“What is love anyway? From my new vantage point, I realize that love is nothing more than a messy conglomeration of need, desperation, fear of death and insecurity about penis size.” – Human Nature (2001)

So this week is witness to a small “mini-feature” on penis size; more specifically race based myths on penis size. Skye kindly linked us to some dick shots yesterday and I believe tomorrow Dr. Sam Sharpe is bringing the science on this issue. Unsurprisingly, I also have something to say on the matter of penis size, surprisingly though it isn’t “bigger is better”.

The facts in my mind are that while “size does matter” it is about being the right size for your partner. Too small and you are left wondering “is it in yet?” but too big and it is uncomfortable, even painful. In fact, I have been defeated by more than one Goliath of a cock, when penetration was just impossible. I’ve had a disappointingly high number of VSDs as well.

In my sexual life, I have been fortunate to come across exactly three perfect penises (to clarify – perfect for me). One is still a somewhat irregular feature in my bed, much to my delight. The tale of my first perfect penis, I will save for another time as I was a much younger and more impressionable rose then; and my adoring worship of that member did lead me into some rather compulsive behaviour. (There isn’t a 12 step program for an addiction to cock!)

The second perfect cock, belonged to a young man I stumbled across (literally – I was hammered) in university. He was Chinese in descent, and as I do favour a hairy bear look on a man, I probably wouldn’t have even ventured there had he not been an utter gent. The night we met he literally picked me up off the floor of the bar, and then offered to walk me home.

The absolute poppet that he was, he didn’t just walk me home; when I awoke the following morning, I found myself tucked up in bed with a glass of water and a bucket strategically placed next to me. This was not the usual practice of my flatmates and clutching my head I staggered to the lounge to find someone to thank. There I found my flatmates, both passed out on the sofa with their shoes still on, make up and drool trailing down their faces. Obviously not the quarter from which my assistance came from. The mystery was solved later that day when a text arrived asking how I was feeling and would I like to get a coffee sometime. The number was stored to a name I didn’t recognise, so I called for an explanation. I have provided both his words and the subtext below:

Dear Ken had walked (carried) me home to see I got home safe (alive). There he found my flatmates were unable to help (speak / walk / stand up) so he put me to bed himself. He promised he didn’t take advantage (grab a quick feel) of the situation (me being so drunk Rohypnol wasn’t necessary). He stayed for a glass of water (the only sustenance found in our house) and to make sure I would be okay (didn’t choke on my own vomit). He then took my number, and left.

I was impressed. My drinking buddies at the time were mostly jocks or “blues” as they were deemed in my university. It was a night out with my boat club that had led me into such a state in the first place. I don’t doubt that had I not fallen down at Ken’s feet, I would not have woken up in my own bed. I also expect instead of a bucket and a glass of water it would have been mine and some anonymous male’s underwear on the nightstand.

So after a few days recovery, I called Ken back and asked him if I could buy him dinner to thank him. (I also was a bit hazy on how he looked). As he had a fairly non-descript accent on the phone, I was taken by surprise when an Asian dude turned up to meet me. Still this was my Good Samaritan and he was pretty cute in a clean shaven sort of way. He was also damn funny and great company. Dinner was a blast – though he was a little too good at imitating my drunken rambles and gurnings at times. Apparently I had already told him I loved him. And while he was trying to manoeuvre me into bed I’d stripped down to my knickers while he was looking for a t-shirt and asked if he liked my boobs. I think he was trying to embarrass me by retelling these stories. It worked. However, not one to be beaten, I thought it best to check the outcome.

“Well do you like my boobs?”

His eyes widened slightly and he looked at me with a very hot and mischievous grin. “I do, and you should count yourself lucky that my mother raised me not to take advantage of drunk girls.”

My response of “I’m not drunk now” was smothered by his kiss.

As we headed back to his halls of residence (that’s a dorm for you American types) I was excited from his kisses (very good technique), but since I was still living under my misconceptions of Asian men I wasn’t expecting all that much in the way of trouser snakes. Imagine my surprise and delight when he unleashed a perfectly proportioned, delightfully smooth and utterly delicious cock. Perfect penis – number two. Hallelujah and praise to whatever being you believe in!

