Dwindling Manhood

               In which Donald struggles with his manhood

When he took off his breeches there came again the old madness. He told himself it was only the flesh part of himself, that it had nothing to do with the great vastness within himself that lunged at that great thing! Oh! For the great thing! That was the great thing.

He might have married her, but his tiny manhood circumstances made it difficult, for he felt he could never have his way with her. He did not feel that he wanted an intimate connection with Marian. He wished he did. He would have given his head and body to have felt a joyous desire to be naked with her. Oh! For the warm naked connection! That was the great thing.

Then why couldn't he bring himself off? There was some obstacle. And what was the obstacle? It lay in the size of his manhood. It shrank from the physical contact. But why? Why? Why? Oh! For the physical contact! That was the great thing.

Marian said she longed for his manhood in her inner chasm. Then why couldn't he go to her, make love to her? Why, when he saw her at the piano, did he feel his manhood recoil into nothingness? Perhaps the recoil and the shrinking was because of his strong virginity. It seemed as if his virginity were a force, which battled with his manhood and shrank it into oblivion. And with her he never felt it hard - never. It would only happen when he was alone, in the bath.

He looked round. A good many of the nicest men he knew were like himself, bound in by their own small manhood. But he was determined not to trample brutally on her feminine sanctity. He preferred himself to suffer the misery of celibacy, rather than inflict on her the misery of his small manhood.

When he thought of her, he saw the great slobbering face of a dog. Oh! For the slobbering! That was the great thing.