BBC

Jill Scott’s cites in her song “Womanifesto”: ‘Clearly I am not a fat ass/I am active brain’. I am clearly not just a big dick. I am also active brain with a personality, emotions and feelings that can be hurt by words and actions. Objectified for having a "Big Black Cock". Preconceived notions reinforced by gossip and hearsay does not represent all of us. Do not tar me with the same damaging brush. I am being packaged and sold; reduced to my sum of parts to satiate an appetite for my culture. My self-esteem is straining, in fact, it cracked under the surmounting pressure to be your favourite actor, singer or athlete. I cannot control how my genes influenced my phenotypic appearance. Contrast to belief, black people do not grow large dicks by default. I cannot be handsome on command. I cannot be an athlete on command. I am not one size fits all. I hate that I am black for convenience. For our music, for our food and for my appendage. Not for my intelligence or my genius. Not for my psychological strength that is being attacked at every turn, every action under surveillance, every statistic being recorded. Dr. Hernstien’s “The Bell Curve” is applied to us as the truth. In this world I’m made to feel inferior, to know my place as my appendage is to serve you, just like our music feeds rhythms, and our food fills bellies. I’ve already come to race short of all I need to just start, forget even trying to succeed. I must make something out of very little or absolutely nothing. I am forced to sell what I “have” to be equal to you. And even still, I’m a sub par citizen. Stop complaining right? Slavery is over, we know Black Lives Matter, you can vote. At least we are known for having big black cocks, rights? ThIs heavy expectation is damaging; it's purely superficial. It allows for no substance, whatsoever. Actors are allegedly being sexually assaulted due to an abuse of power. Big, black and muscular. How could one ever be assaulted? Probably due to fear of not being listened to or believed. Fear of reacting physically, places him as the aggressor. Sacred of losing his livelihood and his reputation permanently stained because money and elitism, equals power and control. It literally comes down to fight for flight. I don’t know how to be behave, I don’t who to be; it’s stopping me from free falling into people, because I don't understand what is being expected of me. No outlet seems appropriate to discuss this. Even with this blog, I’m nervous broaching this topic. What will everyone think of me? I cannot talk to anyone in fear of it being “gay”. I cannot be the only black male feeling tired of hearing the same old convention? There are zero references points to look at, none that I have found at least. No one in the community is willing to talk about these things openly. Everything is shrouded in mystery and masked by fragile masculinity. Men don't talk about it; but at the urinal and in the locker room, you are secretly sizing up.

It's damaging. I'm anxious all the time and I hate it's appearance because of how others will perceive it. It's disgusting the amount of weight I give to other's opinions; expressed or not. The mounting pressure of having to display something I don't even control. We are expected to behave aggressively, be the epitome of physical strength, carrying enormous penises to metaphorically and literally, support this ridiculous stereotype. It's something we place heavy importance on and let it define our being, our personality, our job prospects, potential partners, even down to the car we drive. It's something at times I have been extremely embarrassed about. Hiding away, believing no one will ever want me for who I am. I need to be Idris Elba or Anthony Joshua because this is standard set for me. I've come to the door and the price of admission isn't disclosed. Positive discrimination from your best friend's testimony, your favourite interracial porno or, things read on social media means, entry is given without question. The thought of having to interact with someone holding this preconceived notion is frightening. They are going to hate me once the second I don't meet their own expectations. I have pinned on other men, to be the only reason why they are successful, is only because of the size of their appendage. It is the only measure of success. I perseverated about it, holding me back from being in a relationship with someone I have a lot of feelings for. It alienated me from friendships because it became more than a fixation, it was the root of my self-depreciation. I refused to interact with my race because I felt they would judge me, that I would be ejected and told to hand back my 'black card'. Who's expectations are out of whack here? Mine of theirs? What if I don't satisfy the criteria to be black? Realising I am partially responsible placing myself under this much pressure. My close friends, best friends even, grew tired of hearing about it. It became my self-image, it defined me and every man I graced. I wanted to know how inferior I was, where I was on the pecking order. How much of a man was I? How masculine am I? It wasn't just inappropriate, it was an obsession. Anyone with a big penis is automatically attractive? Do I have a large one? The fascination about large members seems to define masculinity. I took an expectation, with no firm facts or foundation and amplified it.

I followed Tumblr pages, comparing men and their appendages to mine. Big, small, medium, thick, thin and average. I followed pages about about big, small, black and white penises, old men with thick stubby ones, twinks with massive ones, average joes. You name it, I followed it. My curiosity to see where I stood, looking at all these images, completely destroyed my already fragile self-esteem. None of them made me feel any better. I found no solace in the variation. I was jealous I didn't "look" like everyone else. I felt different and ostracised I didn't "see" anyone that resembles me. Namely, I "saw" no black guys like me. Even guys that were smaller than me, in my mind were bigger.

My mental image and self-perception had been warped heavily, mentally blocking out anything that could resemble me, because I decided I was inadequate. I was essentially saying anybody like me, black and similar to me in stats was unworthy and ill-equipped. It is an irrationality that perplexes not just me, but others I have spoken to about it and have experienced my penis. Even the passionate testimonials pleading with me that I'm more than enough still did not quell my insecurities. Large wasn't good enough, I wanted to be grotesquely huge. I wanted attention, even if it was the wrong attention. I wanted my penis's reputation to precede me. Just like the gossip through the grapevine about Jonny, Jim and Jones's big one, Aaron needed to be included in that list. I started to seek out what that attention looked like. I wanted to pay the assumed price of admission, not realising I don't have to.