Praise him I did. I vocally agreed with that man and his equipment all that night and a significant part of the following day too. (My boat club were about to declare me AWOL having missed a morning outing and not having been seen at my house or in the college bar for 24 hours.) He became my favourite distraction from finals revision, a wonderful stress relief! (Also partially to blame for my grades plummeting and my final award of a 2.2… few too many hours spent in his bed rather than in the library)

Ken and I fell out of touch after university; however Ken’s legacy lives on in my DVD collection. I’ve already mentioned my impressive (if somewhat intimidating) German porn collection. I also have a fairly awe-inspiring set of the finest Hong Kong cinema money can buy. While this gives me huge cool points in the eyes of many a self proclaimed movie buff – it isn’t for the cinematography / special effects / ninja moves / etc. It is because I cannot buy hard core porn with Asian guys in it. So instead having discovered Ekin Cheng had a strong resemblance to Ken, I buy legitimate films, and indulge my imagination.

I apologise. I apologise for all those who escaped reading this story the first time round and are now faced with it’s gruesome reality; and I apologise to those who have already read it and thought the nightmares were finally laid to rest after a year. Except I don’t… not really. Having finally recovered myself, I find it far too amusing not to make it’s publication an annual treat for you all. I’ve even included the original comments to add “flavour”.

Happy Halloween, my darling Readers!

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“Poets have hitherto been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese” – G.K. Chesterton

O MY GOD! Most upsetting and horrifying experience on Saturday! I drunken stumbled home with a reasonably attractive young Canadian (being Slutty Mc Ho-Bag) and to start with his equipment was much smaller than his stature would have suggested (I should listen to my own advice as he had very clean shoes). Then to add insult to injury, I discovered his foreskin contained a truly gopping amount of crusty knob cheese.

Picture, if you will, my Halloween horrors– we have been drunkenly fumbling around and are just getting to the good stuff…

I slip his boxers down flinging them off into the corner of his room,…

I lean forward to enjoy one of my favourite pre-shag snacks…

My hand grips his shaft and slowly I pull back his foreskin…

My eyes are closed and my mouth inches away from his helmet..

…and then this hideous smell made me gag. I look down in alarm to see a cottage cheese like substance oozing out from under his foreskin complete with some greenish tinge I can only assume was mould.

Luckily he was drunk and easily pleased, so I got away with just jacking him off while holding my free hand over my face and leaning as far back as possible. I ran straight to the bathroom to wash my hands and legged it out of there before he had time to smoke a cigarette.

For Canadian readers not knowledgeable with my vernacular, knob cheese is what will form under the foreskin of an uncircumcised man if he doesn’t clean properly. It is a mixture of dried cum and sweat.

It is foul beyond measure.

The whole experience was so horrifying I thought I might be put off sex for a while. Fortunately, all was forgotten when I met my upstairs neighbour.

Now I know I should have learnt my lesson after my London troubles with a flat mate, but this is a really big building with no shared kitchens or anything like that. Besides, Andrew (the neighbour) is hot, smart and funny. I was introduced to his cock yesterday and I am already a little smitten with it. However I have learnt some lessons – least of all that Canadian men scare easy, so I haven’t emailed, called or texted him, or done any of the other insanities I am desperate to indulge in to gain repeat access to his nether regions. I have set myself a target for noon tomorrow for a quick “breezy” email.

Does this sound ok, dear readers? Or can I just drill a hole in my ceiling this afternoon, install some stairs and surprise him with a two bed duplex apartment after work? Complete with mirrored ceiling and a love swing?

Having said that, I did send an email to the owner of the cheesy knob today; I realised I still had his business card from when we were talking at the bar, so I dropped him a very polite little note to explain how to clean his penis correctly. I warned him that if he didn’t it may rot and fall off. So lovely Toronto ladies, I have done you all a favour. Assuming he will learn the error of his ways, his next victim will have an altogether fresher, if still ‘sizably’ disappointing, experience.

“…the butthole can be the great equalizer— everyone has one. It is the most democratic of our orifices. We can all experience what it feels like to be pitcher or catcher on the butthole diamond. And no one can accuse you of anus envy.” – Tristan Taormino, of puckerup.com

I have alluded to the request for anal sex coming up about three weeks after any declaration of love or commitment. It also happens in the casual realm where I choose to explore. Some lasses enjoy it up the bum, some don’t. But it seems that at some point all men wish to explore their lady’s back passage.

Why?

Now – the standard answers are that it’s tighter, feels different or better, and it’s a bit naughty!

Actually the last man who enticed me into a lengthy phase of monogamy used to refer to the act as doing it “unconventionally”. I’ll be honest I found it quite a charming way of requesting it and gave this man my anal virginity as his birthday present. Admittedly I have since offered up my anal ‘virginity’ on a number of occasions.  I have found that an anal-explorer is more likely to go slowly and gently if he believes he is ‘discovering’ virgin territory. I do hope none of my erstwhile suitors are reading this, as I expect they may be a little disappointed considering  how pleased they were with themselves at the time, and the expense they went to with dinners, gifts, weekends away, etc. in order to pop my bum-cherry.

