Jason Rogers

E.D. affects a staggering number of men at some point in their life ( <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/8254833" id="574ecffd-56b8-36c6-a24c-4a94b7d4636b"> some studies </a> peg the number at more than 50 percent). With estimates like that, you'd think guys would be screaming about it from the rooftops. Too often, however, the male culture of bravado can make men feel weak and incapable if they struggle to perform.

I want to change that, which is why I <a href="https://www.menshealth.com/sex-women/a27255036/jason-rogers-olympics-fencing-performance-anxiety/" id="a92515f9-bf86-3f61-acca-380a6005b5bf"> write openly </a> about my past, <a href="http://www.jasonrogers.co/mensguide" id="4c0bc3e2-3d35-30af-ad43-5a264985fde7"> offer resources </a> to couples, and even <a href="https://my.community.com/jasonrogers" id="f67901c9-fba5-384a-ac60-aa27cef40594"> text one-on-one </a> with men or their partners. I know it may take a long time to remove the stigma surrounding E.D., but progress starts with dispelling some of the commonly held myths about erectile dysfunction. (The first? That it's a big dealit's not.)

Here are the top three Ive encountered and want every woman to know about:

<h1> If you've hooked up a few times and he's not able to perform, that doesn't mean he isn't into you. </h1>

At 16, I started dating someone from an all-girls school nearby. Early on in our relationship, I learned that <a href="https://www.womenshealthmag.com/sex-and-love/a19987840/how-i-lost-my-virginity/" id="8d747b7d-103a-33c5-a313-ca9b1333f7af"> she'd lost her virginity </a> the year before to her then-boyfriend, while I was still clinging to my V-card. Her experience only revved up the nerves I was already feeling around sex.

As a result, our initial forays into that arena got off to a rocky start. I felt like an audience member at own "performance," my mind heckling me with insults as I watched myself bomb. The first time it happened, I managed to squeak out the words, "I'm nervous." However, in our future hook-ups, I found myself feigning a laid-back attitude, even though each time I struggled, it felt like my heart was climbing up my throat.

The experience hardened me (figuratively speaking). Despite being a sensitive and caring teenager, my early twenties became a time when I became less thoughtful in how I handled my performance issues. I'd reach for standard explanations like "whiskey dick" or "stress," and many partners asked me if I found them attractive. The truth was that I did. But rather than come clean about my own shame and embarrassment, I consistently put on a show.

Some ghosted me, sensing the wall Id put up to "protect" myself and my sensitive parts. Others stuck around, figuring Id learn to be vulnerable. Instead, I would eventually invent a reason to push them away.

This cool-as-a-cucumber attitude is an age-old masculine coping mechanismthe schoolyard equivalent of feigning disinterest after being picked last for dodgeballand it's one I unfortunately maintained for years.

<h1> A little blue pill won't magically solve his problems. </h1>

When I first spoke to my doctor about my issue, he gave me a sample pack of Viagra, patted me on the back, and sent me on my way. Later that week, I tried half of a pill at home by myself, which led to an erection that was better suited for pole vaulting than sex. However, when I tried taking it with a partner, my nerves became so intense that they melted my arousal like a popsicle on a warm summer day.

That experience left me deeply discouraged because, while I wasn't happy about being placed in the company of silver foxes (no offense, guys), some part of me thought Viagra would be the blue bullet that solved all my problems.

Recent research shows exercise can also help erectile dysfunction. Watch this to learn more:

Despite the setback, I kept trying. I had intermittent success with the medication, but the moment I knew sex was a possibility, a clawing pressure rose in my chest.

Finally, in my late twenties, my then-girlfriend encouraged me to see a psychologist to get to the bottom of the issue. After several months of difficult conversations, I began to identify and deal with the real culprit causing my erectile dysfunction.

Over the years, Id failed so many times that I just couldnt imagine having a healthy, normal sex life. Pain had become my security blanket, and even when my anxiety lessened, I found unconscious ways to whip myself back into a frenzy.

It took months of difficult conversations. But, eventually, my psychologist and I began to chip away at an old beliefthat Id always be "broken"and replace it with a better one: Id always be enough. With that new perspective, trusting my body and loving myself became a possibility once again.

