Chapter Fourteen

Ego Penis

A man’s ego centers on his thoughts about his penis, thus the phrase “Ego Penis.” From the time boys begin to talk about their penises till the day they die, the penis remains one of the most important topics. It arises everywhere—street youth banter and hideout discussions, high school locker rooms, male bonding sessions, conference-room jokes, etc. From an early age, we learn the nonsense that size matters, which we casually dismiss with phrases like “It’s not the boat but the motion” to ease our feelings of perceived genital inadequacy.

When our penis works perfectly, we’re at peace with our sexuality and can deal with all of life’s other complications. Issues of size, frequency, or too-quick ejaculation don’t plague us. When our penis doesn’t work to our liking, we’re distracted at work and in love. Penile insecurities invade our mind’s well-being. A simple conversation that includes the penis issue often elicits dark thoughts about our performance or lack of it, so we’re distracted from happiness until we can let go of our Ego Penis and think about other things instead.

As a long-time married man I knew from experience that penis function ebbs and flows over time. There are times when we feel like Hercules and times when we feel like Elmer Fudd. Women too have their sexual insecurities. Over time, the ebbs and flows of marriage and intimate companionship impact sexual desire and performance for both spouses. We learn to assist, compliment, fix, and be patient with each other’s mismatched—or absent—sexuality. Marital friction, cheating, and divorce may occur when one partner lacks humility or an understanding of the other’s sexual needs.

Caregivers like me face special challenges. The length of a loved one’s illness erodes a caregiver’s Ego Penis and positive mental outlook. When a spouse is gravely ill there is simply no intimacy or even the thought of intimacy. In time a male caregiver’s ability to perform erodes to the point where he can’t get an erection while masturbating or even with a drug like Viagra. His sexuality is locked in a box, only to emerge when his spouse gets better or dies. His ego is in turmoil because he’s no longer the man he once was, and doesn’t know if he ever will be again. It is a putrid, self-deprecating feeling when he masturbates to a photo of a beautiful woman, only to give up and then switch to a violent movie to satisfy the other ego.

At this point, he wonders if another woman would change the course of events. Contemplation of cheating enters into a life once committed to monogamy. As the caregiver’s sexuality is eventually destroyed, the primeval sexual instinct tears at his moral compass. This experience may differ from that of a person who’s in the military or working far from home. That person can go home to a healthy spouse; the caregiver doesn’t know if his beloved’s health will ever return.

I remember two occasions when I felt tempted to cheat while Hope was in the hospital. I hadn’t had intercourse for many months. My only sexual pleasure was masturbation when my penis permitted. In the hospital, I had met two women who were in similar predicaments. They too were long-term caregivers to stage IV cancer patients. We spent many weeks together as our spouses tried to hang on to life. Both women’s husbands eventually died of cancer during their hospital stays.

We felt strong sexual energies and tensions when we interacted with each other. I think if we’d met in a private area, we would have ripped each other’s clothes off just to feel a naked body next to ours. For many reasons, including my fear of sexual non-performance, the fantasized encounter never happened, for my ego and my penis were now ruined. I had forgotten how to please a woman, or feared that I no longer could. I was worried about being impotent or ejaculating too soon. A woman can, if she wishes, lie there and pretend, but a man needs to perform. If there’s no Viagra available, oh, no! If he ejaculates within seconds, yikes!

Eventually Hope passed away, and for a while my sexuality died with her. I was bloated and fat; most of the time I couldn’t get an erection even with medication, and if I did get erect, I ejaculated in seconds or minutes. I felt I had nothing to offer women.

After Hope passed, I was told that her childhood best friend had stage IV cancer. I decided to change and start to live again. I wanted to feel joy again, and I wanted sex again. I wanted “Penthouse Letters” sex. I wanted X-rated movie sex. I wanted uncommitted sex. I wanted committed sex. I wanted it all and felt it was due me, but I knew I had to work at it.

I went to a urologist who specialized in improving male sexuality. He was in his sixties, and was extremely compassionate. As I told him my story I broke down in hysterical tears. I could see his eyes water too as my story unfolded. Calmly, gently, he explained that male impotency and duration of performance were common among widowers. He told me to be compassionate to myself and to accept myself for who I am. Over time my sexuality would return, he explained, but only if my mind led the way. The condition wasn’t physical, he said, but existed entirely in my head. To feel better, I had to begin repairing my mind and ego as much as I focused on improving my body.

