John Thomas rule(d) my (early) life.

(Originally written in 2004, tweaked today)

For some reason this morning I am preoccupied by my John Thomas, third leg, or to be clinical about it, penis.

I am preoccupied by the fact at over 30 I still have very little control over it. In many ways I am (or should that be he is) like an adolesent. Unless you have your own you may find this hard to understand. It is indeed an appendage flying it's own flag of independance, and no matter what steps are taken will 'salute' that flag as and when (and wherever) it feels is appropriate.

You are never really given any solid advice on how to deal with this, and the triggers are inconsistant to say the least. At school during sex Ed we were forced to watch videos on this subject. And the girls where all invited.

The advice was in fact terrible, and only served to increase our already well developed insecurity in to a life long affliction. I remember clearly being told that we should during our teenage years "wear tight jeans or trousers to reduce the visibility of an involuntary errection" and "to distract ourselves by doing something else such as whistling". This did of course lead to playgrounds full of 14 yr olds in tight trousers whistling the latest chart hits. (And lots of giggling girls who had seen the same advice)

What they producers of this astute video obviously had not thought about is the actual appearance of a straining salute through tight jeans. It's just as obvious as the whistling. In fact loose trousers at least had the benefit of allowing you to put your hands in your pocket to grab the offending organ and try to control it. Slightly more practical and pleasurable then your tight jeans.

It is really no wonder that the Victorians used to cover up table legs least they arouse the passion within young men. Anything can, and occassionally still does, trigger this wonderful act. In fact it is amazing what can set of the skyward glance - any glimpse of previous cover flesh, your best friends mum, that slightly naughty novel owned by your parents, the slap you received from the fiesty girl of the class, dinner ladies, odd shaped salt pots...and on it goes.

... or it doesn't. Unfortunately, while for 99% of the time you can't stop it, this is always balanced by the 1 time it refuses to co-operate. Normally when it should be raring to stand upright and proud, it can be counted on to be having a bad day. Remember that first fumble? I am not sure what the ladies will have been thinking but I guarentee all the lads where willing their penis to become the largest, grandest and firmest it had ever been. Probably to the point they become paranoid it wouldn't work and that caused the sweat - not the heat of the moment.

There would have been that tense moment as she (gently / timidly / forcefully / aggressively)laid her hands upon it - the make or break moment. Stand or sink. Salute or stone. Her cool hands make contact and... you can bet the resultant cheer (Success) would be heard a mile away. As would the aggonising scream as your penis decides not to play.

And will probably stay this way for the rest of our lives. Just wait until the penis becomes Viagra immune. It will happpen - trust me.