The Ken Doll (or The Curious Case of the Shrinking Tool)

He closed his eyes and rubbed it, conjuring the images from last night, that blond nymph sensually moaning on top of him. Then, he rapidly took out his tape measure, holding it from the base on the inner side right up to the tip where the hole was, like the NHS site had suggested, using the same method as in the past few weeks. 12.9 centimetres. There was no denial, it was smaller.  He didn’t keep records initially because really, it couldn’t be true. But 12.9 cm? Since those silly teenage days, where hidden in the family bathroom he’d quietly measured himself, he always had at least 15.0 cm, if not 16.5 cm on a good day, well above average. 


He recalled that ominous Thursday walking into the bar; no wingman, no friends, just tired of everyone. Worn down by a long week that only resulted in a major deal falling through at the last minute, a good fuck was in order. The rooftop lounge turning into a club with the view of St. Paul’s cathedral wide in front of him was one of his favourites. He had avoided this place for a while; too many familiar faces. But today it felt just right. Sitting at the long sleek black counter and having ordered his one drink for the night, a Campari with orange, like a predator he slowly let his eyes glide through the room scoping for his perfect prey, simultaneously confirming that he was at the upper end of the male contenders here.  

He had a shortlist of three: the petite Asian peeking at him through her colourful drink; the tall blond conquering the dance floor reminding him a bit too much of Jenny from last week, though he couldn’t deny her nice figure underlined by the white tube dress clearly here to be stripped; finally the brunette sitting at a table with a group of friends, the desperate girls night out, every single one of them screaming for a guy to rescue her. He was satisfied with the diversity he had picked. Too many men just stuck to one type until every single replacement just looked like a bad xerox of the last one. Where was the fun in that? 

Suddenly like lightening she caught his eye. Sitting on a bar stool at the end of the counter, her red lips sipping on a martini were so sensual, her appearance was surreal. Her hazelnut wavy hair was draping her beautiful shoulders remaining free above a red velvet dress smoothly flowing over her expressive curves. She distinctly reminded him of the first woman he ever considered sexy: Jessica Rabbit. 

Turn around, so I can see your face. Just in that moment, she swirled around on her seat to face him, her emerald eyes emitting a mysterious spark. His shortlist was long lost by now and the winner was clear.  

He wasted no time to close the deal and walked right up to her, her eyes fixated on him. He wasn’t too surprised. He was a good looking fellow after all, tall and well-built from his regular gym workouts at the craziest hours of the day, his square jaw with just the right amount of dark stubble to look manly and not rogue. His tailored grey suit accentuated his features, while his Tag Heuer Carrera watch was an easy item to communicate his financial standing without being blatantly obvious like the sad men with their overdone gold Rolex bling, bigger than their wrist (and any other part of their body).

“I see you’re having a martini. They do have a killer mojito here. Would you like to try one?” He said now leaning in right next to her. 

“I’d never say no to a free drink,” she said, putting hers to the side. 

Jackpot! “My name is Ken.” Always a monosyllabic strong name. He extended his hand. 

“Annika. Pleasure.” She said.

With mojitos in one hand, they talked. She had just moved from New York. She didn’t sound American but he didn’t enquire further. She wasn’t working at the moment, taking a career break. By her looks she didn’t seem to be of any age that could have such experience but her demeanour was full of that confidence only time can give. He quickly dived for a kiss. It couldn’t be the drink that had this much effect on him; touching her lips felt so sweet like the first candy floss he’d ever eaten. 

“Before you waste any time on me tonight, I’m not a one-night stand.” The words caught him off-guard but just for a moment, before he quickly recomposed himself. 

“A man offers a stunningly beautiful woman a drink, has an enjoyable conversation and a kiss and that’s all you can think of?” He said. He brought himself back to reality; she was a catch like any other and he was a man on a mission: getting laid. 

“You better be telling the truth, because if you play me, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it.” She said, closing the distance for a second kiss. 

“Ah now, what can you do to me then.” He smiled. A slightly devious or even mentally disturbed woman was a turn on.  She leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “I’ll make your penis gradually shrivel until you’re left with nothing else than a dried and useless husk.”

