A small penis

Hi, I'm Ant Smith and I have a small penis

Monday 17th March 2014

Shorty

 

I have a tiny cock

Like a crooked little finger

Everybody else's dick

Is inevitably bigger

If six inch as an average

Can truly be believed

Someone here in this room

Is twice the size of me

If you can do your algebra

Already you will know

Four inches is the maximum

My dick will ever go

For the engineers among you

I'll express my ratio

My little one inch wonder

Up to four times it can grow

 

My pubes are even longer

They make a comfy nest

With a little acorn sat

Upon the very crest

Rummage in my fly and

Wish that I were blessed

Searching frantically

I recover just the head

Get a little piss drip

Up on my finger tip

There's absolutely nothing there

For me to get a grip

If I sit to pee I must

Be wary of my jet

The angle of my dangle means

My trousers may get wet

 

He's got a little willy, a tiny baby dick
But at least he's got the balls, to admit to it!

Yes

He's got a little willy, a tiny baby dick
But at least he's got the balls, to admit to it!

 

I wank it with one finger

If you really want to know

And no I can't imagine

The feeling of deep throat

When I look down I can still

Clearly see my toes

But my little willy hides

Beneath my belly folds

Sometimes it is inverted

Even when it isn't cold

Like a little turtle

Inside of me it goes

Girls they like to tell me

It' such a cute surprise

Until I have to tell them I

Left the condom stuck inside

 

I'm hung like Mickey Mouse

I'm glad now to admit

For the greater pain exists

In propagating myths

According to the internet

Real men have massive dicks

And you are next to useless

If you're 'only' average

So if you're sat with five or six then

Feel the relief

You no longer have to hide it

In shame and misery

For I'm the living proof you've got

Way more than you need

For even with four inches

My, girl's in love with me

 

He's got a little willy, a tiny baby dick
But at least he's got the balls, to admit to it!

Yes

He's got a little willy, a tiny baby dick
But at least he's got the balls, to admit to it!

Whilst it is fortunately true in some respects that penis size doesn't matter, almost 50% of men suffer some degree of penis size anxiety - in this sense at least, it matters. There's plenty of re-assurance on offer, in terms of enlightened family or friends or survey statistics. But of course, most men with such concerns can't discuss them, and find reasons why the various assurances are invalid. No matter what is said, a man will always feed the anxiety. Assurances are hardly heard as he squirms in an embarrassment, only hoping the conversation will soon be over. Abstract facts simply wash off, because he REALLY DOES have a small penis. 99% of men with such anxiety have perfectly normal dicks. But when they hear this, every single one thinks 'I must be in the other 1%'. And it is in our nature to hold exceptional memories. It takes a hundred reassurances for one of them to stick, but only one perceived shortcoming to send you back to the start.

So by all accounts this city is packed with men worrying wrongly about their perfectly reasonable six inch dicks.

For some, it becomes debilitating. The psychological obsession is so strong that they develop all manner of inappropriate behaviours.Something in our culture keeps a lot of men destabilised in this way. Is that a surprise? Blame the porn industry, or whatever, but it is secrecy that always has the greatest power to create fear and subjugate people.

Of course, some well-endowed men are the opposite, flopping their meat out at any opportunity. Or taking jobs in porn which we know gives us a skewed visual history of dick size. The more the smaller guys with anxiety shy and hide away, the more skewed this view becomes. It's a vicious circle. It can only be broken by normalising our view of dicks - not by publishing abstract data, but rather by being prepared to be open, honest, and non-judgemental about dick size.

Of course it would be easy for a guy with a normal, or even a large dick, to say that.

But if a guy with just about 4 inches, at best, stands up and says 'compare with me', then the vast majority of men (98.8%) are going to feel all the better. As will the guy with 4 inches, since we'll have reduced the overall perception of common dick size.

So I came to the conclusion that rather than my anxiety being justified (which, even though I am small, it isn't) my anxiety was adding to the problem. I was making it easier to believe that cocks don't REALLY come this small - leaving all those guys with 5 and 6 inches weeping needlessly.

And reinforcing their vulnerability, only increases my own.

