A Humorous Look at Blood Flow Issues
An article by Al Harrington
Most likely, you’ve all read the Internet joke about God giving Adam a penis and a brain and then saying, “The problem is that you don’t have enough blood to use both of them at the same time.”
All (straight) men know that once that thing between our legs starts growing, we’re not going to be able to think about anything except how to get it inside a woman. Men also know that if we try to use our brains for anything else at such a time, that thing down there will lose interest in whatever we’re doing.
Every man with whom I’ve spoken has admitted that at one time or another, the penis just won’t work. One told me, “Man, we were hot and heavy for fifteen minutes, when she suddenly got on her hands and knees and said something about needing ‘it’ right now. But when I got behind her ... nothing.”
As always, I write these articles somewhat tongue-in-cheek, and usually add something that shows what an idiot I am. So, I’ll carry on with that tradition and admit that, yes, it has happened to me – twice! The first time my penis stopped working is the cutest, so I’ll save that for last.
The second time occurred when I was dating my future first ex-wife, Raven. We were in bed one evening, kissing and stroking, and everything seemed to be good to go. However, when I rolled over on top of her, I suddenly had the proverbial limp dishrag. That was forty years ago and I can’t remember what I was thinking about that night. We were in Paris where I was a Marine security guard at the embassy, and I may have been worried about something that had happened or was supposed to happen in the near future – I don’t remember. What I do remember is lying beside her and having her stroking my chest saying, “That’s all right, baby, it happens to all men sooner or later.” (Yes, it took me all these years to wonder how often she had that happen to her before.)
I once wrote an article on racism and, in it, I mentioned that I have been with a varied selection of women: Algerian, French, Greek, Vietnamese, Japanese, Samoan, and almost one Mexican. The “almost one Mexican” is my second story of blood going to the brain and ignoring what was important at the time.
My last wife, Danielle, sometimes heard things incorrectly, got them stuck in her head as the truth, and would then throw them back at me later.
Just a few days after we moved in together, we were lying in bed and she started kissing her way down across my stomach and then stopped. Looking up at me she said, “Do you mind if I go down on you?”
I just chuckled and asked, “Why would I mind?”
She responded, “Because you said you don’t like it.”
Bewildered, I asked, “When did I ever say anything like that?”
“You know, when you told me about your first blowjob.”
Series One: 03, by Shunga (available at ObsessionArt.com)
What I had told her was merely that I had once had a bad experience with a blowjob. It certainly didn’t mean I didn’t like them. But, for some reason, she had it fixed in her mind, from then on, that I had said I didn’t like them.
The story I told her was this: It was the latter part of 1965 when a group of four Marines went to Tijuana for some fun. At that time, we were all too young to drink in the U.S., but cross the border and, as long as a person had enough money, he could buy pretty much whatever he wanted. And we had money.
It was payday and we had all of our pay in our pockets; something like $75. We went into a club where things were rather slow and sat down in a booth with a big circular table. Naturally, as soon as we sat down, four young Mexican girls came over and sat down with us so that we were all paired with one of them. First thing they said, of course, was, “You buy me drink?” Drinks were something like two bucks for us, four for the girls and I’m pretty sure they were only drinking tea, but we were there for fun, so why not?
At that time I was really clumsy around women and never knew what to talk about, so the girl with me took up the slack and rattled on about all kinds of stuff. Not the stud that I am now, at that point I had only had one woman and all we ever did was screw (and I think we only used two or three different positions), so I wasn’t all that worldly at the time. BUT ... I had watched the VD movies they showed in boot camp and was, frankly, not quite ready to use the services of a prostitute. When she asked me if I wanted a blowjob, I hesitated and then asked, “Where?” I was picturing walking out into the alley or going upstairs and having two or three guys jump out and beat me to a pulp.
“Here,” she said. She reached over, started stroking my leg, and slowly moved higher to my crotch. I looked around the table to see if anyone would notice. Nope, one of the other Marines was just talking to the girl he was with, but the other two girls had their heads below the table and I could see them bobbing up and down.
Well, I guessed it must be all right, so I asked how much, she said five bucks, and I paid her.
As she unzipped me and went to work, I was so scared about someone coming over to the table or seeing us or ... I don’t know, I was just really worried about it and my brain was using its full quota of blood. As a result, there was no response from me to her ministrations. She worked on me a full ten minutes before sitting up and saying, “Your peter no good.” Then she got up and walked off, leaving me to put things away.
So, that was my introduction to oral sex. Importantly, it also impressed upon me the fact that I shouldn’t think when I’m sexually involved with a woman.
My questions for my readers are: When a man has a hard-on, can he think about non-sexual things and keep it up? Ladies, have you ever had a man go “limp dick” on you right in the middle of what you thought was really hot? Were you able to revive him? Did you think less of him because of it? Did you think it was your fault?
Originally published February 2010