I started to look at images of men undergoing penile modifications. The only way I was going to change my perception was to literally modify my penis. In particular, piercings. I have been intrigued by them for a long while. I even got one done, the hole closed up because I took it out. However, I would go back and get another one. When I had my Prince Albert, I looked like other men that had the same piercing. It was a sense of belonging. I looked similar to another man, I wasn't so different.

My curiosity got the better of me and the modifications got more serious. My quest for mods presented me with silicone injections. The result of such, is a morphed, grotesque, fascinatingly impractical, appendage. I follow one guy on Instagram and on Tumblr. He speaks about the impracticalities of injecting silicone, simply inject silicone into the body is dangerous enough. Health risks are associated such as infection. His appendage had been injected with so much silicone, the skin had become taut. Imagine a trampoline with no bounce in the membrane. The wrong clothing rubbing against him caused so much stimulation is was like pins and needles stabbing his penis. The skin would be so tight, if not handled delicately, it started to bleed! He wore spandex at the gym showing off his literal football sized bulge. He would get attention everywhere he went even if wearing normal clothes. He posts before and after pictures of his penile modifications (they are PG-13ish), and quite frankly, he looked better before the mods. That's easy for me to say, and easy of someone to say of me right now. However, I know needles and I aren't friends, nor are knives and surgery isn't an option. My quest continued. I discovered other extremes like: men cutting their testicles off, or performing mutilations to their penis. One called, Penile Sub-incision. It is essentially a Urethrotomy; the underside of the penis is cut and the urethra spilt open! This was too extreme. I didn't want this, nor did I understand why other's would.

Along with my feet, my penis was something I absolutely hated. It was a profound hate. I didn't like looking at it, I hated the way it looked, the size of it, the thickness, everything. Given the chance I would have traded it for anything else. My view of it is dysmorphic. I've been on apps like Grindr, Scruff and Tinder. Scrolling through the profiles, some of the men will happily describe their endowment. Some, maybe even most will exaggerate for attention. Here is the competition, the weighting expectation. "Hung" is often littered throughout the profile list. What does this really mean? Above 7, 8 or 9inches? 'Hung' is a multi-layered description. On the surface universally it means large, but the individual spouting this want may have a whole different supposition. If not, men and women are on the constant look out for a big penis. In addition to stating a big penis is their desire, the expectation that black men will already have this, is often cited as: BBC (Big Black Cock). Over countless conversations with guys and women on these apps they request pictures of your modesty and expect nothing less than 10 inches. That's 25.4cm! The conversation goes as follows: I see a nice guy/girl I say, "hey, I'm Aaron. How's your day?". The reply is: "Good." "Hung?" "Pics?" "What are you into?" "Meet now?". If you don't measure up, send nude pictures on command, be available upon request and a dominant masculine top, destroyer of orifices, you are blocked before you can say hello. Everything about you rests on your penis. It's relentless. To get by, you sacrifice what you want to make others happy. Playing the predetermined roles just to be in the game, otherwise you are left on the sidelines. The inadequacy is easily attached as social media purports a version of human sexuality and aesthetics far outside the bell curve, only for it to be reinforced by those that buy into it. Me included. Self-worth becomes meaningless. Anxiety becomes your standard response to all events, especially in situations where you have to be naked.

Changing room and urinals without a privacy guard are an absolute nightmare for me. I have a shy bladder. If I use a urinal without a privacy guard and no one else is there, I can urinate until my heart is content. The second someone uses one, whether it's next to me or not, the stream literally stops dead like I have an enlarged prostate. I gym to keep fit. It was all about getting stacked at one point. Now, I just want to be able to run up the stairs without dying. The bit I dread most about my workout is showering. Especially if the showers are open plan. Other men, naked, showering? Me, naked, showering? Completely exposed? I would rather watch intestinal surgery. When confronted with open locker and shower rooms, I get changed at lighting speed, shower in lightning speed and out the door. I don't want to hang around. I have been in situations where guys use that forum just to showboat. Walking around naked, swinging it around creating and placing themselves at the top of the hierarchy. This behaviour solidifies the social construct that a big penis means you are the example of masculinity.

The journey that I am taking to be at one with myself is difficult and nowhere near complete. It will never be over. My opinion of myself will set the tone of ALL of my relationships. If I want meaningful, loving, honest and trusting relationships, loving myself for qualities and flaws are of paramount importance to overcome. I must learn to adapt to my changing body as I grow older. This adaptation carries over to my self-esteem and language I use to describe myself. My retort to a compliment: "Thanks, but I look like a foot" is not acceptable. Compliments I hear from people appreciating my appearance, should be welcomed. We don't hear enough genuine compliments as we are too busy being told how to look, based on damaging rhetoric. I should admire people being open about what they think of me. Instead, I dismiss opinions voiding them of all meaning. This is potentially confusing and damaging for others. I do it, without even thinking; that's how much of a habit it's become. Potentially instilling doubt on what others consider to be beautiful. It's not about just accepting what others think of me. I need to be right for me. For my wellbeing. It's this, that will allow me to accept someone into my life that sees my brilliance and I allow them to elevate it. It will allow me to be kind to me, appreciate who and what is around me and evaluate what is important to fight and what is not. Compassion for oneself is the key to a content heart. A content heart allows growth, one of discontent will rot the body and soul.