For many men, unless the source of their problem is a specific health issue (a heart condition, etc.), E.D. meds aren't a long-term solution. Still, it's easy to carry on using the drug as a safety net. But now I know that recovery begins when you find the courage to confront the issue emotionally, and if possible, with the help of a professional.

<h1> His sexual needs don't come firstit may just take time to figure out how you both can feel satisfied and safe. </h1>

By the time I met my wife, I was well on my way to recovery. But after six months of dating, I had an unexpected resurgence of old doubts. When I struggled sexually, her instinct was to hold me tight to soothe my frustration. However, the physical closeness only revved up my nervous system, <a href="https://www.womenshealthmag.com/health/a23133075/signs-of-anxiety-disorder/" id="15d769af-fed5-31d1-a082-d0ca037f7a52"> making my anxiety even worse </a> .

When I explained that I preferred to "cocoon" into myself when I felt overstimulated, she was understanding and respectful of my needs, even when that meant choosing a book over an unpredictable erection. But, soon, my slumps stretched to several weeks at a time.

Eventually, it took a toll on her. I began to see flutters of insecurity beneath her assurances that everything was fine in our relationship. When we sat down to talk about what was going on, she answered all of my questions (Are you okay? Are you happy? Do you feel safe?), but I sensed tension beneath her words. Eventually, we agreed that radical transparency was the best thing for our relationship, even if it risked putting more pressure on our sex life.

Even though I often reminded her (and she reminded herself) that the source of the issue was fear, not lack of desire, my withdrawal made her feel rejected nonetheless. "When you need space, it makes me feel like you are going to leave," she finally said. It wasnt until that moment that I understood how much my coping mechanisms were doing the exact opposite for her. And though I consistently told her how much I loved her, my words werent enough.

Just like I needed my "cocoon," she needed physical touchnot necessarily sex itselfto feel seen and loved. So, I did what I should have done months earlier and wrapped her in my arms until her body let out heaving sigh of relief.

Many partners of men with sexual dysfunction are afraid to say anything they think could make the problem worse. It's a delicate balance, but my wife now knows how to voice her emotionswhile still being sensitive to mineand that has helped us both uncover new strategies to work together in meeting each other's needs.

'I Have E.D., And Here's What I Want You To Know'

As an Olympic fencer, you might say I'm pretty handy with a sword. And, although I spent more than a decade outwitting opponents in competition, I became my own worst enemy as soon as I entered the bedroom. During my teen years, I didn't know what to call it. It was just a big black hole of anxiety that opened up each time I lay naked with another person. But in my twenties, I finally found the words to describe my unspeakable problem: <a href="https://www.womenshealthmag.com/sex-and-love/a19...

'I'm A Guy With Erectile Dysfunction, And This Is What I Want You To Know'

I met CJ on Reddit where he co-founded <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/AJelqForYou/" id="293159c1-b9e4-3e2c-a278-cf7bd893e3d7"> AJelqForYou </a> , a forum dedicated exclusively to the dark art of at-home <a href="https://www.menshealth.com/sex-women/a19524433/penis-enlargement-products/" id="43fc597b-b0dd-39f9-ae9d-d838661f04ef"> penis enlargement </a> (or PE for short). There he goes by M9ter (the 9 alludes to his supposed size) and, over the years, has come to be respected as a true wizard of the wand.

Anyone familiar with Reddit knows that most forums of this ilk are breeding grounds for porn and trolls. But this online space feels more like a congenial clubhouse than an unwholesome hideout. A weekly new user thread garners a stream of friendly questions. A moderators note welcomes men of all sizes to belong and contribute.

Part of the neighborly vibe is born out of the communitys core values, which CJ summarizes as safety first, size second. (Note: According to medical experts, "safety" and "at-home penis enlargement" never go hand-in-handmore on that important point later.)

Still, the remains highly NSFW (youve been warned). One thread supplies a healthy debate between the benefits of training for length versus girth. Another, called Photo Proof, hosts pictures of members johnsons, some yanked up against classroom rulers, others strangled with measuring tape.

