The other day I was sauntering through the television display area of the Omaha outlet of the largest home furnishing store in North America; wall to ceiling, fifty five and sixty inch plus monitors were the norm and they formed a kaleidoscopic walk through tunnel. It seemed that each of the forty or so monitors making up the video walls were displaying the Rio Olympics. Rio 2016 had to be the most televised Olympics ever. The networks and digital platforms of NBC Universal presented 6,755 hours of programming. If the 6,755 hours ran on one channel, it would take 281 days to finish airing. I stood motionless and was absorbed by the walls.
And soon I was back, sitting with other excited spectators watching track and field at the Melbourne Cricket Ground; Melbourne, Australia, was host to the 1956 Olympic Games. I started to think of past Olympic athletes and their exploits.
Dawn Fraser: the controversial Australian Olympic freestyle champion swimmer; one of only three swimmers to have won the same event three times: in her case the women’s 100-meter freestyle.
Cathy Freeman: who won gold in the 400m in Sydney; her iconic silver, yellow and green bodysuit paying testament to Australia while her red, yellow and black sprinting shoes honored her Aboriginal heritage.
Eric Moussambani: a swimmer from Equatorial Guinea whose first time in an Olympic sized pool was Sydney 2000; he swam his heat of the 100 meter freestyle in 1:52.72: more than double that of his faster competitors.
The Jamaican Bobsled Team: competed for the first time in the 1988 Winter Olympic Games; representing a tropical country competing in a cold-weather sport: they lost control of their sled and crashed during one of their qualifiers.
Ethiopian Abebe Bikila: who won the Olympic marathon gold medal in 1960 without wearing shoes: running 26.2 miles barefoot.
Romanian Nadia Comăneci: at the 1976 Olympics became the first person to score a perfect 10 for a single routine in artistic gymnastics.
My attention was thrust back to the RIO Olympics video wall; Hiroki Ogita a Japanese pole vaulter had just been eliminated. His Olympic dream crushed by his own donger. He was trying to clear 5.30m in qualifying for the final when his donger aggressively grazed the bar and knocked it off its ledge. I stood mesmerized by the replays and started to wonder how big his package really was. It looked immense on the fifty five and sixty inch plus Samsungs and Sony digital walls.
I remember first being concerned about the size of my donger when I was probably about thirteen or fourteen. The testicles were never considered as part of the donger and had their own name; cods, or knackers. During adolescents, post adolescents, and even into adulthood, a variety of names were part of your genitalia thesaurus; member, the main vein, old fella, wife’s best friend, sausage, bed snake, one eyed trouser snake, percy, pork sword, steak bayonet, and the babies arm. And those names became critical components of everyday euphemisms; point percy at the porcelain, sink the sausage, and as dry as a dead dingo’s donger. As part of the right of passage into manhood we named our donger. A recent survey by Jacamo, a British men’s clothing retailer, revealed the ten most popular nicknames men currently use for their donger are; Troy, Hercules, The Rock, Russell the Muscle, closely followed by Wilfred, Dave, Jerry, Johnny, Randolph, Wendell, and Napoleon.
During summer I would spend the endless sun drenched days at Williamstown beach with Andrew Lambrainew. I remember migrating from knitted wool trunks to Speedo’s; to be later known in Australia as budgie smugglers. We would spend most of the time belly flopping on the sandy shallow shoreline, sand fighting, shoulder fighting, and swimming out chest height to have seaweed fights. As we got older we would wait for the girls to walk gingerly down the steps in front of the lifesaving club. And I think it would have been the summer I was thirteen that I started to think about what my donger looked like in wet Speedo’s. At low tide the water by the steps was shallow and we would modify our shoreline belly flops by swishing our arms forward to create a tidal wave; splashing water onto the girls. If they screamed we would thrash and splash about in the shallow water without never really standing up; so I never worried about my donger.
When we weren’t splashing we would duck dive and swim to the Racer to become part of the line up of pubescent boys sitting on the three plank wood benches on either side of the Racer; our sole purpose in life was to push the girls into the water as they ran the gauntlet trying to find some room on the benches. I think it was accepted by the girls that this was part of our emerging pubescent foreplay. Some would reach into the space between the planks that made up the bench we were siting on and their fingers would curl around a plank; they were impossible to push off. As you tried to push and wrestle them off the Racer their elbows and body would bend in; ending up eye level to your donger. And I remember worrying about the size of my donger. The donger always got smaller in cold water and climbing the wooden ladder to reach the lower ledge and benches of the Racer meant that the nylon Speedo’s would cling to the shrunken shriveled donger And you never had time to push your thumb into the front waistband of the Speedo’s and pull it out a fraction of an inch to break that suction that formed so the donger could get a little air to breathe. If only camouflage was a color back then: visual noise would have erased the lack of lumps and bumps.
