For the most part, life is good. I have a beautiful home on Lake Shore Drive, I drive a sweet Porsche 911 GT3, my wife and kids are above average, and I have an excellent tax attorney. Yet there is a burden of shame upon my pale chest that I cannot escape. I have a pair of monstrously large, dark nipples that have inspired ridicule and repulsion for most of my life. They’re the color of dark chocolate and the size of dessert plates, for gosh sakes!
You can probably imagine the teasing I took in grade school gym class from all the guys with “normal” nipples, which would be pretty much all the guys. “Hey Moon Pies!” they would yell in the showers, tumbling about in hysterics.
Of course, adolescence was the worst. Those horror stories will remain strictly between my therapist and me. Suffice to say that between the reactions I got from girls and the hazing I got from the swim team, Dr. Velunzio and I have lot to discuss.
To this day, I still draw unwanted attention and embarrassment from “the big twins.” The other day I wore a light-colored polo shirt to work and someone asked me if I spilled coffee on myself – twice. Last March, I was asked to leave the beach at a St. Thomas resort because I was scaring the children and freaking out some parents. Why would people assume that outrageously large, dark nipples on a pale, white man indicate some sort of depravity?
I’ve tried to address this problem, but there seems to be no solution. I went to a tanning salon, thinking that if I were less pale, perhaps they would be less noticeable. Unfortunately, I just don’t tan well – and my nipples got darker! I’ve consulted cosmetic surgeons, but with no success. They can do wonders with breast sizes – and I did get an excellent nose job – but it seems no one knows how to reduce or fade the nips.
So lately, I’ve committed to just accepting who I am and living life to the fullest. I simply ask my fellow Mequonites to brace themselves. Please don’t stare or rudely turn away as you see me enjoying my newfound freedom – relaxing on the beach, in the whirlpool at the gym, running shirtless in a charity 5k, playing volleyball with the neighbors, getting my bi-weekly massage, or nude-modeling at Concordia’s art classes.
Note: All Mequon Confession articles are first-person, anecdotal tales, unverified and uninvestigated by The Mequon News. They are often factually void recollections by emotionally damaged individuals, and should be enjoyed purely for their coarse entertainment value.