There was something about her voice, the ice cold determination that added credibility to her delirious words, making him shiver. He shook it off.

“And how are you meant to do that then?” He said, cheekiness on his lips.

“I’m a witch.” She declared. 

Women like this are tigers in bed but you better run quickly afterwards. He grabbed her slim waist through the smooth fabric of her dress, intoxicated by her presence. 

“You already bewitched me.” He declared. 

The rest of the night was a multi-coloured jumble, skins touching, heavy breathing, engulfed in her hot wetness until reaching that moment of total frenzy and absolute bliss, his body collapsing on her. A damn fine fuck she was. He couldn’t even remember how they’d gotten to hers, for that matter had no recollection what her place was like. He remembered sneaking out of there, body and mind half paralysed, scratching his crotch trying to remember whether he had used a condom. Just when he was closing the door behind him, he felt a chill running down his back, Annika’s voice blowing close to his ear “Ken doll.” He turned around only to find her quietly sleeping  in the bed they had ruined and hurriedly left to catch a cab home. 


Since then, life went on. Another night, another bar, another woman. On a Saturday, he found himself again in a stranger’s bed, the morning sun blinding him. He slowly opened his eyes, taking in the weight that was numbing his arm. Shit! He mentally chastised himself. He had let himself go and fallen asleep and now he was stuck to face a morning with that object which should have been a part of his past and forgotten already a few hours ago. 

“Mmmm…” The blond head woke up to his move. 

“Good morning.” Her bloodshot eyes now smiled at him, her hand seeking his torso. 

“Good morning… Caroline.” he said.

“Ah, at least you remember my name. That’s a good start,” she said her face brightening. 

Why would he forget? After all, he wasn’t the one who had downed one shot after another in that skeevy underground club near Oxford Circus. Such a waste of his Amex Gold, he thought. 

“I don’t do that sort of thing with guys. I mean guys I’ve just met you know.” He remembered her shy act last night. How naturally she lay next to him now. Now that he was stuck here and would probably have to stay a while longer before his eventual escape, why not go for another ride. She was definitely an eager player as he had experienced last night. He turned to her dishevelled hair and whispered her name pressing his working tool against her. While he was going through the motions, the image of Jessica Rabbit merged with Annika filled his mind and he fucked her with all intensity, keeping himself from shouting Annika’s name while doing her from behind, the sound of his slapping her ass filling the silent void instead. She moaned half in lust and half in pain from the rigour, oblivious that his mind was with someone else, as he released his soldiers into her, millions trapped to die in the latex prison to be later dropped into her bin. 

She offered him breakfast, but he rushed off mumbling something about work. In the past he might have still had the courtesy to say “I’ll call you.” Though both knew it wasn’t true, it was the polite lie to say to someone who had just spent a night of naked fun with you. But years of sexual adventures had made the activity so mundane like a flushing of a toilet that he had concluded even this act was unnecessary. 

Once home, he rummaged through his cupboard in the kitchen to find a tape measure.  Just in case he thought, just in case. If he was doing it anyway, he could measure properly and compare to market standards. He googled and found the satisfying answer on the NHS website. The first measurement he took that day was 15.7cm. He cut himself a bit of slack for having performed twice in 24 hours and added 3mm margin of error. Let’s say 16cm. 


He was late for his weekly run with John. The run was just a pitiful attempt by his now chained up former wingman to vicariously live through him, drooling over his weekly exploits, as if he were there himself. 

“You’re late. Passed out on top of someone again, did we? Or even under her, getting her to do the work?” John said, a non-chalant pretense unsuccessful at concealing his impatience. He was about to speak out but then refrained. This sorry attitude was slowly but surely getting onto his nerves. John had chosen his path just like he had chosen his and should learn to live with the consequences: having a sub-par quality wife, who let go of herself the day he put that ring on her finger, gradually transforming into a hairy mass of fat with two chubby clumps waddling along her side. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I just had a rough week at work and needed to catch up on some sleep. Now come on, let’s get going.” He said, motioning John to start their 10km run. John studied him just a moment. Perhaps he had striked out and didn’t want to share his failure, he thought. 

