This column may contain strong language, sexual content, adult humor, and other themes that may not be suitable for minors. Parental guidance is strongly advised.
How’s this for a relationship red flag?
A newly engaged woman writes Dear Prudence with an unusual dilemma: her fiancé, she discovered somewhat inadvertently, did not want to have a son, only daughters, because he was worried that her “Asian genes” could cause the boy to have a “small package.”
Realizing her future husband and baby daddy of her children had such disdain for what he believed were the genetic shortcomings of her ethnicity made her angry, naturally. But how to confront him, she wonders.
(Which incidentally brings to mind another quality Asians are supposed to possess—their non-confrontational nature.)
Prudence, bless her, has no patience for the fiancé’s bullsh*t:
I can understand why you have no idea how to speak to him about it, because finding out your almost-husband is a racist who’s bizarrely fixated on the size of his hypothetical son’s d*ck has got to be jarring and shocking for you (not to mention the fact that he’s dumb enough to forward you an email about it). I imagine that, were you to bring this up to him, he will likely sputter and try to explain why you’re overreacting, or that what he said wasn’t that bad, or that he’s not “really like that.” He is really like that. That’s why he said it. Is there an answer he could give you that would make what he said seem reasonable, kind, loving, intelligent, or in any way acceptable? I certainly can’t think of one.
It’s safe to assume that the racist fiancé is white, and regards it as the race with the most desirable qualities, especially when it comes to things that matter most, such as d*ck size. Of his sons. Who have yet to be born.
And what would he do if, once married and expecting a child, the ultrasound reveals that his wife is carrying a boy? Would he ask her to terminate the pregnancy because of his ridiculously stupid fear that his son might be born with a certain defect? Not Down Syndrome, mind you, or spina bifida, or congenital heart disease, or any chromosomal abnormalities most expectant parents worry about. No, for this future father of the year, the worst thing his son could be born with is a d*ck of Asian proportions. Because, you know, the poor boy might be teased and bullied in school by other boys, shunned by girls who’ll be convinced he doesn’t have the goods to satisfy them. As his fiancée says to Prudence, her “brother was bullied by jocks using this idiotic stereotype in high school so I was incredibly angered.”
One wonders what would preoccupy this man most if his soon-to-be-wife were, say, black instead of Asian. Would he prefer to have sons now instead of daughters because she would pass on her “African genes” and they’d be born with impressive packages? Or would he find their superior size a threat to his own manhood, and even his race?
The history of white supremacy includes, among other atrocities, the demonization of the black d*ck and the minimization of the Asian d*ck. An insidious and pervasive yet largely effective form of controlling their own women, influencing and conditioning their choice of sexual partners so that the purity of whiteness would be preserved and propagated, not besmirched.
A piece in Next Shark discusses the white obsession with the penile endowments of people of color. The white dick is positioned as the most desirable, and therefore the best: “like a Goldilocks of d*cks, the White woman, with her blonde curls and naiveté, finds one cock ‘too big’, one dong ‘too small’, but one penis ‘just right’. The White woman, should she continue to buy into the stereotypes, is supposed to fear the Black Johnson and ridicule the Asian Wang before ultimately seeking her White knight of d*cks.”
So, as the myth goes, the black d*ck is reputed to be frighteningly legendary, and the Asian one pathetically underwhelming. But, GQ reports, a recent pioneering study undertaken by King’s College London and the National Health Service (NHS) called “Am I Normal?” collated the penis length and girth of 15,521 men in 20 worldwide projects where measurements were professionally made in order to definitely establish average penis size. There was no conclusive evidence found linking penis size to foot size or race. It established that the average length of the penis when erect was 5.16 inches (13.1 cm) and 3.61 inches (9.2 cm) when flaccid. Sure, some men may be growers and not showers, but the study also found that “the size of an erect penis often has no correlation with the size of a flaccid one. Comparisons are futile—unless tumescent.”
What could affect d*ck size, however, is weight and age: “It is believed that a higher BMI and age are weakly associated with a shorter erect penis.” And, I would imagine, drugs and alcohol.
A woman I know swears that as her husband grew older, lazier and more corpulent, his d*ck seemed to disappear, which made him increasingly unattractive, exacerbating the already fraught state of their marriage.
Another friend recalls a brief fling she had long ago with a notorious womanizer, and how shocked she was to discover that he came up short in that department. Perhaps that explained his relentless philandering, the need to overcompensate for his inadequacies. Of course having a sh*tload of money helped. Yet she still could not shake off her disappointment at how unimpressive his member was—and he was mestizo to boot—and wondered where the legend of his reputed prowess came from.
Fast forward to a decade later, she bumps into him again in London, still good-looking, still rich, still charming, and still notorious. One thing leads to another and they find themselves in a hotel room and she marvels this time at how impressive his package is and wonders if he’s had penile implants or surgery because she can’t quite wrap her head—or her hand—around the substantial difference in length and girth. She asks herself if she had been so drunk that first time that she imagined it was smaller than it really was. Then she realizes he had been pretty wasted that night, and is to a certain extent sober and drug-free, though clearly still naughty.
This time, however, she doesn’t feel shortchanged. But she decides to ignore his texts anyway.
B. Wiser is the author of Making Love in Spanish, a novel published earlier this year by Anvil Publishing and available in National Book Store and Powerbooks, as well as online. When not assuming her Sasha Fierce alter-ego, she takes on the role of serious journalist and media consultant.
For comments and questions, e-mail firstname.lastname@example.org.
Disclaimer: The views expressed here are solely those of the author in her private capacity and do not in any way represent the views of Preen.ph, or any other entity of the Inquirer Group of Companies.
Art by Lara Intong
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