The Mousouris Gene.

Being the child of two immigrants has its perks.  I get a by on a lot of white people hatred and I also seem more exotic to women.  I'm Greek and Brazilian; on paper this looks quite cool, but the reality is quite different.

If you just take a moment to look at a picture of me, I don't seem neither Greek nor Brazilian.  Why?  Because two dominant ethnicities cancel out and give birth to a Jewish-looking fat guy.

The most annoying code in my DNA comes from the Greek side.  Hairiness?  No.  Stoutness?  Not a chance, I fully enjoy being 5'9'' and overweight.  What I hate is a certain combination of codes that have decidedly given me a small penis and a gargantuan set of balls.

I have a distinct memory from my childhood wherein my father was driving me to junior high school one morning.  He was easing into the whole, "I'm your dad and I need to see where you're at in puberty" talk.

"You into girls?"
"Yup."
"Get intimate with any yet?"
"Dad..."
"I know, I know.  I don't care, I just want to know!  When I was your age I was trying to squeeze some boobies all the time."
"Well, yeah.  I've hung out with a few girls."
"Good, good.  Andrew, you know what the Mousouris men are known for, right?"
"Uh, being hairy?"
He chuckles, "No.  We have very large testicles."

At the time I thought he was joking, I credit my dad with the potty humor I use today, but as I started growing so did my balls.  He was extremely right.  Extremely.  My penis couldn't keep up with this incredible growth rate and it maxed out at a just below average length.  Here's the kicker:  My balls make my already small penis look even smaller.

As a result of this terrible illusion nature bestowed upon me, I panicked.  Every time I'd hook up with a girl, I'd try different things like (but not limited to) pulling my balls back, banging through the peehole of my underwear, etc.  Nothing was ever quite doing me right.

Just around the time I turned 18, I had gotten into marijuana and I started connecting with a different part of myself.  Instead of hating this curse, I had to embrace it like a vampire embraces his own thirst for blood.  I remember the distinct moment where I came to terms with my package.

February 13th, 2010; I was living in Florida at the time and the heat was making my sexuality rage.  I sat down naked on my bed around  4 in the afternoon and had a discussion with Hairy, Mo and Larry.

"Listen guys.  We need to stop working against each other.  Balls, I'm gunna start shaving you and you're gunna like it, honestly, you will.  Dick?  I know we've had a love/hate relationship, but the time has come for us to put aside out petty grudges and work as a team.  I know you can work despite your size, you're small but you're strong and you can get it on.  Together, we need to get confident and pursue the pussy as a united army, rather than a divided gang."

From then on, the game plan has always been simple:  Give fair warning to a girl about the package-deal.  If she bites?  Then reward her with the best sex she'll ever get from a misproportioned set of genitals, ever.