“Is Eva giving you a hard time? Heard she’s been assigned to your project. She can be quite a bossy bitch, I know from experience. Not getting enough at home I’m sure.” You’re the one who’s not getting enough. If he ever had respected John, it was surely not for his work performance and a woman like Eva probably quickly saw through his arrogance and dumbness, something he could only put up with because of John’s other social attributes, which were fading now that he had chosen this monogamous lifestyle. 

“No no, she’s been a good team player actually. If anything, pushing the project forward.” He said almost taunting John’s dismay, reflected in a deep frown. Unlike him, he could descriminiate between his sexual hunts and women he worked with, whose success he was more than happy to acknowledge and Eva was someone he surely respected in every way. That’s not to say work and his hunting grounds never crossed path of course. His mind wandered to those few occasions, when especially after a successful deal closed, all inhibitions gone, he’d celebrate with his female colleagues royally fucking them as if there was no tomorrow. He reminisced about this one time, as a fresh graduate working for a woman, the first female managing director of his firm. One late night, just the two of them left, she propped herself up onto his desk, spread her legs wide open to reveal direct access and commanded him to go down on her. He was half her age. He obeyed. The musky smell of that full-grown dark brown bush still filled his nostrils as he ran next to John. He liked being dominated but there was rarely a specimen there able to tame him. 


The weeks and girls came and went with him almost forgetting all about Annika. Until one day, just intrigued, he found himself measuring again. 12.9cm was the answer then. His heart sank and his penis deflated momentarily (he was a grower, not a shower). His mind first went blank, then went into overdrive until all answers to all questions converged on one name: Annika. He had to find Annika. But how? The more days passed, the less he could remember about that night until she became a blur overwritten by the image of Jessica Rabbit. But the more sex he had, the more the measurements ground down until he got to 12.0cm. He just couldn’t risk it anymore and ceased sexual activity immediately. With even the biggest efforts, unable to remember in the slightest where he’d been with her, from then on, Monday to Sunday, he went to the only place he could link her to, that bar next to St Pauls, in the hope to find her, leaving his colleagues and any social engagements behind. By the third day, the barman just put the first drink on his table without even asking. Days passed and he almost gave up on the thought of finding her, even doubting her existence. But on day 13, miraculously she was there. 

“It’s you!” He embraced her, his arms shaking like discovering a long lost friend thought dead. She didn’t retreat, she wasn’t surprised. 

“Hello Ken. What can I do for your?” She said gently pushing him away to see into his eyes. 

“I want… I want you to relieve me from this… from this curse…” He said, his voice turning into a whisper realising how ridiculous the words sounded when uttered out loud. 

“Alas, I can’t do that, my dear Ken.” She said caressing the side of his face. “Only you yourself can lift the curse.” 

“How? Just tell me how! I’ll do anything. Is it money you want?”

“No!” She was not only offended but disappointed at his answer, feeling how far he still was from understanding. “I’ve done this for you, Ken. Because I saw you and thought you are worthy of a second chance.” Crazy witch, totally lost it

“You just have to find someone, someone that you love and cherish. And who loves and cherishes you back, showing you the real meaning of sex, of two bodies becoming one. That’s what I want to teach you, Ken.”

What? That is such nonsense! He looked at her in disbelief. 

“I’m serious Ken” She grabbed his shoulders tightly. “Take your time, find the right girl and fall in love. You might not appreciate it now but I promise you, it will be worth it. Unless… Unless you want it to shrink further.” He followed her gaze down his pants. 

“You know, when it’s under 7cm, it’s called a micropenis,” she said, not even hiding the mockery in her voice. Micropenis, yes, I read that too…

“Good luck,” she murmured. almost instantly disappearing in the crowd. 