Yellow tape measure in meters and inches in a spiral

CJ tells me hes been researching this topic for more than 20 years, and that the subreddits name itself is an homage to , one of the oldest and most popular enlargement methods that involves sliding the okay grip down the shaft at half-mast.

After tearing a vein during the early years of his practice, CJ now eschews the technique. However, hes spent the time in between experimenting with a full menu of other options that (he claims) have grown his sausage from a .

I cant help but grimace as he details various manual stretches, pressure holds, and shaft squashes. Beads of sweat appear on my brow when he moves on to describe the hangers, pumps, and extenders that sound more like medieval torture devices than groin-friendly tools.

Accessories can cost well into the hundreds of dollars. One retailer even offers a that would fit right with the decor at Trump Tower.

But CJ recommends a more economical approach (at least to start). And he spent no more than a handful of change on the quick-release that he uses on the base of his penis to trap blood and push his erection past one hundred percent.

When considering my own view on these terrifying routines, I discover far more empathy than you might expect. During my years as an Olympic fencer, I secretly battled and found myself constantly trying to reconcile my confidence as an athlete with my insecurity as a man.

Ive since recovered, but I feel a deep connection to these mentheir vulnerability, their desperation, their pain. And yet, I cannot for the fucking life of me figure out why they insist on treating their hardware like a drunken plumber mishandling an unruly pipe.

Which is why I ask CJ to be my guide, my male enhancement Sherpa of sorts, as I ascend into the thin air of this strange and mysterious subculture.

I hope that, with my past experience and his expert footnotes, I can begin to understand. But I also know that to do so, Ill need to leave the comfortable grounds of AJelqForYou and return to the source, to embed myself among online PE pioneers that first brought these routines to the masses.

The three major penis enlargement forums, , , and , all date back to the early aughts and boast monthly visitor numbers well into six-figures (by comparison, AJelqForYou has 16K members).

Many men (CJ included) hold accounts across multiple sites, making it difficult to estimate the size of the overall community. But its safe to say that the number is well within the range of a fearsome standing army.

It only seems fitting that I should spend the majority of my time on the largest of the three, Thundersplace (~500K monthly visitors). When I arrive at the homepage, I note that, as compared to the futuristic fonts and seamless scrolling one encounters on the modern web, the site looks positively ordinarya paint-by-numbers assembly of panels, text, and boxes.

But as I dig into the first post, a 1600-word, scholarly assessment on <a href="https://www.menshealth.com/sex-women/a19540927/stronger-erection-shot/" id="f7ef3f70-b83a-36b9-af25-832cac23e62d"> Platelet Enriched Plasma injections (you know where) </a> , the amateurish design suddenly seems intentional, as if to say, Were too busy doing important work to spend time making this look good for you.

On the sign-up form, Im greeted by a disclaimer, scripted in red: be aware that the exercises discussed on this forum have the potential to cause injury. You do them at your own risk. And the next few screensguidelines, FAQs, and 101sall retain the mildly irritated and patronizing tone deployed by so many internet moderators.

I know better than to pick my handle on a whim. To open a dialogue with these men, they must trust me. So, Ill have to blend in with screen names like Rambone, Egotesticle, and Vincent Van Cock.

The avatars are even worse. Screenshots from porn abound. One profile bears a picture of an enormous tree with the Comic Sans caption: Women love Redwood. I stumble across an old Shania Twain album cover, which seems out of place until my mind summons the wailing melody of That Dont Impress Me Much.

Because Im a newbie, I cant upload an avatar (theres a two-week waiting period for that). But, in the type box for my new handle, I enter Broadsword, a name that brings a rush of creative satisfaction until Im notified that its already taken. Ill have to settle for Longsword instead.

\"I begin to wonder, is this all just hustle porn for your peen?\"

This seems an appropriate time to mention that although this name is context-appropriate, its not aspirational. As far as that department goes, Im about as average as it comes. And for many years, I was too worried about my bedroom performance to give a hoot about my size.

The specter of that mentality persists today, and not even CJs assurances can convince me to put my actual sword at risk. But I remember my high school days when all my friends could talk about was the growth of their sprouting peas.

