After a few years of taking Viagra and Cialis, the pills just didn’t work for him anymore. So he got a penile implant; the female equivalent of a boob job—a “boner job,” if you will.
He was so cute and funny, I didn’t really care. Besides, an erect, on-demand, rock hard schlong that could go for hours? I was in.
And now that women are getting vaginal rejuvenation to tighten their baby makers, it seemed silly to be afraid of the latest improvements in medical technology.
The implant consists of two plastic rods that go into the penis and an attached reservoir filled with saline solution is placed in the lower stomach. Then a pump with a valve is implanted in their scrotum. (Read our full report on
I’d seen a penile implant before, at a nudist resort. A guy in his 70s—who called his “The Pump”—played volleyball erect, chatted erect, and even dined erect.
But seeing it is one thing. For something more intimate, like actual sex, would I be able to tell the difference between a regular raging boner and a medically enhanced one?
“Some single or divorced men who are in new relationships don’t even tell their partners they have the implant, and their partners never find out,” says Dr. William Brant, M.D. a urologist and advisor to http://www.edcure.org, who specializes in the procedure.
After a few dates, I was curious to road test this innovative inflatable device. I admit I was nervous when he came over. And when it came to actual intercourse, I got scared for a second.
There are four levels of hardness: limp, half-chub, hard, and “OMG you’re going to kill me with that thing.” I feared it would feel like I was fornicating with a baseball bat.
We made out for a while, and then he grabbed his manhood and did about 20 or so “squeeze pumps,” taking his thumb and forefinger and squeezing a grape-like bulb underneath his junk.
I watched it inflate in a few seconds, like one of those balloon animals at a carnival.
And the results? It felt like a normal stiffee in my hand, and I didn’t feel the pump or valve when I road tested it in my mouth.
It was rock hard, like it should be, but I didn’t feel like I was sucking a tail pipe or anything. And by the time we actually did the deed, I forget all about the implant and enjoyed myself.
After he finished, the thing was still standing at attention. Since there is no refractory period, his bazooka was ready to go. It was bionic.
“Dude, you should go over to CrossFit and see if anyone wants to use that thing as a pull-up bar,” I told him.
To deflate, a quick pump or two of a valve—located next to the pumper upper—released the saline solution back into the reservoir and it went back down.
In the end, our summer romance ended, and my “Penile Implant Guy” moved out of New York. But someday we will meet again. We might be 80 by then, but he’ll have the boner of an 18-year-old.