Page 4 of Icing on the Cake

I, Gerard Anthony Gunnarson, have a big penis.

I know, I know. It’s not exactly something you bring up in polite conversation. But when you’re constantly in the locker room with a bunch of other dudes, word gets around.

It started back in high school when puberty hit me like a freight train. One summer, I was a chubby little thing, and the next, I was towering over my teammates with a deep voice and a bulge that was impossible to ignore.

The first time my teammates at BSU caught a glimpse of my, shall we say, “impressive” equipment, jaws dropped, eyes widened, and a hush fell over the room.

Then, the ribbing began.

Everything from the classic, “Is that a hockey stick in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” to Drew hollering across the room, “Damn, G! Should we start calling you Ankle Spanker? Or how about King Dong?”

From that day forward, I suddenly became the go-to guy for all things penis-related. Need advice on how to impress a girl in bed? Ask Gerard. So what if he’s still a virgin?

Wondering if that bump on your junk is normal? Gerard’s your man.

It was like I had become the team’s unofficial dick doctor. And let me tell you, it’s not a title I ever aspired to have.

But the ribbing and the questions were just the tip of the iceberg—pun very much intended. The real challenge was the jealousy from some of my teammates.

I remember one particular incident in the showers after a grueling practice. I was minding my own business, lathering up my hair with shampoo, when I felt a presence behind me. I turned around to find one of the seniors glaring at my junk.

“Dude, seriously. How big does that thing get?”

I sighed, knowing this conversation was inevitable. “I don’t know, man. I’ve never measured it.”

The dude scoffed. “Bullshit. You expect me to believe you’ve never whipped out a ruler and checked?”

I shook my head, sending suds flying everywhere. “Nope. I’ve never seen the point.”

“The point is, you’re packing some serious heat down there. And inquiring minds want to know.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably around eight inches. Maybe eight and a half on a good day.”

His jaw nearly hit the floor. “Eight and a half? Jesus Christ, G. You could be in porn with a dick like that.”

I cringed at the thought. “Not my cup of tea, thank you very much.”

The dude walked off, muttering something under his breath about the unfairness of life and the distribution of penis sizes. I could only shake my head and chuckle.

Every season, it’s the same old song and dance. New guys join the team; they glimpse my package in the showers, and I’m suddenly the talk of the locker room again. “Did you meet the dude with the giant schlong?”

Over time, I’ve come to appreciate my penis’ fame, even if I still don’t fully understand the fascination.

Maybe it’s because we’re in a world where everything is so uncertain, and my penis is a constant. It’s always there, ready to impress and be a topic of conversation.

Or maybe it’s because in a sport where size matters—the size of your muscles, the size of your heart, the size of your determination—having a big dick is just another feather in your cap.

But what none of them realize is that having a big penis isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

For one thing, finding pants that fit is a nightmare. I can’t tell you how often I’ve split the crotch of my jeans sitting down too quickly. And don’t even get me started on underwear.

Boxers are the only thing that allows my buddy to breathe.Boxer briefs or tighty-whities? Forget it. I’d end up in the emergency room.

When it comes to jockstraps, you’d think that with all the advancements in sports technology, someone would’ve figured out how to make one that can accommodate a guy of my proportions.

But no. Every time I tried to squeeze into one, it was like stuffing a watermelon into a thimble.

I’ve had to resort to ordering custom XXXL jockstraps online. And let me tell you, the look I got from the equipment manager the first time I submitted my gear request was priceless. He did a double-take, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head as he read “XXXL” next to “jockstrap.”

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