For the most part, nothing is too surprising anymore because they can say almost anything on the air or in print. At some point it became okay to say the word "penis," so it's come into common usage, which is just fine.
But it was a surprise to see, there in the rack of supermarket magazines, the upscale fitness magazine for men. Usually decked out on the cover with a handsome shirtless man with a next-door-neighbor smile and a body to make sailors swoon, the magazine's teasers generally promise better abs, less fat, bigger muscles, better sex, whatever.
This time, there was the attractive, muscled, smiling neighbor-type, his lean abs shining, pulling his little jogging shorts down to reveal three towering, gigantic penises, all in full arousal. "Grow Three Penises!" shouted the teaser. And there they were, each one enviable in itself, all three, each complete with its own large, low-hanging scrotum, veined and fully engorged shaft that swelled and tapered way up to a fully filled, rounded and tumescent head. I suppose as a matter of decency they didn't show any precum on the three penis heads; that would be porn.
But there they were, the middle penis just a little higher than its flanking brothers, but all three huge, proud and so very much a threesome. The cover model's smile was the typical modest smile of the steady achiever, radiating friendliness and encouragement. "You Can Do It!" said the smaller banner under the "Grow Three Penises!" teaser.
Inside, past the innumerable ads, regular features and other stories, the actual story carried its handsome burden of exercise photos showing the gym routines and the special exercises that would develop the owner's original penis into a huge outcropping of three giant penises. There were warnings against supplements because of unknown side-effects and future health hazards, there was a major side bar on the tantric tradition of the three penises and the karmic meaning of each one, but I couldn't really get into that as much as the magazine's usual retinue of simply-staged photo sequences of its hunky college-boy models doing their three-penis exercises.
Another side bar compared the progress of three different fitness models, whose shirtless good looks and muscular bodies followed slightly different lines based on their height and varying ethnicity. Sure enough, each of them ended up with an enormous complement of penises, all three of which seemed inclined to remain at full arousal.
I liked the one picture which showed the handsome cover model having an outdoor waterhose fight with someone else off-camera. His handsome face was soaked in a dripping smile as a heavy stream of water came in from off-camera, hitting him in his muscular pecs. Somehow the stream of water had dislodged his running shorts, halfway dropping them down his lifter's legs, and there against the backdrop of his glistening abs were his three enormous male organs, the three penises fully erect and barely flexible even as he was obviously ducking and playfully in motion as he shot his hose's stream at his unseen playmate.
I realized that my heart was pounding and the sweat from my hands was curling the pages, so I bought the magazine, laying it cover-side down on the checkout counter. It was the last one they had.