The following day he spent some time calculating, calculating how much he was willing to lose more. Based on the number of encounters he had versus the shrinking size, a linear pattern seemed to emerge: 1mm loss per. No, nothing could be lost anymore. He had to give it a try then and there. From that day on, he restructured his life with the same rigour as any consulting project he had managed, the success to find a mate to love being the utmost objective. Everyone always emphasised how it wasn’t just about looks and so he signed up to an online dating service first. A profile was built, a picture added and soon enough, the messages began. He started going out on dates. Awkward at first, he learnt to manage. He was a quick learner as always. Dates were filled with talk, an occasional gracing of hands and ended with a kiss on the cheek or a loving hug. He still chose the pretty ones for sure but gradually he understood there needed to be more to get that conversation lasting for longer than just a bridging gap to the hope of sex. Without the sex, this was a truly painful experience if the object on the other side had little to say. Of course at home, he then released the pent-up energy himself, like back in the days when he was still a geeky boy and hadn’t discovered the beauty of that female tightness. Still, he coulnd’t quite make out what it was, but despite the occasional borderline entertaining evenings, he couldn’t get to the point of excitement, at least not without sex. On a calm afternoon, he sat back in his office chair, his phone in one hand browsing through the endless pictures of girls smiling at him, recounting the length of his dry spell, at 67 days now the longest he had experienced in his adult life. 

“Online dating?” A voice said looking over his shoulder. He quickly tucked away his phone.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. Given our busy lifestyle, it’s the most efficient way to meet someone,” Eva said. “But then again, nothing beats an honest smile,” she added, winking at him now. Is she flirting with me? He hadn’t thought about her in that way ever. Not because she wasn’t attractive (her short hazel bob and slender boyish figure had a charm), but more because he had presumed her complicated and troublesome. A good partner to work with but not for other things in life. With all rules changed now though, perhaps he had to reassess? He took the dive and after a long night exchanging emails over a project they were working on, instead of finishing off his last communication, he added a casual yet planned sentence. How about a late night snack? 

Usually replying within minutes, she seemed to have pondered over that one, letting him hang, possibly sensing the change of winds, though perhaps she had just left her desk for a few minutes. Finally, after an excruciating half an hour, he got the reply: sure. See you at the reception in 10mins?

Nothing had happened yet and still his mind was filled with the sort of fresh giddiness and anticipation he had thought long lost. 

After that first dinner,  an invisible spark of excitement surrounding them, they started seeing each other on a regular basis and he learnt to appreciate the presence of another human being in a whole new way. It took Eva and him a shocking two months before their first kiss, which he was going to remember for a long time, even more than his first kiss ever which had been with the older sister of his then best friend, having sneaked into her room during a home movie night. This time, it was two people on the Somerset House ice ring, holding on tight to each other in the clumsy but sweet manner amateur skaters do. It could have been a Christmas greetings postcard, the two of them united there under the snow. It had been her idea. Standing on ice, possibly falling over while being watched by others was surely not something he ever wanted, the stylish man that he was. But there on the ice with her infectuous bright laugh, he had to admit it was so much fun, he couldn’t have cared less what other people thought. 

“I can’t believe I never tried this before.” He said. She was defintiely the better skater, moving backwards, he fingertips touching his, pulling him forward. She was the leader, at least for the moment.

“Clearly you’ve missed out. But don’t worry, it’s not too late for you. I’ll show you all.” There was that wink again, that sexy little confidence. He stopped, his body overruling her guidance to move forward, instead pulling her towards him. Her lips were brittle in the winter air but once they touched, he felt he couldn’t let go of her. It was a sweet, gentle affectionate kiss, unlike the ruthless kisses he usually shared, acting as a preview to the almost abusive sex to follow.He broke the general code of conduct of keeping his eyes closed and peaked through just a moment to have a look at her kissing him. This view, he wanted to keep it. 

Eva’s drive at work was reflected in her private life; an avid athlete, traveling to all sorts of places from Paris to Angkor Wat to participate in triathlons and other amateur competitions, she introduced him to new sports, going rock-climbing together on weekends or playing tennis, something he had forgotten for many years. Just like at her work, she was rigorous and knew her areas well, almost acting as a mentor to him. It was a new experience for him, a positive change to things. He wasn’t afraid of it. 