As a late bloomer, I was, of course, curious about how I stacked up. But in Thundersplace, I need not ask. Members place their measurements front and center. With acronyms like BPSFL (Bone Pressed Stretched Flaccid Length) and MSEG (Mid-Shaft Erect Girth), many profiles read like the Enigma code.

It takes some time to orient myself amidst this alphanumeric soup, but Im soon immersed in a language that, given my Olympic background, is eerily familiar. One man worries hes overtraining. Another discusses his two on, one off rest schedule. A third scribbles fervently about his monster gains. And suddenly it hits me: PE is like CrossFit for your penis.

And, like in the fitness world, there are those that hock their own proprietary spin. One member coins a move he calls the firegoat roll (like pressing pastry dough between your palms). Others link off to paid webinars and affiliate products. Even CJ, whos counseled hundreds of men for free, sells his own ebook to justify the amount of time he invests in his passion.

However, the snake-oil is less prevalent than youd expect, and the overall vibe is shockingly earnest. Far more men offer attaboys and advice than censure and critique. And Im genuinely touched when I read a mans post signature, which says that participating in the community helped him (all literal interpretations aside) grow as a man.

PE veterans on Thundersplace have a lot to say to newbies on the topic of effort and persistence. I wade through bizarre invocations of Yoda (Do or do not, there is no try) and Costner (If you build it, they will cum). I even managed to dig up one of CJs posts that proselytizes a philosophy he calls the Diamond Method (Stress + Time = Growth). And I begin to wonder, is this all just hustle porn for your peen?

And if this effort-focused ethos is toxic for , it seems heedless to promote to men who are unaware of the degree to which their physical and mental wellbeing are at stake. Again, my mind returns to the gym where I have watched far too many beginners fling weights overhead with reckless abandon.

When I ask CJ about this, he confirms that most serious injuries occur among newcomers that possess more exuberance than knowledge. Which is why he co-created a that puts enhancing techniques on a scale from 1 (inflammation or rash) to 10 (disfigurement or death).

\"These practices are seriously dangerous.\"

, a urologist at NYU Langone, is not inclined to support these men's pursuits. He points to numerous flaws with the approach, notably the absence of medical oversight or research objectivity. These practices are seriously dangerous, he saysand, in some cases, theyre akin to buying a ticket to the emergency room.

After Dr. Cohen gives me a quick refresher on the anatomy of the penis, I can see why. The organ is a complex system of arteries, veins, and tissues. Trauma to any one of those components can restrict blood flow, deposit scar tissue, destroy nerve endings, or worse.

I need look no further than the injuries and treatments section of Thundersplace to observe these consequences in real life. There, men write posts with titles like I have lost everything after PE and Jelqing has destroyed my life, often furnishing their accounts with photographic proof of their wilted willies.

To get a sense for the impact of these warnings, I message a handful of men on Thundersplace and PEGym about their personal experience with enlargement techniques.

A 19-year-old with the handle somedudehere tells me that he wishes that he never found the community. After an incident with a weighted hanger that he described as dead dick, he now feels that the cons overwhelmingly outweigh the pros. Another injured member called halflife tells me that he continues to practice in spite of his mounting apprehension, because he just cant accept his penis the way it is. A user who goes by Oxygin tells me he was initially excited by his progress, but ultimately decided that 1-2 inches wasnt worth his manhood.

Some users are skeptical of others' injury claims. On forums like these, trust is earned through volume (one PE veteran on Thundersplace has nearly 6,500 posts to his name). And moderators often cry troll when new members post complaints of a broken dick. CJ chalks most of this up to scare tactics, an effort by internet mischief makers to stir men up and get attention. But Im not so sure. Having written about my own struggles, I recognize familiar patternsthe specificity, the anguish, the helplessness.

Worse, PEGym contains a number of threads with ruminations about suicide by those who claim to have suffered debilitating PE injuries or perceive themselves to be of insufficient size. In most cases, moderators immediately point them to resources and hotlines. But, even with CJs caveat in mind, many of these accounts read like genuine cries for help.

Considering the depths of despair that some of these men face, I have to ask: How can this all be worth it? In other words, is bigger really better?

Man's hands holding white measure tape on pastel blue background. Mock up for body slimming, weight loss or dressmaker's offer or other ideas. Closeup. Point of view shot. Empty place for text. Top view.