Not that I am debilitated by a body dysmorphic illness. But my anxiety over my dick size is a companion in my life that visits me at least daily. Whether having a wank, or a piss, or casually confronted by an obvious bulge on the tube, a voice would say 'you inadequate little bitch'. Certainly my obsessive personality had ample fuel to distract me from life and redirect my energies down self-destructive routes. As well as the lost energy, there's the danger that at some point, in some way, this inner destructive submissiveness would bring me ruin.

So I did what it is best to do with all half buried truths. I set it free.

But rather than simply boring the world with another AA style proclamation ("Hi, I'm Ant Smith and I have a small penis") I tried to turn the draining negative energy into a creative, positive outlet - with my Poem.

As soon as I finished it I knew I had crafted exactly what I wanted to say. But I was seriously uncertain if I could ever let it see the light of day. I've made passing remarks on cock size in other works, skirting round the issue. It was clear to me that this was a poem that had been writing itself for a long time. It felt like an important piece. And I thought about my other work. The keen embarrassment that I had put my wife through with lyrics such as 'Spunky'. I realised immediately that a selective truth is no truth at all. That if I was to maintain my credentials as an artist, I could not bury this piece.

Of course I thought about my wife. Would she be embarrassed by my performing this? What would she think people would think of her for marrying such a man. But our discussion together didn't even touch on that, because I believe she understands the 'necessity within me'. And it is pretty clear that she loves me and my dick. Not despite my dick. In fact, it is only because my dull brain has started realise her assurances are true that I've even arrived at this point. For a man who used to get undressed in the dark, I've come a long way. Being able to write and perform this poem is, at least partially, a testament to my wife's love. How can I keep hating my crappy little dick when she loves it so?

Finally, I thought how important IS this piece. I did a google search for 'small dick poem' - 48m results but they quickly descended into a mire of Small Penis Humiliation porn links. I read a dozen or so poems on the subject. Most were derogatory pieces written by women with their own reasons. The remainder, bar one, could most kindly be called erotica. Just one other piece was written in celebration of cock, but not necessarily of and by an underendowed guy. I'm sure there are plenty of other examples out there but from a quick search, I think an honest and truly funny piece about a small cocked guy is certainly called for.

So I think this piece is socially important, important to my integrity, important to my marriage, largely novel and above all TOO DAMN FUCKING FUNNY.

I've never before questioned a poem so deeply. I'm glad to realise I take my work so seriously. I am resolved to perform this piece. I'm fascinated now to know the effect it may have. There may even be another blog post in it...

About the piece

For once I admit, this poem is autobiographical. I rarely say that about my writing, because it's rarely strictly true. I mostly write about the abstract 'human condition'. Certainly tinted and coloured by the things I have seen and the people I have met but my poems are usually dressed up in imagined worlds and characters.

But a piece like this cannot work in the abstract. To achieve its aims the audience has to be certain that the poet is discussing exactly what he personally packs inside his own pants, so that the invited comparison is as real as it can be. This is why the last line of the poem changes to state 'a short dick man like me'.

It is also why the poem as a whole is autobiographical. All of the stated issues relate to true events. The reality of living with a small penis is crucial to creating the liberating attitude. Yeah, sometimes it's a struggle to pee and no way do condoms fit like a glove. I have to recognise those facts in order to say, 'So fuck?' And so fuck is what I mean. These are things that effect only me and my wife. For others they're funny drunken conversations. No more no less. What matters to me is that my little guy has found a loving home. Certainly more so than many of much greater stature. I'm not sure I yet totally believe that size doesn't matter, but with my wife by my side I'm happy to make that my next obsessive mantra.

Los Angeles Times

February 18, 2015

Poet who found fame with 'Shorty' to throw 'Big Small Penis Party'

By MICHAEL SCHAUB

It's not the size of the poem, it's how you use it.

Or so British poet Ant Smith might have you believe. After the writer's long ode to his not-so-long penis, "Shorty," became a big hit, he decided to use his poem to help other men in the same rowboat. UPI reports that Smith is throwing a "Big Small Penis Party" in London, which he hopes will "prove that life's just too SHORT to be hung up on the LITTLE things."

Smith's poem "Shorty," much of which is unprintable in The Times (it can be found in its graphic, not-safe-for-work entirety here), celebrates the virtues of men with petite endowments:

"So for anyone who feels small

Let me reassure you all ...

You no longer have to let it

Be the measure of the man ..."

