He Sent Me a Picture of His Penis; Now, I’m About to Risk It All

It’s not his gorgeous penis, his looks, attitude, or success that attracts me most. It’s the idea that it’s not too late for me.

Elisabeth Ovesen
Published in
7 min readApr 28, 2021


Photo: Anna Shvets/Pexels

This guy just sent me a picture of his penis — two to be exact — and holy shit, you guys, it’s beautiful. However, as a general rule, I think all penises are ugly unless I’m in love with the man wielding said phallus. Under those circumstances, his dick might as well be made of gold and capable of granting wishes. When with the man I love, I adore his schlong, praising it, and seemingly pray at its alter when on my knees. Alas, I’ve been with the same man for over five years, and even though his penis still excites me, there has been some trouble in paradise.

I’d like to say our troubles are the usual, run-of-the-mill relationship issues, but they aren’t. My partner grapples with a bevy of mental illnesses and personality disorders. Even though I was unaware of his diagnosis during the first few years of our relationship, I have become all too aware of how difficult and triggering it is to be with someone who struggles in this way. Plus, I have my own issues — General Anxiety Disorder, abandonment and trust issues, and developmental traumas that my therapists and I have been chipping away at over the past fifteen years. Still, when I am with a stable partner, I’m even-keeled. I’ve done decades of soul work, and as a Psychology student, I have become better at introspection and course correction. On the other hand, my partner still has a ways to go, and his instability can be dizzying for me.

The past five years have been tough. My partner and I have been through a lot together, and even though we have survived it all, I’m tired. I’m tired of walking on eggshells. I’m tired of his lack of emotional intelligence, the replaying of his developmental and adult traumas, narcissism, and reactive abuse. I’m tired of the way he refuses to give me what I need or want as long as I’m the one asking for it. I’m tired of being held captive by threats of suicide used solely to get his way. I’m tired of his refusal to grow and change and the excuse of, “This is just the way I am,” being made at every turn.

I can’t forget how he told a mutual acquaintance not to be friends with me anymore and asked her to unfollow me on social media. She did at first after he made me out to be “crazy,” but she later realized what he’d done and told me everything.

I can’t forget how he berated and blamed me for his emotional breakdown on Instagram in front of his 350,000 followers, sending a tidal wave of harassers my way. I had to shut my business down because of it.

I can’t forget how he tried to convince me that his boss, who I have never met, was so disapproving of me and my public persona that he fired my partner from his job. I felt so bad about myself, unworthy of anyone’s love. Months later, however, my partner admitted he was let go because of something he’d done.

Around the same time, I felt forced to make a horrible decision after months of being emotionally tortured and blackmailed by my partner, putting me in an impossible position. I can never forgive him for that, and that is an essay unto itself, so I won’t get into it now. But, believe me when I tell you the scars run deep and wide, and they go on forever. So, sure, we’ve made it through some pretty shitty times, but those times were only as shitty as they were because he made them that way. So, you see, when Mr. Big (as we’ll refer to him from here on out) sent me a dick-pic, I was already on the verge of abandoning ship.

I met Mr. Big back in 2011. He was young, handsome, and well on his way to being a very rich man. Still, even though I found myself extremely attracted to him, I could never give him the time of day because of his close relationship with someone very special to me. So, I left him where I found him, and for nearly ten years, we never spoke or saw one another again. Then, late last year, just before the holidays, Mr. Big slid into my DMs and gave me a glimmer of hope. Since being with my partner, I began to doubt my ability to find someone loving and kind. I had become so accustomed to never being complimented that I craved being told that I’m beautiful, smart, or funny. My partner has made me feel so worthless at times, I craved feeling important to someone else, and Mr. Big did that for me. Each conversation was a love bomb and a love balm that both ignited and soothed my heart.

And I know what it is — being starved for so long, even the stalest of breads would have satiated the burning in my stomach, and I would call it Gold Leaf. I know it’s emotional Stockhome Syndrome, and almost anyone could have turned my head after so many years of feeling unloved and unappreciated. But, it wasn’t just anybody. It was Mr. Big. It was a man I walked away from nearly ten years before but never forgot and always wanted. So, when after five months of texts, calls, and FaceTime dates, he sent me pictures of his privates, I was ready to risk it all. I was ready to throw away the past five years of bawling and bargaining and follow Mr. Big and his penis anywhere.

Obviously, when I say risk it all, I’m being facetious. There technically isn’t much to risk when considering leaving a man who is currently incapable of having a healthy relationship with anyone — friends and family included. What I’m dealing with, however, is the fallacy of sunk cost. It’s the idea that I have invested so much time and energy in this person and our relationship and have lost so much that maybe if I stay, it’ll all be worth it in the end. It’s the relationship equivalent to being down several thousand dollars at a crap table in Las Vegas but still betting it all. And it’s foolish. What I know for sure is that it’s always best to cut one’s losses and move on, something I should have done years ago. Still, love is a complicated beast, and advice is easier given than taken.

But, the idea of waking up next to Mr. Big’s girthy, perfectly textured, and toned penis has my bags packed and by the door. The thought of being with a man who finds me beautiful, inside and out, and never hesitates to tell me has me ready to book a flight. The very notion of spending time with a man who cares enough to listen to my needs and accommodate them has me poised and ready to pounce.

I love his smile and positive vibes. I love seeing his late-night texts when I get up in the morning, letting me know he's been thinking about me from thousands of miles away. I love the sound of his voice and the fitness of his body, the color of his skin, and the thickness of his hair. I love his heart and how deeply it feels, and his bravado when his confidence has been piqued. But, more than this, what I really love is what Mr. Big represents.

It’s not his gorgeous penis, his looks, attitude, or success that attracts me most; it’s not even really him. It’s the idea that it’s not too late for me and that at forty-two, I can still attract the partner and future I want. I am still worthy of feeling and being appreciated and loved. There are plenty of men in the world who would treat me with the respect and care I deserve. I don’t have to settle for someone, anyone, who would weaponize their mental illness to turn people against me, or threats of suicide to force me into decisions I don’t want to make. Mr. Big is just another man with a pretty penis at the end of the day, but what he gave me was a nudge of confidence and reassurance that it’s not over for me. Every time we speak, he reminds me not to cling to a mistake just because I’ve spent a lot of time making it. And there's no phallus or fallacy in the world worth losing myself over— no matter how pretty or perfect, no matter how much I love the man wielding it.

Who’s to say what happens at the end of this story — if I’ll ever find myself praying at Mr. Big’s dick alter or making wishes on his member made of gold. Who knows if or when I’ll walk away from the relationship crap table and cut my losses, or where my heart will carry me next. But, what we can be sure of is that I’ll do it bravely, pen in hand, and with my heart (at the very least)open wide.



Elisabeth Ovesen
Writer for

3x New York Times bestselling author | Chief Creative Officer at The Ovesen Co.