To the Editor:
I would like your readers to know that I want to rent a penis.
Admittedly, I have never met a woman who saw a penis and thought, “Boy, I’d like to grow me one of those!” And yes, I and many other women appreciate very specific penises, and those of us who have given birth and/or have satisfying heterosexual sex lives have long applauded the fine work male genitalia have put in on our behalf.
But recently it has come to my attention that penises run men’s lives–which puzzles me because, while I’m a fan of my vagina, it has has never once compelled me to masturbate in front of someone I hoped to employ. My vagina has never driven me to play with it under a desk during an interview, nor have I ever asked someone to play with it for me so I could finish dessert. I’ve never bragged about my vagina’s size during a Presidential debate.
For these and other reasons, then, I’d like to rent a (standard) penis. I would be content to use it just for twelve-hours, although I’m willing to pay for the full day. I really what to know what it’s like to walk into a room and, instead of thinking “Nice chairs” or “What’s that smell?”, think “I can’t wait for you to see me without my pants on.” What, I wonder, is it like to stroll through the mall and, instead of thinking, “Who buys this shit?”, think “There’s an innocent-looking 14-year old who’s for sure interested in seeing my splendid primary sexual organ”?
Once, during a meeting, someone put his penis on my shoulder for a laugh. And yet, in contrast, I would never put my vagina on someone’s shoulder. Who knows when that blouse was last laundered? In the movie “Bachelor Party,” a guy puts his penis in a hot dog bun: huge laughs! And yet, while on occasion my vagina has amused me, I’d be the first to admit that it’s no Kevin Hart.
I want to rent a penis so I will, once and for all, understand why, when men write teen movies, girls at slumber parties or summer camp basically give each other breast exams in front of open windows—while, in reality, girls at slumber parties or summer camp get changed under their t-shirts or sleep fully-clothed.
How all-powerful this organ must be, that it conflates something as humbling as being elected to office with being given the go-ahead to brag about grabbing crotches and fondling rears? And I’m dying to know what would compel me, if I had a penis, to want to photograph it and click “SEND” while my toddler son napped next to me. Why would I want to stick it in an apple pie or let it hang out of my bathrobe as I answered the door? If a penis can do all that, my vagina is clearly not pulling its weight.
Mind you, I’d be a responsible penis renter. I’d probably return my rental early, and clean. I don’t think I’d want to have sex while still attached to it, not because of the act itself, but because, as I’ve been learning of late, using a penis has nothing to do with sex. It’s about making the weak feel strong and making the strong feel weak. And I’m not interested in that sort of thing. Say what you will about my vagina, the most bothersome thing mine does is itch.
Sherman Oaks, CA