Smith wrote about the poem last year in The Independent, confessing: "The first time I performed the poem was horrible for me. On the journey to the venue, I blushed and reddened just thinking about what was to come. On stage, I spat the words out like bullets to a stunned room."

The "Big Small Penis Party" will feature comedians, musicians and naked poets, Smith says. It's not just restricted to men with miniature endowments -- women are welcome provided they give a donation, and men will be admitted for a cover charge of "50p [about 77 cents] per claimed phallic inch."

A website for the soiree urges would-be party-goers: "If you BELIEVE Body Shaming is evil, If you BELIEVE all men (and women!) are born equal, If you BELIEVE in a damned good night out, come join us in this celebration." (Here's a link to the party website, which includes explicit drawings).

The Big Small Penis Party will be held on March 7 at The Rhythm Factory in London. Those curious about the event should be warned: The party's website notes that the event will be filmed for a documentary, and "will contain nudity."

In colonias brasilienses, vel sodomitas a Lusitanis missos in Brasiliam

Descende cœlo turbine flammeo

Armatus iras, Angele, vindices,

        Libidinum jam notus ultor

        Exitio Sodomæ impudicæ.

En rursus armis quod pereat tuis

Lustrum Gomorrhæ suscitat semulum

        Syrum propago, et exsecrandæ

        Spurcitiæ renovat palæstram.

Pars ista mundi, quam sibi propriam

Sedem dicavit mollis amœnitas

        Luxusque, sub fœdis colonis

        Servitium tolerat pudendum.

Abominandis arsit amoribus

Strigosus æstu, pauperie et fame,

        Glandis vorator, virulentum

        E raphanis redolens odorem.

Quem, rere, ponet nequitiæ modum

Frenis libido libera? et insolens

        Humanioris ferre victus

        Illecebras meliore cœlo?

O Christiani infamia nominis!

O fœda labes et nota temporum!

        O turpium turpisque causa, et

        Exitus, et pretium laborum!

Ignota rostris verrimus æquora,

Gentes quietas sollicitavimus

        Terrore belli, orbisque pacem

        Miscuimus misero tumultu.

Per ferrum et ignes et mare naufragum

Secreta rerum claustra refregimus,

        Ne deesset impuris cinædis

        Prostibulum Veneris nefandæ.

Gens illa nullos mitis in hospites,

Et ora victu assueta nefario,

        Portenta conspexit Cyclopum

        Sanguinea dape fœdiora.

Nunc Scylla sævos exsere nunc canes,

Nunc nunc Charybdis vórtice spumeo

        Convolve fluctus, et carinas

        Flagitiis gravidas resorbe.

Aut hisce tellus in patulos specus,

Ætherve flammis perde sequacibus

        Turpes colonos, Christianæ

        Dedecus opprobriumque terræ.

Contra as colônias brasileiras ou sodomitas 

Baixa do céu em rubro turbilhão 

Armado, ó Anjo, de ira vingadora, 

Punidor já conhecido da luxúria 

Na assolação da impúdica Sodoma. 

Eis que de novo (pereça ele sob tuas armas!) 

A linhagem dos Sírios ergue um alcouce 

Que Gomorra arremeda, 

E renova a academia da abominável sujeira. 

Essa parte do mundo, que a mole deleitação 

E luxúria destinaram como sua própria morada, 

Sob infames colonos suporta 

Vergonhosa servidão. 

Esmirrado co’ a canícula, a pobreza e a fome 

Abrasou‐se em amores abomináveis 

O comilão de glande, que fede ao peçonhento 

Bodum dos rábãos. 

Cuidas que porá algum freio ao desbragamento 

A sensualidade livre e solta? E nada afeita 

A sentir os amavios de uma vida mais civilizada 

Sob um céu melhor? 

Ó vergonha do nome cristão! 

Ó indigno labéu e mancha do nosso tempo! 

Ó infame causa das infâmias,  

Das canseiras prêmio e fruto infame! 

Co’ as proas singramos mares ignotos, 

Inquietamos tranquilos povos co’ o terror da guerra  

E com triste alvoroço 

Perturbamos a paz do mundo. 

Cruzando as águas procelosas, a ferro e fogo 

Quebrantamos os secretos ferrolhos da Natura, 

Para que aos impuros sodomitas não faltasse 

Um bordel de amor nefando. 