It is important to me to get to the theater before the movie starts. I usually choose a seat about a third into an aisle, and halfway up the theater. I am always seated when the slides advertising local restaurants and plumbing services are still on the screen. The lights are usually dimmed for the coming soon trailers and most people seem to use this time too find their seats. After about the third coming soon trailer it usually begins; someone juggling a huge container of popcorn and soft drink start into the aisle. I sit staring at the screen watching them out of the corner of my eye; they move along the aisle facing the seats and soon they want to edge past me. And it’s back to the future; a pubescent boys sitting on the three plank wooden benches on either side of the Racer with a girl eye level to his donger. Only I’m eye level to some strangers donger as they sway, and juggle popcorn, and shuffle past trying to reach their chosen seat somewhere further down the aisle.
At Williamstown Tech we went swimming as part of summer physical education activities and on hot November and December afternoons. The beach was about a fifteen minute walk from the school. At one end of the beach was the Dressing Sheds; a wonderful art deco themed building. It’s still there but has been transformed into a restaurant. All the boys changed into their bathers in the Dressing Sheds. There were two changing areas; the paid area was where you could store your clothes in a locker and wash the sand and salt water off yourself under a cold shower. The free to change into your bathers space was an attached cement annex; the boys changing annex was on the beach side and the girls the opposite end of the Dressing Sheds. In the boys area bench seating ran along the four walls and surrounded the small central concrete floor. You picked out a space on the seating and changed into your bathers; packing your clothes into a small parcel inside of your towel, and putting it onto your bench space. Some of the third form boys would stroll proudly into and around the cement floor, flicking their towel at the bums facing the wall, waving and swirling their towels in the air; they were naked Roman centurions brandishing their towels and proudly advertising their dongers. I think I was in the first or second form, thirteen or fourteen years old, and I worried about the size of my donger.
I wonder it Micha Stuntz ever had to change into his bathers in a Dressing Shed. He said that his fascination with enlarging his donger developed twenty years ago when he received a penis pump as a present; trying it out secretly for himself at first but finding that when he went out pumped up he felt great. He has since had silicone injections into his donger to make it bigger permanently; 9 inches long and a 5.5 inches wide. His donger weighs about 9.5lb: The weight of a medium bowling ball or an average sized cat. In 2015 researches at Kings College London, after examining 15,000 men, determined that the average length of the at rest donger was 3.6 inches and the circumference was 3.7 inches. Micha claims that day-to-day life is as normal as it is for anyone else, except perhaps when it comes to buying trousers and underwear. Now I find that difficult to accept. Micha lives in Berlin. All great cities have great parks; and Berlin is no exception. Friedrichshain Park has been a summer retreat for Berliners for over 160 years. The park grounds are mainly used by would be barbeque wizards, sun-worshipers, trendy hipsters, and amateur and professional volleyball players; and trendies who just go there to lie down: To see and to be seen. It’s open to debate that Micha plays volleyball at Friedrichshain. And the Strandbad Grünau lays claim to be the most charming of Berlin’s many lovely lake beaches; with water deep enough for proper swimming and striped Strandkörbe, beach baskets, to rent instead of an boring old deckchair. There is also a secluded area for those so inclined to go nude. It’s hard to believe that Micha sunbathes in a beach basket.
And there has been a study, published in The Journal of Sexual Medicine, revealing what the perfect donger looks like. In the questionnaire 105 women of different age groups were asked how important they considered eight different features of a donger on a 5-point scale ranging from very unimportant to very important. The features were; donger length, girth, position and shape of the meatus (where urine leaves the body), shape of glans, appearance of the cods, shape of donger skin, appearance of pubic hair, and general cosmetic appearance. Overall cosmetic appearance was rated as the most essential factor, followed by the appearance of the pubic hair and skin around the donger area. And now I’m even more confused as to what a good looking donger should resemble.
All I know for sure is that Hiroki Ogita’s donger aggressively grazed the Olympic pole vault crossbar and knocked it off its ledge and he did not qualify for the finals.