In 2015, researcher and neuroscientist Nicole Prause sought an when she asked seventy-five women to indicate their preference from a collection of 3D-printed phalluses.

On average, women chose a penis only slightly larger than the norm. However, Prause also notes that, in the survey, a cohort of female participants reported ending a relationship because their partner was too big.

Those results, in conjunction with another study that revealed that men female ideals, suggest not only that satisfaction is a matter of fit, but also that these masculine fears are largely unfounded.

When I ask Prause what she thinks of this obsession with huge, she points my attention back to ancient Greece, a time when a small penis was in line with and a large one was considered vulgar or grotesque. Sadly, thats no longer true today. And, taking into account that commenting on penis size remains a powerful act of both and , theres no question that our culture edges men towards apprehension.

Which is partially why the lion share seem unable to escape this fundamental insecurity. One study pegged size anxiety at nearly of the male participants. Another reported even among men that perceived themselves to be averagely endowed.

The solution, however, isnt as simple as making the penis bigger. Approximately undergo enlargement surgery each year, but a by Kings College London noted that the procedure not only comes with significant risk (the possibility of a non-functioning, disfigured, or insensate penis) but also delivers satisfaction rates that are no higher than 20 percent. It stands to reason that if highly-trained doctors cant deliver the desired result (feeling good about yourself), its absolutely looney tunes for men to believe that they can do better at home.

The more I think about it, the more I see that the root motivation is simple to explain but difficult to understand. Many of the men, CJ included, refer back to a single moment when a partner rejected them for their size.

My own parallel experience occurred the first time I failed to perform in the bedroom, an event so emotionally traumatic that, for years, I could not escape the flashbulb memory burned into my brain.

These are the basic ingredients of obsession, a word that appears in more than a few personal stories. And in the same way that I was maniacally driven to achieve (academically and athletically), I suspect many of these men go to these extraordinary lengths because no number will ever be big enough.

Dr. Cohen tells me about one of his patients that, despite extraordinary professional success and a normal penis, could not escape the overwhelming feeling that he would never measure up. Cohen ultimately recommended therapy, which seems like the most sensible approach considering that its been shown to be an for even the most extreme cases of body dysmorphia.

When I message CJ about this, I cant help but get the sense that, within this community, offering this advice would be like throwing a life vest to drowning man whose arms are tied behind his back. CJ concedes that counseling can be helpful, but bats it away as the primary solution. Its hard for men to overcome being rejected for their size, he says, with therapy that tells them that size doesn't matter.

However, I find this to be a mischaracterization of the approach. Therapy doesnt really tell you anything. Instead, it acts as a mirror, reflecting back your beliefs, then providing the tools to adjust them.

Seeking help from a psychologist was one of the best decisions I made during my recovery because it forced me to confront my confidence-ravaging fixation that I would always be broken.

Perhaps this is CJs engineering background bubbling to the surface, but he appears to espouse a more independent approach, claiming that PE teaches men patience and the ability to apply solve their own problems.

And theres the rub, the moment when the most dangerous belief endemic to at-home PEand toxic masculinity in generalrears its ugly head: I dont need help; Ill go it on my own.

Many men would rather be lost in the fog of confusion and despair than stop and ask for directions. However, in the case of PE, they are asking for directions, just not from the park ranger at the official information booth. Instead, theyve turned down a dark road and accepted a crinkled, hand-drawn map from a man whose real name theyll never know.

And while this is an uncharitable description of CJ, who seems to be a genuinely nice person who cares about the men on his forum, theres a reason why this community remains in the shadows. Anonymity is the opposite of accountability. And without accountability, what do you do when people truly get hurt?

Nevertheless, my heart bleeds for these men because Ive been there, standing at the ledge, staring into the darkness, grappling for a solution. And this is how I know that the answer lies not in taking matters, literally, into their own hands, but, instead, in finding someone to talk to that can actually help.

*CJ Major is an alias used by M9ter to protect his online anonymity.

These Men Will Do Anything for a Bigger Penis

From our very first call, CJ Major* took me by surprise. His voice is thin, almost reedy. And the way he rattles on about his peniswith enthusiasm and precisionreminds me of my junior-year science teacher explaining the minutiae of the physical world.