Aquele povo nada afável co’ os forasteiros 

E aquelas bocas costumadas a mantença abominável, 

Contemplou monstruosidades mais asquerosas 

Que os sanguinosos manjares dos Ciclopes. 

Agora, ó Cila, mostra agora os ferozes cães, 

Agora, Caríbdis, faz girar as vagas  

Em remoinhos de espuma, e traga as naus 

Pejadas de ignomínia. 

Ou abre‐te em largas fendas, ó terra, 

Ou, ó ar, reduz a cinza com incessantes chamas 

Os infames colonos, desdouro e opróbrio 

Da cristandade. 

Tradução do Prof. Doutor António Guimarães Pinto, da Universidade Federal do Amazonas, em "O Brasil do século XVI na poesia novilatina do escocês George Buchanan" na Revista Ágora. Estudos Clássicos em Debate 14 (2012) 243‐284 — ISSN: 0874‐5498, da Universidade de Aveiro.  

BRASILIA

George Buchanan (1506 - 1582)

Africa deseritur, miles mendicat egenus,

Vi sine tuta fugax oppida Maurus habet.

Accipit obscœnos Brasilia fusca colonos,

Quique prius pueros foderat, arva fodit,

Qui sua militibus tollit, dat rura cinædis,

Jure sub adverso nil bene Marte gerit.

                       Brasil 

Abandona‐se a África, o soldado na penúria pede esmola e 

sem esforço o poltrão Mouro se apossa dos castelos. 

O trigueiro Brasil recebe impudicos colonos, e quem antes 

encabara mocinhos, campos cava. 

Quem aos soldados tira as suas, terras dá aos fanchonos: 

contrariando o que é justo, não é bem sucedido na guerra. 

Tradução do Prof. Doutor António Guimarães Pinto, da Universidade Federal do Amazonas, em "O Brasil do século XVI na poesia novilatina do escocês George Buchanan" na Revista Ágora. Estudos Clássicos em Debate 14 (2012) 243‐284 — ISSN: 0874‐5498, da Universidade de Aveiro.  

Benjamin Franklin, Advice to a Young Man on the Choice of a Mistress (1745)

Benjamin Franklin, Advice to a Young Man on the Choice of a Mistress (1745)
 
June 25, 1745

My dear Friend,

I know of no Medicine fit to diminish the violent natural Inclinations you mention; and if I did, I think I should not communicate it to you. Marriage is the proper Remedy. It is the most natural State of Man, and therefore the State in which you are most likely to find solid Happiness. Your Reasons against entering into it at present, appear to me not well-founded. The circumstantial Advantages you have in View by postponing it, are not only uncertain, but they are small in comparison with that of the Thing itself, the being married and settled. It is the Man and Woman united that make the compleet human Being. Separate, she wants his Force of Body and Strength of Reason; he, her Softness, Sensibility and acute Discernment. Together they are more likely to succeed in the World. A single Man has not nearly the Value he would have in that State of Union. He is an incomplete Animal. He resembles the odd Half of a Pair of Scissors. If you get a prudent healthy Wife, your Industry in your Profession, with her good Economy, will be a Fortune sufficient.

But if you will not take this Counsel, and persist in thinking a Commerce with the Sex inevitable, then I repeat my former Advice, that in all your Amours you should prefer old Women to young ones. You call this a Paradox, and demand my Reasons. They are these:

i. Because as they have more Knowledge of the World and their Minds are better stor'd with Observations, their Conversation is more improving and more lastingly agreeable.

2. Because when Women cease to be handsome, they study to be good. To maintain their Influence over Men, they supply the Diminution of Beauty by an Augmentation of Utility. They learn to do a 1000 Services small and great, and are the most tender and useful of all Friends when you are sick. Thus they continue amiable. And hence there is hardly such a thing to be found as an old Woman who is not a good Woman.

3. Because there is no hazard of Children, which irregularly produc'd may be attended with much Inconvenience.

4. Because thro' more Experience, they are more prudent and discreet in conducting an Intrigue to prevent Suspicion. The Commerce with them is therefore safer with regard to your Reputation. And with regard to theirs, if the Affair should happen to be known, considerate People might be rather inclin'd to excuse an old Woman who would kindly take care of a young Man, form his Manners by her good Counsels, and prevent his ruining his Health and Fortune among mercenary Prostitutes.

