“Penises,” I whisper to my preschool confidant. I’m just a wee McNasty, five years old, and absolutely enamored with our summer swim day changing times. Little bros run pantless through the classroom, screaming bloody murder as teachers scurry after them with trunks in hand (they really don’t get paid enough for that shit, y’all).
It was in that moment, half-perplexed and half-delighted by this awkward display of Donald Ducking, when my fervent dick envy blossomed. I wanted what they had — fucking freedom in a third limb.
For as long as I can remember, schlongs have held a very special place in my sexual awakening. Before my vag or hands had encountered a real one, I dreamt, fantasized, and masturbated about having a dick — big, small, erect, limp as a bucatini noodle — it didn’t matter. Nights as a lonely high schooler were filled with hour-long sessions of jacking off to my pretend peen followed by some pretty emo Myspace lamenting. Even now, most of the porn I watch consists of hunky gay dudes stroking one out in their poorly lit bathrooms. Girl on girl is super pretty (and usually better lit) but it just doesn’t get me going like a nice hard cock and release.
More revelations (and people) came during a threesome five years back. I found love in a vibrating dildo, an extension of power I had never truly experienced. A good guy friend tagged me in while he rehydrated. I took over and his lady rode me cowgirl style, squealing with glee as I pumped that pussy right.
It was my first time as “penetrator”– not “penetrate-ee” — and needless to say, it made this horse girl freaky freak pretty fucking pleased. There’s a certain elation that comes with driving someone’s pleasure, a power and domination I thought reserved solely for rich white dudes with douchey cars and cocky attitudes. But now, I had the cock, and I had the power. And I never wanted to let it go.
As young girls, we’re taught to be dainty, small, and polite. Don’t ruffle any feathers — they said. Be accommodating — they said. Don’t attract attention for the wrong reasons — they screamed. Young dudes are taught to swing their shit loud and proud. Don’t ask for permission, ask for forgiveness! MUSCLES! SPORTS! POLITICS! FUCK BITCHES, GET MONAY, AMIRITE?!
I understand not all traits of masculinity are toxic, but from an early age, society conditions us to believe that dicks rein supreme. That those with vaginas are weak and less than. It’s always irked me when people use the word pussy as an insult. Usually thrown around in proverbial locker rooms, sometimes jokingly and sometimes not, the term is a blatant attack and fear of pussy strength. Forget about Big Dick Energy, I want more Big Vulva Energy, y’all.
As I creep wearily to 30, I wonder if my propensity for dick envy stems from insecurity of self and body. I love my yoni dearly — it’s propelled thousands of orgasms, drips with positive sensuality, and makes me feel sexy as fuck. Hell, I even steam that shit with lavender from time to time because #selfcare, duh.
But is my playful kink and desire for wang a personal backlash against countless years of learned female behavior? Am I trying to hide my genitalia for fear of what it represents to domineering forces? Or can I just write my yearning off as sweet, throbbing fantasy? Will I ever truly be pleased with a gyrating silicon strap-on? Is there enough lube in the world? Does God exist? I digress.
At this point in time, I’ll continue my exploration into fake penis play. Power cums in many different forms, and I’d be silly not to indulge in perfectly normal sexcapades that make me happy and get me off. Shoot, if I’d been more open and honest with myself and other lovers over the course of my young adulthood, I could have penetrated my way to enlightenment a whole lot sooner.
And let’s be honest — those poorly lit wanking vids on YouPorn aren’t going to watch themselves.