Inside the Online Communities for Guys Who Want Bigger Penises

Still, I let her peel my jeans and boxers down around my ankles. But even with her steady tugging, nothing stirred below my waist. I commanded myself to focus, honing all of my energy on levitating those few inches of skin. But, after a few agonizing minutes, I finally accepted that I couldnt Houdini the thing to life.

Its okay, she said, before eventually falling asleep on my shoulder. But, as I laid there, staring at an image of jousting knights on my bedroom wall, all I wanted to do was reach down and wring its tiny neck. In the following weeks, we kept trying. But each time her hand made the slow descent down my abdomen, I shriveled like a raisin in the sun.

I tried imaging bacchanalian scenes worthy of Caligula. But it did no good. I tried grabbing it myself like a rancher wrestling a steer. But it did no good. Nothing did any good. It was only after she left that I would sheepishly peel open the crinkled pages of my June 1998 Hustler and watch, in shock, as the thing sprung back up like a one-fingered hand flipping me the bird.

Jason, age 16, after winning a medal at an international competition in Italy.

Several months into the relationship, she came over on a Saturday night. Halfway through a movie, she began kissing my neck, and I was horrified by the realization that I didnt even expect to get it up. I was merely waiting for the inevitable to happen. It did. Or, I should say, it didnt.

After I drove her home, we sat silently in the driveway. Then, I muttered something like, its not you, its me-words I knew sounded fake, but were all I could find.

It doesnt matter, she said, her cheeks flush and her eyes wet. But she couldnt reach me because my adolescent brain had already drawn its own conclusion: I am not enough.

\"My fear and worry reduced me to a sweaty, fumbling mess.\"

When she eventually went inside, I sat there, gripping the steering wheel as the minutes passed. At first, I wondered if she would tell her friends about my struggles. Then, I realized she probably already had. My skin grew hot. My stomach churned. But the way I felt in that moment-alone, embarrassed, ashamed-was somehow less painful than the unbearable prospect of failing all over again.

<a href="https://www.menshealth.com/health/a25424395/erectile-dysfunction-causes-symptoms-treatment/" id="f14d541b-247b-3cf7-a6a4-f81f94be486a"> Erectile dysfunction </a> . The term often evokes an image of a silver-haired man sipping Mai Tais in Florida with his fourth wife. But a striking number of men under forty grapple with the condition. Many cases go unreported, making its prevalence remarkably hard to pin down-estimates range from <a href="https://www.issm.info/news/sex-health-headlines/erectile-dysfunction-ed-and-young-men/" id="942b0271-1995-3582-a8be-b6d322546c61"> 2% to a staggering 40% </a> . The root of the problem can be medical, but, more often, these cases are deemed to be psychological in nature.

Anxiety is the enemy of arousal, says <a href="https://www.iankerner.com/" id="1790406d-c357-30bc-ae99-ac57e96ff6a3"> Ian Kerner </a> , renowned sex counselor and author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/She-Comes-First-Thinking-Pleasuring/dp/0060538260" id="d17d4116-78a5-31ca-aeda-5a996cb11ba2"> She Comes First </a> . Failing to perform, especially during early sexual experiences, can cause what he calls trauma with a lowercase t. It isnt the same as, say, becoming the victim of a violent crime. But the stress, guilt and shame that result from these developmental traumas are stored in the body and brain and can lead to a self-feeding cycle.

Although I was never a particularly angsty kid, my sexual troubles with Kayla reigned in my youthful exuberance. Unlike my friends who chased girls and generally enjoyed the teenage hormone rollercoaster, I focused on fencing and school-an effort that led to a full scholarship at The Ohio State University. After I left Los Angeles for Columbus, I quickly established myself as an Olympic hopeful and, despite spending upwards of two months abroad for competitions, maintained a near 4.0 GPA.

Jason, age 18, with parents Chuck and Kathleen at high school graduation.

But the self-assurance I drew from those achievements never crossed over to the bedroom. There, my fear and worry reduced me to a sweaty, fumbling mess. Each time it happened, I did my best to banish the event from my mind. But I also began to feel that if I couldnt perform in that realm of my life, I had to make goddamn sure that I was perfect in all the others.