5. Because in every Animal that walks upright, the Deficiency of the Fluids that fill the Muscles appears first in the highest Part: The Face first grows lank and wrinkled; then the Neck; then the Breast and Arms; the lower Parts continuing to the last as plump as ever: So that covering all above with a Basket, and regarding only what is below the Girdle, it is impossible of two Women to know an old from a young one. And as in the dark all Cats are grey, the Pleasure of corporal Enjoyment with an old Woman is at least equal, and frequently superior, every Knack being by Practice capable of Improvement.

6. Because the Sin is less. The debauching a Virgin may be her Ruin, and make her for Life unhappy.

7. Because the Compunction is less. The having made a young Girl miserable may give you frequent bitter Reflections; none of which can attend the making an old Woman happy.

8thly and Lastly They are so grateful!!


Thus much for my Paradox. But still I advise you to marry directly; being sincerely
 Your affectionate Friend.

Breve história da burguesia, de Hans-Magnus Enzensberger

Hans Magnus Enzensberger 

Kurze

Geschichte der Bourgeoisie 

Dies war der Augenblick, da wir,
ohne es zu bemerken, fünf Minuten lang
unermesslich reich waren, großzügig
und elektrisch gekühlt im Juli,
oder für den Fall, dass es November war,
loderte das eingeflogene finnische Holz
in den Renaissancekaminen. Komisch,
alles war da, flog sich ein,
gewissermaßen von selber. Elegant
waren wir, niemand konnte uns leiden.
Wir warfen um uns mit Solokonzerten,
Chips, Orchideen in Cellophan. Wolken,
die Ich sagten. Einmalig!

Überallhin Linienflüge. Selbst unsre Seufzer
gingen auf Scheckkarte. Wie die Rohrspatzen
schimpften wir durcheinander. Jedermann
hatte sein eigenes Unglück unter dem Sitz,
griffbereit. Eigentlich schade drum.
Es war so praktisch. Das Wasser
floss aus den Wasserhähnen wie nichts.
Wisst ihr noch? Einfach betäubt
von unsern winzigen Gefühlen,
aßen wir wenig. Hätten wir nur geahnt,
dass das alles vorbei sein würde
in fünf Minuten, das Roastbeef Wellington
hätte uns anders, ganz anders geschmeckt.

Short History of the Bourgeoisie

This was the moment when, for five minutes, 
without noticing it, 
we were immeasurably rich, generous 
and electric, cooled in July, 
or if it were November, 
wood flown in from Finland glowed 
in our Renaissance fireplaces. Funny, 
everything was there, was flying in, 
in a way, by itself. How elegant 
we were, no one could bear us.
We threw our money about on solo-concerts, 
chips, orchids in cellophane. Clouds 
wrote our names. Exquisite.

Scheduled flights in all directions. Even our sighs 
were on credit. Like fishwives 
we scolded each other. Everyone 
had his own misfortune under his seat, 
close at hand. That was a shame, really.
It was so practical. Water 
flowed from the taps like nothing on earth.
Do you remember? Overcome 
by our tiny emotions, 
we ate little. If we had only known 
that it would all be over 
in five minutes, the Beef Wellington 
would have tasted quite, quite different.

Hans Magnus Enzensberger 
Translated by Alasdair King (1990)

António de Gouveia (1510 ? - 1566)

DE ASELLO

Ad cenam sponsus ueterem inuitauit Asellum,
              Cui nullus toto corpore sanguis erat.
Hic grandem pro se natum delegat, opusque
              Quid factu et quali cum ratione docet.
Aulam ipsam quadam cum maiestate subintra:
              Saepe recusato membra repone loco.
Si comedant, saltent, cantent, haec onmia, Nate,
              Fac, ut honestatis non uideare rudis.
Cui Natus, futuant si forte, quid? id mihi manda.
              Atque istic subito, dixit Asellus, ero.

O ASNO

Um noivo convidou para o banquete um asno velho.
              Que já não tinha um pingo de vigor em todo o corpo.
Este envia em seu lugar um filho crescido, e ensina
              O que ele deve fazer e de que modo:
“Entra no palácio com certa majestade:
              Retira as patas dos lugares proibidos.
Caso eles comam, dancem, cantem, faz tudo isso, filho,
              Para não pareceres de comportamento grosseiro.”
O filho perguntou ao velho: “Caso eles fodam, que faço?” “Avisa-me disso

              E num instante”, disse o asno, “estarei lá”.

