Problems I Wished For

The first real adult penis I saw belonged to a stranger on an Italian nudist beach my parents dragged me to at six or seven. I don’t remember the man’s face. I remember the sand, and that immediate, very specific grief—a gut-level knowledge that the universe had distributed its gifts unevenly, and I was standing on the wrong side of the ledger.

That feeling never entirely went away. There’s still a version of my life I occasionally imagine, one where I’m built like a threat, where the geometry of every sexual situation tilts in my favor before a single word is spoken. Irrational. Persistent. A quiet background hum of what-if that I’ve carried for twenty years.

Which is why discovering r/bigdickproblems was, to put it mildly, instructive. This is where the generously equipped gather to compare notes—and by notes I mean photographs, condom size recommendations, and entirely genuine suffering. These are men God apparently loved too much, and they are not having a good time.

User Turd Pussy writes that he nearly killed his girlfriend. Funkizeit69 sent a woman a nude and she refused to believe it was actually him—too implausible, as if he’d submitted falsified evidence. A Life of Lemons was detained at airport security because the body scanner flagged an unusual object in his pants. The object was a part of his body.

None of this is what I imagined when I stood on that beach at age seven. Maybe the fantasy was always more useful than the reality—something to blame the gap between who you are and who you thought you’d be on. Or maybe airport security really is that humiliating. Hard to say from here.