In 2004, I qualified for my first Olympics at the age of twenty-one. Achieving my childhood goal and representing the United States was thrilling, to say the very least. But only moments into my debut event in Athens, I sensed a tingling emptiness in my temples, as if the blood was draining from my head. An impenetrable psychic wall built itself around me causing my fencing to deteriorate rapidly.

My opponent, a cocksure Italian (imagine the quintessential soap-opera stud that makes even your grandma hot and bothered) defeated me swiftly and without mercy. The score of our match, 15-3, registered among the worst fencing losses at those Games. But it was the way I lost-dominated by such an alpha male-that returned a familiar feeling: I am not enough.

Afterward, I found an empty, concrete hallway in the bowels of the arena. Although I tried to remind myself that it was an honor just to compete, all I felt was failure. Quivering as thick tears sloshed down my cheeks, a single, deluded question tore through my mind: If I can feel this impotent when Im supposed to be strong, how can I possibly respect myself as a man?

The Athens Olympics left me emotionally concussed. In addition to my ass-kicking, I received another blow several days later during our team competition after we fell short of a medal by a single point. But when I replayed the memory of that first event, I couldnt help but note its eerie similarity to my experiences in the bedroom. The emotional sequence was the same: powerlessness, horror, shame.

I seriously considered leaving the sport, but ultimately decided to continue fencing in hopes that I might redeem myself at the next Games. After graduating from college, I moved to New York and doubled down on my training while also diving deep into sports psychology to stabilize my wobbly psyche.

Despite a tumultuous qualifying season, I earned a spot on 2008 Olympic team. But in Beijing, more eerie similarities appeared. Like in Athens, I lost 15-3 in the individual competition, this time to my own teammate. But now accustomed to these types of disappointments, I put it behind me, focusing all of my energy on my next event only a few days later.

On the day of the team competition, my stomach churned as the four of us walked out into the arena. In our first match, we overcame a large deficit to defeat our higher-ranked opponents. In the next, we, again, stormed from behind and tied up the score, with only one point to go and a medal at stake.

With our team captain in control of the last stage of the match, I could only stand by and watch as he launched into the air, body stretched, arm extended. He hung there for what seemed like ages before the tip of his saber struck his opponent's mask with a satisfying thwack. Realizing he-we-had secured the win, an emotional fissure tore open within me, like a geyser releasing untold years of geological pressure. I would be an Olympic medalist.

Rogers and his team celebrating their win.

The days, months, and year that followed unfolded in a blur. My silver medal brought new opportunities, earning me access to spheres I never thought possible: galas, celebrity parties, fashion shows. I began working as a model, represented by the New York agency Wilhelmina. The future looked bright. But a part of me remained agitated, unsettled.

On a trip home, I went out to a Hollywood club with friends. At the bar, I met an attractive woman with sharp sense of humor. After a night of drinking, we went back to my place. My confidence soared, not only from alcohol but also the tin foil wrapper in my pocket containing a new, secret weapon I recently got from my doctor: Viagra.

\"Im an Olympian, and I cant even fuck?\"

Having covertly popped 50 milligrams of boner magic in the taxi, I was ready to go soon after we arrived. But about a minute after we started having sex, the finish line, which once sped towards me, began extending farther and farther away. So, I did what any athlete does: Try harder.

But the faster I went, the more out of control I felt as if sprinting on a treadmill moving too fast. When I finally admitted defeat, I buried my face deep into the pillow. "Well, I'm satisfied, she said in the way no man ever wants to hear. I'd have burst out laughing if I weren't preoccupied with a darker thought: Im an Olympian, and I cant even fuck?

Rogers at the opening of the first Hermes Mens Store on Madison Avenue in 2010.

Shame is a toxic emotion that leads men to keep their sexual troubles to themselves. A <a href="https://www.atomikresearch.co.uk/50-of-male-brits-in-their-30s-suffer-erectile-problems/" id="80a17e89-38dd-39db-a2d4-ab36b8134715"> survey </a> commissioned by a UK-based pharmacy chain reported that 43% of men said that they didn't feel they could discuss the issue openly with friends. And over a quarter would prefer to break up with a partner than to seek treatment from a doctor.

