This is, on some levels true, especially if the male is hung like a moose. A man who is hung like said member of the deer family, need not worry about having their manhood or masculinity challenged by his partner/girlfriend/wife, because the mammoth size of his phallus is the only answer he will need to rebuff ANY scorning from his partner.
(see diagrams below)
This breed of Superior Alpha-Male, only needs to drop his pants in front of his lady and any argument, any judgement, and contempt over the fucking toilet seat being left up, is deemed null and void. Terminated.
To these men, we raise a glass, we toast them (See - Shelton Benjamin, Lexington Steele, John Holmes, or every black man on this planet) and their superiority over us lesser endowed males...and Jude Law.
For the majority of us men (who don't have the ego boosting luxury of walking bowlegged due to the mass juggernaut of hulking meat between our legs), we must approach our female counterparts, and their obsession to control us, in a different manner.
Make no mistake, no matter what the initial premise and promise of a relationship is, the classic, perennial female will attempt to change you (Your clothing, your hair, your hobbies, your mobile phone, your food and general restaurant of preference).
She will attempt to destroy your soul and even go so far as to remove you, to strip of your dignity and everything you once loved about being an 'individual'. Therein lies a key word. Individual.
In-di-vid-u-al - Existing as a distinct entity.
Every single one of us men on this planet have been born into individuality, but somewhere, somehow, we lose track of that. I blame the vagina. The promise of regular sex, and some unknown blind fear of the female species has us whipped into a indgignant and compromising submission of our individual opinions.
All of the above leads to the below:
"Why don't you wear this?"
"Maybe change your hair"
"Why do you curse so much?"
"Why do you listen to that music?"
"I don't want you to do it. I want you to WANT to do it."
All of the above questions, I have been on the receiving end of, a plethora of times.
I have a fucking question of my own that I'd like answered, but never asked, because I'm a gentleman :
"Why does your vagina smell of upriver salmon when you're turned on?"
I've seen it, and I've lived it. It doesn't take a man to stand there and get the earholes beat off him with incessant moaning and inarticulate verbage from his female counterpart. It takes a man to stand up, push her head, with covinction, down to his junk and say "See that! Small or not, I wear the fucking pants. This is where your babies will come from and this gig is over, unless you start showing me, and King Arthur, some respect!"
Alternatively, during sex, you can just pull out as your ejaculate is impending, shoot your man-porridge all over her upper lip and nostrils, and show her who's boss. Let her know, and reassure her that you won't compromise HER dignity with a surprise deposit, a burden, an immoral blast of semen onto her face again, if she never tries to change you again.
Again, 50/50 relationship. Compromising is key, except when it comes to dignity and the ownership of higher testosterone levels.
Another alternative (this is for those who like the mildly kinky side of sex), and for the purpose of phsyical comedy - You could blindfold and tie up said scrumpet, ask her to open her mouth and then surprise her with a valiant, triumphant teabagging.
Be a man, take your trousers back. Either get a penis enlargement or stand by what you have between your legs and let her know, you're a man, an individual. You were born as you are and are as you will always be. You're not changing for her, or her vagina. Take a stand, take your trousers back.
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