You must be used to hearing your name in various ways. For centuries, you have been the object of both adoration and mockery. Used almost like an object by those cults and religions. Your mere presence represents modesty and excitement. The inherent contradiction with which you live is only exalted by that semiotics worthy of philosophers and artists throughout your existence.

Since we were born men, you are the friend who accompanies us and we caress. You grew with us. The changes we experienced were our private gossip. That flourishing puberty adorned you with hairs around, while your trunk thickened and hardened with each spring.

We remember those days when you would get up on your own and used to embarrass us. We still didn't have that connection to your deepest feelings. You stood up claiming your place and began to cry with excitement.

We denied accepting that you were waking up from that lethargy, whose shyness only reflected the innocence of childhood that was leaving. You woke up every morning with longing for affection. With a moistened bud due to the longing to pollinate, derived from wet dreams. Those nights were the beginning of the end of childhood.

An awkward adolescence, thanks to those conspiring hormones, was the stage in which we probably loved and hated you the most at the same time. Based on discomfort, we learned to cover up those erections you had in the classroom. It was a constant training to hide you in those underwear that held you. On the streets, we acquired the skill to fit you to one side of our pants with subtlety, and to walk with our hand in our pockets so that you wouldn't be seen.

But when we were alone, we learned the maneuvers that would mean the teaching in those coming years, as they would add to understanding your real existence. Those unconscious pollutions broke the veil of fantasy. My hand, like a good craftsman, was training your phallus of power. The breaking points were clear. The sensitivity between your foreskin and glans made you explode like fireworks, which welcomed adulthood, that white nectar that flowed like a volcano through that mountainous frenulum.

Probably your worst enemy was ourselves. We couldn't avoid comparing you and questioning your existence. Those doubts only led to your insecurities, making your cavernous bodies not want to pump that blood that made you grow and rejoice.

We regret having undermined your security, we should never have covered you in front of another competitor who claimed to be bigger and stronger than you. Probably the experience of those rivals was greater, but you, like a young apprentice, couldn't go faster than the master who trained you. It was only a matter of time before you came on stage and demonstrated your size in the battlefield.

When your moment arrived, prepared like a Spartan soldier, with marked veins on your body and bathed in your own oil, you were going to demonstrate you...