If these numbers shock you, they shouldn't. Just look at how western culture shapes the dialogue around sexual performance. Hollywood celebrates young, virile heroes. Porn paints an unattainable portrait of male sexual performance. Even <a href="https://www.menshealth.com/health/a26244928/start-ups-getting-rich-millennial-insecurities-anxiety/" id="6a4375a8-ac93-3573-af50-d07c0f14b8ee"> telemedicine startup Roman </a> promises to ship men ED medication in discrete packaging and to their friends door. Through these influences, men learn, implicitly, that sharing their troubles will only compromise their masculinity and lead to embarrassment.

My initial attempts to talk about my sexual troubles taught me a similar lesson. One night, in my early 20s, I broached the topic with a childhood friend. A muscle twitched in the fleshy skin under his left eye before he spoke. Well, I dont struggle with that, he said, bringing our conversation to an abrupt end.

That reaction-the way he snapped shut like clam sensing danger-was one I had experienced before. It resembled a time I tried to open up to a fencing teammate about choking at a crucial national tournament. As soon as I began my story, he cut me off. "Don't worry about it," he said. But from the way he recoiled-as if my words were contagious-I understood his meaning: Don't put that shit in my head.

My failure with the Hollywood girl had torn a final hole in my ragged sexual confidence, leading me to do something I never I thought I'd do: Talk to my dad. My resistance was never due to a bad relationship between us. Although he traveled a lot for work and took a more reserved approach to parenting, he could, at times, be very dad-like and supportive.

It also extended beyond the natural allergy every young boy has to talking to his parents about sex (ew). Instead, it had more to do with my fear of revealing to the very man that gave me life, something that I thought compromised my own manhood.

But, sitting at a corner table at an empty restaurant in New York City, I finally did. After I told him everything, I braced for the same whiplash of judgment I had felt so many times before. "I'm so sorry," he said with a heavy sigh, I wish we had this conversation a long time ago.

Relief rushed over me as he began, haltingly at first, to reveal his own battles with sexual performance anxiety that first arose during a period in college, and again after the end of his first marriage. Like me, he had compartmentalized the issue, concealing it from others, especially his male friends. But he also emphasized that he regretted keeping it to himself.

At my age, he said, you learn not to give a shit about the people that dont love and support you no matter what.

The initial confidence I built from that conversation led to others. I began having regular sessions with a psychologist and grew more comfortable peeling back the layers around my feelings. I found and invested in new male friends that I could count on to react to my revelations without defensiveness or self-recrimination. When the issue arose in new relationships, I learned to be honest and share rather than shut down my emotions.

I also pushed myself to explore more openly. For a brief period, I even dated several men after wondering whether I was in denial about some part of myself. That experience didnt offer the solution Id hoped to find, but it did teach me to view sexuality not as a binary choice but, instead, as something that falls on a spectrum.

Jason, age 35, with wife Martina Borg at their wedding in Sweden.

Now 36, married, the issue largely behind me, I find myself reflecting often on who I might have been without this personal battle. I'll admit, there are still times when anger flashes as I think about all the youthful pleasures spoiled. But far more often, I'm grateful for my experiences because they taught me to be considerate, introspective and suspicious of hubris, both in myself and others.

But dont misconstrue my meaning. My fingers tremble as I type these final words and consider the prospect of so many people reading these disclosures-including some of my own family and friends that remain in the dark. But Im comforted by the fact that I now know that I can be competitive and gentle, strong and sensitive, confident and vulnerable. None of those apparent contradictions make me any less of a man.

This Olympian's Toughest Battle Was in the Bedroom

The bulge in my pants I expected was nowhere to be found. Kayla, my first high school girlfriend, gazed back at me and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. Detecting a hint of confusion in her eyes, I ground my pelvis down hard against her. My bedsprings squeaked. I squirmed. But nothing happened.

Jason Rogers Won a Medal in Fencing at the Beijing Olympics. But His Toughest Battle Was in the Bedroom.

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Jason Rogers

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Jason Rogers Won a Medal in Fencing at the Beijing Olympics. But His Toughest Battle Was in the Bedroom.