Saturday, November 6, 2010
Sexy Saturdays: Size Does Matter
Oh Sexy Saturdays.
No guest poster today. I'll be telling my own sex story this week. What? Oh yes. Believe it.
But what story will I tell? What story could I possibly interrupt the brilliant stream of guest posters I have shared with you thus far? It is a challenge. Yes indeedy do.
Naturally, my instinct is to tell you an outrageous story. Something crazy. But if I tell you one outrageous story, I guess I have to you its bizarro counterpart right? Life is nothing if not balance.
So here we go: the biggest and the smallest.
I was maybe 22 or 23 years old. Living in Hollywood. I had just been through another nasty breakup and was rebounding hard. Then I met Adam. We'll call him Adam because I don't remember his actual name, but I recall it was something biblical.
I met Adam in a bar, of course. But not just any bar. My bar. My haunt. My cheers. Where the bartender naturally always knew my name and gave me and my friends free drinks and got me drunk on my 23rd birthday on slippery nipples. Where the doorman was constantly trying to get down my pants, but I forgave that because I never had to wait in a line. Where I knew all the regulars and they knew me and I probably dated about 4 of them at one time or another.
I had never seen Adam in my bar before. Come to think of it, I think I met him on Halloween. I was dressed as a devil and he was an angel. Perfect right? We made out. He had deliciously blond curls that I got my fingers tangled up in. And he had nice lips. I gave him my number and then forgot all about him.
When he called, I had to pretend I remembered who he was until I actually did remember. I agreed to meet him for a date.
The date was nice. Chill. He had just moved out to LA from New York and didn't know how to drive which I thought was adorable. I decided at some point during the evening that I'd take him home.
Back to my place we went and the making out was great. Very hot. Very steamy.
What happened next I can barely describe.
We were naked. He was on top of me and gyrating and groaning and obviously enjoying himself.
But I couldn't feel a thing.
He finally made his O face and collapsed on top of me leaving me to bewilderingly wonder, What just happened? Did we have sex? 'Cause you'd think I would have noticed that.
Yup, ladies and gents. He was just that small.
I did my best to be nice and say I enjoyed myself (well, the kissing was nice) and I think he went on his merry way confident that he'd sexed me up good.
Hey, don't judge me. It's not like I faked an orgasm. I would never do that (Who wins in that scenario? No one. No one.). I just couldn't bring myself to ask, Was that it?
I didn't hear from him for months. Until my phone rang on Valentine's Day. Right. Like I was gonna fall for that one.
Side note: when you get desperate on Valentine's day and start calling every girl you know, they're on to you. We know your game. Save yourself some dignity and skip the pesky little holiday altogether.
Rewind to July of 2002, the July before I met Adam.
I was in New York with my cousin Stacey and we were out in the Bowery having a good time in the sauna that is the evening in July in Manhattan. Stacey's friend Carrie invited one of her friends along and he brought his baby brother visiting from Texas. We'll call him Texas because I absolutely do not remember his name and he was like 6' 6" and we all know they make everything big in Texas. At least so I'd been told.
Texas and I hit it off. He was funny and engaging and smart. Turned out he used to work for Enron. Which I thought was interesting. And he thought I was pretty damn cute. Which I thought gave him points in his favor.
So we went back to his brother's studio apartment a few blocks away. I knew I'd never see him again and so this was going to be my first deliberately one night stand. A tryst with a practical stranger in another city. I was very excited.
Besides, my cousin's friend knew his brother, so I wasn't too worried.
PS? girls can rationalize anything when they're horny.
Fooling around was a challenge. Simply because the guy was so tall. I felt like I was climbing a wall just to kiss him. If I sat in his lap, I couldn't reach his lips to kiss him. Seriously, the distance between his crotch and his lips must've been several miles at least.
So it should come as no surprise that he had the largest penis I had ever seen and have yet to ever see in my life.
Huge. Frighteningly huge. Hulk huge. I felt badly for Betty Ross after that.
Or Shaq's wife.
I guess it was proportionate, given the sheer height of the guy, but dude! Seriously. Dude.
No way was I having sex with that. No way was that freakishly large manwand getting shoved in my delicate vajayjay. Nope. Not gonna happen. No way in any hell I can possibly conceive. And I'm pretty damn creative.
So no, we did not have sex. He was kind about it though. Wasn't all butthurt and, looking back, he was probably a little proud of himself. He was the guy who was so big the chick wouldn't have sex with him.
Which seems foolish, if you ask me. I'd rather have the smaller dick and get to have sex. But I guess I'm not a man and so I'll never understand how that works.
I've often wondered who Texas has had sex with since. Amazon women? Elastigirl? Betty Ross?
See, fellas, size does, in fact, matter. We just want a nice, safe size that we can actually feel and some talent behind it. Of course, I can't speak for my gay men friends. There might be a whole 'nother standard there. But I think I speak for the girlies when I say average is just right.
In fact, the best sex I've ever had was with a very averaged sized penis. But that's a story for another day.
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- My Doctors Always Suck, otherwise entitled Why I Hate Kaiser
- Sexy Saturdays: Slutty Saturday
- fishcunts and cum dumpsters