António de Gouveia

Tradução de Ricardo da Cunha Lima, na Tese de Doutoramento apresentada na Universidade de São Paulo, Agosto de 2007, A presença clássica na poesia neolatina do humanista português António de Gouveia, online aqui.

Arte Poética, de Horácio

EPISTOLARUM - Liber alter

 I

Agricolae prisci, fortes paruoque beati,
condita post frumenta leuantes tempore festo               
corpus et ipsum animum spe finis dura ferentem,
cum sociis operum pueris et coniuge fida
Tellurem porco, Siluanum lacte piabant,
floribus et uino Genium memorem breuis aeui.
Fescennina per hunc inuenta licentia morem               

uersibus alternis opprobria rustica fudit,
libertasque recurrentis accepta per annos
lusit amabiliter, donec iam saeuos apertam
in rabiem coepit uerti iocus et per honestas
ire domos impune minax. Doluere cruento               
dente lacessiti, fuit intactis quoque cura
condicione super communi; quin etiam lex
poenaque lata, malo quae nollet carmine quemquam
describi; uertere modum, formidine fustis
ad bene dicendum delectandumque redacti.               
Graecia capta ferum uictorem cepit et artes
intulit agresti Latio; sic horridus ille
defluxit numerus Saturnius, et graue uirus
munditiae pepulere; sed in longum tamen aeuum
manserunt hodieque manent uestigia ruris.               

 Serus enim Graecis admouit acumina chartis
et post Punica bella quietus quaerere coepit,
quid Sophocles et Thespis et Aeschylos utile ferrent.
Temptauit quoque rem si digne uertere posset,
et placuit sibi, natura sublimis et acer;           

nam spirat tragicum satis et feliciter audet,

sed turpem putat inscite metuitque lituram.

Os antigos lavradores, rijos e contentes com pouco, depois de armazenarem os cereais, nos dias de festa aliviavam o cansaço do corpo e mesmo o espírito que se aguentara na esperança de ver um fim a tanto esforço, e era então, com os companheiros de trabalho, com os filhos moços e esposa fiel, que à deusa Terra, um porco sacrificavam, ofereciam a Silvano, leite, e flores e vinho ao Génio que esta consciente da brevidade da vida. Por meio desta cerimónia é que foi inventada a licenciosa poesia Fescenina, que espalha, em versos alternados, sarcasmos rústicos, e essa liberdade que se repetia foi bem aceite durante anos, pois brincava com simpatia, até que, já aberta ao rancor, principiou a transformar-se com remoques cruéis e, ameaçadora, foi passear-se impunemente por famílias honestas. Feridos pelo seu dente sanguinário, queixaram-se os atingidos, e mesmo os que o não tinham sido também se sentiram tocados pela preocupação geral, e daí aparecerem uma lei e um castigo, que não permitia que alguém fosse molestado por versos maldosos. Mudaram os poetas de maneiras, com medo das pauladas, e tiveram de recuar, escrevendo bem e dando prazer. Conquistada a Grécia, conquistou esta o seu feroz vencedor e levou as artes para o grosseiro Lácio. Assim se escoou aquele horrível verso satúrnio (*) e a limpeza varreu a pesada infecção, mas por muito tempo ali ficaram e ainda hoje existem vestígios da rusticidade. Já tarde, depois das guerras com os Cartagineses é que começou a ter tempo e a ver já tranquilo, o que Sófocles, Téspis e Esquilo lhe podiam oferecer de útil. Também tentou ver se conseguia decentemente adaptá-los, o que lhe agradou, sendo, por natureza, de alta craveira e vigoroso. Tem de facto inspiração trágica e atreve-se com habilidade, mas sem jeito, e julga vergonhosa qualquer emenda e dela tem medo.

(*) É um metro primitivo de que se serviu Lívio Andronico para traduzir Homero, e que pode ser apreciado na citada obra de Warmington, vol. II, pp. 1-43.

De Horácio, Arte Poética, Introdução, tradução e comentário de R.M. Rosado Fernandes, 4.ª Edição revista e aumentada, Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, 2012, ISBN 978-972-31-1444-7