Can’t say I’ve ever experienced a two-year erection from any of the three BMWs I’ve owned.
For me, riding such sensible German machines has always had about the same loin-stirring effect as a kiss from my grandmother. And she’s been dead for 15 years.

But the unflagging condition is exactly the claim by a California man who is suing BMW of USA and aftermarket seat makers, Corbin-Pacific, in San Francisco Superior Court.
The plaintiff maintains he’s suffered a constant erection since a 2010 road trip on a bike equipped with the special seat. Ridges designed for comfort instead led to the hardship that has made getting dressed and going to the bathroom a problem, his lawyer said in published reports.
The science behind what’s termed by doctors as a “severe priapism” is clear – blood gets trapped in the penis from prolonged contact with the seat, rendering it unable to return to its flaccid state.
But metaphorically speaking, it seems odd that it would happen on a BMW. BMW riders are more likely to fall asleep or die of old age than spring into a posture of masculine readiness.
When I think of bikes with strong arousal factor, my thoughts usually turn to more manly mounts. Maybe a Harley or a stripped-down racing machine. Ducati, for example, sells a bike called a “testaretta,” which, if I’m not mistaken, refers to some anatomical part that is red.

My own experience with groin-stiffening machines is limited but distinct. I’ve ridden Harleys and Ducatis and owned so-called “hooligan” bikes – Triumph’s Speed Triple and Kawasaki’s ZRX1200r.
Looking back, I’d have to say my “chubbiest” moments came on the Triumph. I stared at the sleek, black, bug-eyed machine for hours the day it arrived from the shippers. Its three-cylinder engine had an unmistakable growl that made my heart race.
But love is fleeting. One morning during a triple-digit run down the freeway, the Trumpet choked on the tip of spark plug and came to a grinding halt. It survived major surgery but the majority of my bank account didn’t.
My feelings waned after that. A guy from Sacramento offered a trade for his cobalt-blue BMW and I took it. I remember the look in his eye when he fired it up and drove off. Major wood.
I was happy with the deal, too. As I rode home on my well-engineered, if not boring, BMW, I took comfort in knowing this bike would never leave me stranded. I could take it cross-country tomorrow. It had smart features like locking bags and a saddle that didn’t make your butt numb after 50 miles.
And suddenly, I felt a tensing down below.