Bioshock? Biocock!

OR: HOW LONG IS A PIECE OF STRING?

Shandyowl, in the process of measuring up

There is never a dull moment when you have a friend who is a sex-columnist. One evening, earlier this week, I had finished reading a New Scientist article reporting research findings that show tall people are generally regarded as being more attractive and, as a 6’ 2” man, was contemplating how best to drop this into conversation with women.

“Hi, I’m 6’ 2”. Did you know that tall people are considered attractive?” Or maybe: “I was reading recently that tall people are attractive. What? Well, I’m 6’ 2”, so I guess you could say that I am tall. I hadn’t really noticed before. That’s a nice top you’re wearing, by the way.”)

Then I thought maybe I should just try the old grab-the-ass-from-behind, “Oh! I’m sorry, I thought you were somebody else,” manoeuvre to break the ice when I had the sudden realisation that this sort of thinking is probably a great part of the reason why I remain so persistently single.

Rather than face the awful truth of my failings as a human being, I decided to pass the evening playing Bioshock. Perhaps I should pretend that I normally spend my evenings painting, sculpting, reading poetry and doing charity work, but by this point I am probably already beyond redemption in your eyes, so I may as well be honest. Okay, if I’m really going to be honest, I should say “pass the evening getting high and playing Bioshock.” Judge me if you will, but I can assure you that my self-condemnation is harsher than anything that you will ever muster.

Before I could commence such pleasant distractions, however, I noticed that I had fresh e-mail, one of which was a message from my sex-columnist friend. She was asking whether I had ever measured my penis and, if so, would I be so kind as to provide her with the relevant figures?

Now, any man who says that he has never measured his penis is a liar. Not only that, but he is most likely to be pleading ignorance on the subject because he suspects that he has a small cock. His measurements don’t measure up, so to speak. While I unashamedly admit that I knew the answer, I thought it best to perform a fresh set of measurements, largely because I had taken my previous measurement at least twenty years earlier and was mildly curious to learn whether time had wrought any changes.

image courtesy of AfraidToAsk.com

First of all, I verified that the correct way to measure is along the top of the shaft from the base to the tip of the glans. I was intrigued to learn that penis-measurement is not an exact science, and that self-measurement is particularly frowned upon because of men’s understandable tendency to flatter themselves in this area. It is also deemed desirable to take several sets of measurement over a period of time and then average them, in order to smooth out differences due to variation in temperature, degree of arousal, and so forth. Being on a deadline, I restricted myself to one set of measurements, as I felt this would suffice for a non-scientific project. The consensus of opinion indicates that average length is around the six-inch mark, but that the statistical distribution is such that the majority of men are below this length, so being average is arguably above-average in this case.
I felt that the most accurate method of measurement at such short notice was to use string, cut it at the appropriate points and then measure the pieces of string. Clearly this would yield more precise results than using an inch tape or ruler, particularly for measuring girth. This is possibly the origin of the phrase “how long is a piece of string?”—used to respond to a question where a quantitative answer is neither known nor readily found and you are implying that this is a stupid question and demonstrating your disdain for the questioner by, in effect, saying “measure my cock.”

In common with many tasks, the first step was to cause the penis to become fully engorged, and for this thanks must go to the limber young ladies competing in the Australian Open tennis tournament and their propensity for running around sweatily in short skirts while issuing a passionate flurry of rhythmic sex-grunts. Having achieved a satisfactory level of tumescence and carefully snipped pieces of string to represent length and girth (round the middle of the shaft and the widest point of the glans), all that remained was to measure the lengths of string. I will admit to a degree of trepidation, as none of the strings looked particularly long, but thankfully there were no unpleasant surprises. There was a temptation to round up to the nearest half-inch, but I decided that to cheat would defeat the whole purpose of the exercise and duly noted down the quarter-inch measurement. That said, I did have an internal debate regarding the elasticity of the string and whether there was a case to be made for stretching the pieces a little more tautly along the measuring tape. The main point of interest was that the circumference of my glans is only ¾ of an inch less than the length of my penis, conjuring a rather bizarre image of a squat mushroom as wide as it is high.

It was only after sending my measurements to her that I re-read my friend’s e-mail and noticed that nowhere did she state that she required this information for her column*. That was when I felt dirty and ashamed, as though I had been exploited for somebody else’s sordid gratification. Perhaps she is working on an erotic revision of Cinderella with a girl’s quest to find a penis that fits her like a foot in a glass slipper? And, of course, I’m not going to tell you what my actual measurements are. Does that make me a cock-tease?

* Editor’s Note: The information requested in the email Shandyowl mentions was, indeed, for use in his sex-columnist friend’s column, although none of the subjects are mentioned by name.