip when you reach eighteen and are of equal strength to him – after all, we learn from Daddy.

If he relinquishes Power as you mature, recognise this as his maturity and acceptance that his son is now a Man, not as an invitation to dominate the family.

Which I suppose means that the main difference between the Father Problem and the Mother Problem is that every guy must face the Mother Problem in order to become a Man, but not every guy has to face the Father Problem.

If you’re one of those lucky enough to have avoided the problem then congratulations, but it was nothing to do with you – it was all down to your Father’s maturity and his ability to grow

alongside you, as well as his guidance which got you to this point.

If you have faced the problem, it’s possible that your Father isn’t completely to blame. Just like he needs to remember that you are an individual, likewise you need to remember the same about him. He can’t solve all your problems like he once could and his opinions will differ from yours, but that’s fine

The sooner you realise this, the sooner you may find yourself with a great new mate.