After a while, she started to want more, her hands wandering to places where they shouldn’t be, or should be really in any normal circumstances but he was scared, mindful of the effect. It took her a lot of convincing, all her sex appeal until he finally could not resist anymore. His father had once said “only truly beautiful women look good in black.” Taunted by Eva in her little tight black dress, he remembered those words. He had come to pick her up for a dinner out. When she opened the door, her sweet perfume lured him closer. His lips touching her neck, she whispered “Why don’t we skip dinner tonight?” and took hold of his manhood through the fabric of his pants in a way that signalled no return. What he experienced that night was beyond anything before: their bodies and minds becoming one like Annika had predicted. It was sex, sure, but when looking into her face flushed with pleasure, he had to strongly hold back to not let go the words I love you


After weeks of agonising he built up his courage and measured. 12.3 cm. Since that first night, they couldn’t let go of each other. If the curse wasn’t lifted, it would have shrunk at such a pace. But nothing had happened. Spending more days and months together, being in their 30s, moving in together seemed like the natural next step and the once cynical man took a girlfriend home to meet his parents for the first time since his sixth-form love interest. Even when his mother dropped the word “marriage” over dinner conversation it did not shake him, so little so that he didn’t see the twinge Eva had shown. The nightmares of his shrinking little man seemed like an imagined past. 

Until one day, lying in bed together, Eva enthusiastically sucking him looked up and said “Seems like I’m not that inspiring today.” She was joking of course, but he started to wonder and fret again. Perhaps it was just an off day. But the thought lingered and gnawed on his mind and one night, as Eva was out at dinner with friends, he pulled out that measuring tape again: 10.5cm. It couldn’t be! He loved her, he loved her so much. He needed her like the air he breathed. He rubbed some more, visualising Eva’s small silky soft perky breasts in the hope it would show some more growth. No, a stable 10.5cm it was. 

“Annika, can you hear me!” He shouted out in defiance looking up chasing an invisible shadow. “Annika, your curse is wrong! I love Eva. I love her with all my heart. Maybe your curse misread the lust? There’s lust but it only comes from love!” His monologue was staring at complete silence. “I love her!” He kept on shouting. “I love her!” But… If I love her… It dawned on him what this meant. He rewound the past year, every scene with Eva. Did she smile when he did? Did she return the same burning emotions that were filling him? 

At her birthday last month, when he had said “Let’s hope I can celebrate your next hundred birthdays with you.” she had just nodded and looked away absentminded, smiling more to some stranger’s incoming message which she wouldn’t show him. He had turned a blind eye, instead planning on how to propose to her at their next anniversary. Now in retrospect, he saw all those tainted moments he had ignored in the subconscious hope that it was just a little bump in their relationship to be overcome for her to become his completely. But now he knew. 

Stark naked as he was, he stood there, unable to move, unable to do anything. Even after the sun had long gone down, he just remained there in the dark, numb to the cold, until Eva finally came home. When she walked in, she was startled and all he could muster up was “You don’t love me. The penis doesn’t lie! You don’t love me.”

Eva gave him a confused look, one eyebrow raised. “What are you talking about?” She said in a dismissive tone, as if she heard a bad joke.

“I love you but you don’t love me anymore…” He kept on muttering like a broken tape while putting his clothes back on, rejecting her lost voice asking for an explanation, pushing her away and leaving never to return.


In the City of London, there’s an urban legend of a man that loved once and was so heartbroken he never loved again, drowning his sorrow fucking away until his penis shrunk so much it disappeared. His name is the Ken Doll, his missing tool, a constant reminder of his misfortune. But should you ever encounter him, don’t dismiss him. Legend has it, what he’s missing down there, he makes up for more than plenty by having mastered the skill of sexually pleasuring women in other ways.  

2 thoughts on “The Ken Doll (or The Curious Case of the Shrinking Tool)

  1. Pingback: If you’re interested… | King's X Girl

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