And so the healing process began. I commenced a daily exercise regime to tone my body and shed pounds quickly. I wanted to live positively, and explored various avenues through classes at the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health in Massachusetts, the Open Center in New York City, and through self-help books. I embraced Toltec wisdom through the writings and lectures of Don Miguel Ruiz and Sheri Rosenthal. I read Men’s Health magazine and everything I could find to reacquaint myself with becoming a skilled and compassionate lover. I talked to friends about how to become a sexual being again, and, several months after Hope’s death, I began dating. Many people condemned me for this, but I concluded that if I stayed on the path I was on I’d be unable to recover from my abyssal grief.

As I reacquainted myself with dating and sex, some women understood my awkwardness, some made me feel inadequate, and with some I performed pretty well except for one major issue: I could no longer ejaculate while having sex. It felt like I was ejaculating, but nothing came out. As I wore condoms most of the time, the women didn’t know of my problem. In fact, I faked an orgasm many times. (Yes, men can do that too!). I was using Cialis, and my penis would remain hard for as long as I wanted, but I would only complete sex after I faked ejaculation.

With one woman I didn’t wear a condom, and she made me feel terrible because of my ejaculation problem. Looking back, I think her reaction was less about me than about her frustration at feeling unable to please me. We dated for several months. She made me feel worse and worse after each failed sexual encounter. I don’t know why I kept going back for more. Maybe I felt I deserved the abuse. Eventually we let each other go. I’ll share one funny story about her. To protect her privacy I’ll call her Debbie, which wasn’t her real name.

Debbie was a beautiful woman in her late forties. We had several mutual acquaintances. At a holiday party, I told one of our mutual acquaintances that I was dating her. We were both feeling good from the abundant alcohol, and his reply was comical: “You’re dating Debbie? She’s beautiful. What a body, it’s perfect. Are you screwing her? You lucky man! I’ve dreamt of her while having sex. What’s it like? Please tell me. Is it as great as I imagine?”

To protect my own ego and hers, I never revealed that our lovemaking wasn’t synchronous and was mired in complexities. I kept our lovemaking private. I did share that Debbie’s body was magnificent.

I went back to the urologist and explained the situation. I was now having sex, could get an erection and last for a spell, but couldn’t ejaculate. He explained the medical terminology; my condition was a form of “retrograde ejaculation.” Again it was my mind, not my body. “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself,” he said. Please remember these words as you read this book. He said it would pass as I became more comfortable having sex again.

At this point in life I wanted to experiment, but to experiment well one must be in good shape for sex. Just as one trains for a sports competition, one needs to prepare for sexual activity. When you think about it, isn’t sex really a sport? It requires all the preparations and offers all the rewards of a sport—endurance, confidence, skill, creativity, and achievement.

To train, I found a “house of women” willing to help me regain my sexuality and ego after Hope had passed away. I refuse to degrade these women and call them prostitutes, for they were compassionate—and also trying to make a living. They lived in suburban or urban communities with families, and could be the next-door neighbors you greeted warmly every day.

I opened myself up to these kind women. We had deep conversations about male and female sexuality and needs. We talked about their boyfriends, our dating experiences, and our future goals. They talked about their lives as I discussed mine. Each had a unique experience to share. They were like dear friends who truly cared to get me better. They made me feel comfortable over the many months I visited them. They helped me become a good lover by explaining what made them feel good, which was mostly not about the sex act but about making them feel needed, loved, and attractive. They made me feel whole again.

Also, they explained that a good majority of their clients don’t have sex with them, or at least want sex only a fraction of the time. Most of the time is spent in conversation. The men just need someone to talk to and confide in.

As I had sex more often, I began to ejaculate again. These women helped renew my life, and with it my sexuality. I am forever grateful to them.

Following my experiences with these ladies, I started to enjoy sex again. There were still problems, however. I remained somewhat self-conscious and performance anxiety still pervaded every session of lovemaking with the women I dated. This began to change when I met a very special woman. During our first lovemaking session my head fell off the pillow and lay directly on the bed. She was very kind, and gently placed the pillow back under my head. I ejaculated during that first encounter, which was still a rarity with women I dated. As we lay in bed we shared deep thoughts. I told her about my sexual troubles, and she said to me, “No pressure, be yourself.” The second time we made love it was outdoors and I had trouble with my erection. Again she said, “No pressure, be yourself.” She made me feel relaxed and comfortable, and over the next few weeks my sexuality recovered with a teenage frenzy. My Ego Penis was back!