I don't watch internet pornography because visiting those sites leaves traces on your computer, and you never know when your sister is going to go through your search history-AND-there's always the chance that, after you're dead, your heirs might sell your computer to a church, and while the congregants are using it for a power-point presentation on Christmas Eve, might hit the wrong button, see what you were really watching all those years, and dig up your corpse (like Charles II did to Cromwell's), and cut off your tally-whacker...or some such.
No, I don't watch porn on my computer; but I do watch it on my son's computer (I'll get even with the bastard for telling my ex-wife I was selling nude photos of her mother shagging the milkman). But that's not my point.
My point is that on these porn sites there are all sorts of ads for creams and pills and other medical devices that are supposed to "enhance, stimulate, and promote penis growth," and sundry other wonders they promise to do for your phistle-whapper.
I think it's all a bunch of hooey and I'll tell you why, too.
Back in 1964, a rumor was going around Horace Mann Junior High School that the algebra teacher, Mrs. Gossport, would screw any kid whose flagerheisen was a least eight inches long. Rumor DID NOT state how thick it needed to be, and the smart money was that diameter was a non-issue. Well, overnight, a veritable cottage industry developed with various and sundry methods for "extending" one's reach, so to speak.
In those days (before I dropped LSD), I was a very bright student with a scientific bent that was quite well developed. Experimentation was my by-word.
Unfortunately, as many an injured scientist will tell you, you should never experiment on yourself!
I got into trouble when my mother bought a Hoover canister sweeper with a long metal wand. Son of a bitch would suck the red off a crayola. So, I told my cousin Larry about my idea (guess what my bright idea was, won't you), and he said sweepers were no damned good because he stuck his pecker in his mother's up right, and the brushes flayed all the skin off his weenie.
I explained that my mom's sweeper had no brushes, and he should try it, but it was "no go" for Larry: once burned, twice learned.
So, lacking any other volunteers, I did what any scientist worth the name would have done in my place: I stuck my sizzleshuster into the wand and turned the sweeper on, full blast.
I'd like to tell you that my mother didn't run into my room when she heard my screams.
I'd like to tell you my mother did not see her son with his penis in her Hoover.
I'd like to tell you my pecker grew to monstrous lengths and my algebra teacher screwed me silly.
One of the above statements is an outright lie; but I'm not telling you which one.
I'm nearly 62. I've had problems getting Ole Arnold up for 4-5 years now. But because of my Hooverization, I've steadfastly refused to purchase a penis pump. I can be stupid, but I've learned well the lesson of not trusting Ole Arnold to mechanical devices.
And I've never purchased the "Natural Male Enhancement" stuff either. Not the creams; although, for some strange reason, I was sent a free jar of "Extension Majic Kreme." It came with the purchase of a Pop-Peel Pocket Phisherman.
The tube just sat around, forgotten, in my stuff drawer for a long time (about twenty minutes), until I tried it-you know, just for shits and giggles. It sure felt good going on my whanger-banger, but did nothing except further inflame a nasty rash that had developed on my groin. However, the Kreme did extend the agony of the rash.
I had some luck with natural male enhancement pills I purchased: they cleared up my glaucoma.
So, guys, take it from an old hand, the stuff they advertise won't lengthen your predominator one micrometer.
Get a prescription from your quackapractor for pecker pills. At least you'll get a boner, however long your thing is. A boner is a boner, and, anyway; if it's been as long a time since you had a boner as it has been for me getting a boner, well, a boner IS an extension.