Nevertheless, I gave into their requests on my own terms and for my own reasons. I do not believe any of the nonsense about it being more intimate, or a better sensation for guys (unless they have a VSD … but then what else would you do with it?). Instead, I believe the male obsession with anal is a power trip. It is as simple as the amusement of looking down and seeing his cock in a place it shouldn’t be. It’s not some romantic bullshit of a stronger connection, it isn’t that erotic. (Seriously, his cock now has poo on it – what is sexy about that?) It is about power, it’s about breaking a taboo and taking something more from the lady in his bed.

Excuse my feminist rant for a second… but we have finally reclaimed our sexuality as a gender for the most part, exploring for ourselves sexual preferences on position, frequency, and circumstance. We’ve taken lessons in hand jobs and oral, we’ve shaved or waxed our cunts, and fulfilled their lesbian fantasies.

So ladies, I say take it up your ass if you want to, but don’t let him fob you off with reasons why. It’s about power – so ask for a fair exchange and strap one on first.

Today is your lucky day ladies, because I’m going to let you in on a secret.  I’m going to tell you about a few things all men think, do and know, but don’t necessarily share with you. So pay attention, because these are the kind of nuggets your man generally won’t volunteer and that will never ever show up in the pages of Cosmo (aka ‘the women’s magazine that contains more crap than the colon of the average contestant on the Biggest Loser’).

Nugget #1: Home Bed Advantage

I went out recently with a beautiful young lady with whom I’ve had an on again off again relationship. We are currently in an “off” phase and it was supposed to be just a casual evening of drinks to catch up, but one drink turned into seven and a “your place or mine” conversation. We were a few blocks away from her place, but a 10-minute subway ride away from mine. Though her apartment was closer, I pushed for the subway ride to my place because I wanted to maximize my home bed advantage and put in some serious work on this girl.

See, her bed, though lovely, is this girly girl thing that is altogether too low to the ground. My bed on the other hand is set at an appropriate altitude allowing for some serious “foot ‘pon shoulder” action. Ladies, if you’re not sure what I mean by “foot ‘pon shoulder” action you’re either having way too much sex at your place and not his or always having the tender “hold me close so I can feel your heart beat kind of sex”(some call this making love). If you still don’t know what I mean, find the nearest Jamaican and ask them to break it down for you.

I’m telling you, most men over the age of 25, have no interest in a bed low to the ground because it limits their capacity to stand up, pick you up and “change the angle” of attack. That is home bed advantage. (For a good take on this subject see Naked With Socks On’s Your Place or Mine?)

Nugget #2: Men Always Want Sex Except When…

If you’ve been reading my posts long enough you’ll know that I strongly believe that we men do not tire of sex and generally want more than we are currently getting in our relationships (see I Feel Like Fucking and Power of Five). However, there are exceptions. Let me give you an example.

It was June 1998 and I had just started seeing this sexy, sexy lady who loved to get down. She lived out of town and one of my visits to see her coincided with the NBA finals. Just as I sat down to watch the game; she started to rub up on my leg. Under normal circumstances I would be all over her like white on rice but THIS WAS THE NBA FINALS, MAN! So I had to say no (plus we’d already had sex in the afternoon) and I promised to give her a little lovin’ later.

She was pissed and gave me the silent treatment for the rest of the evening.  But hell if I cared, I was in heaven as I watched a thrilling game five. Then, because Sam Sharpe is a smart man, I spent the rest of the night pampering her, treating her like a queen (see Power of Five Pt.2) and even went so far as to promise her it would never happen again.

What I neglected to consider when making this promise is that game six of the NBA finals was just a couple of days away, which leads us to Nugget #3…

Nugget #3: Sometimes We Fake It Too…

and probably for some of the same reasons women do. I know it’s wrong, and like my girl Skye, I generally don’t support faking under any circumstance. But sometimes shit happens. For me, shit was game six of the NBA finals.

So, there I was sitting down to watch game six (which turned out to be one of the three or four definitive games of Michael Jordan’s career) when my girl starts rubbing my leg again. Now, mindful of the promise I made earlier, there was no way I could turn this invitation down, so I did the only thing I could. I commenced putting in the work right there on her living room floor.

I eventually maneuvered my love into the old “woof woof’ position that allowed for a better view of the action on the TV, but I realized that the whole sex thing was still taking away from my enjoyment of the game (and vice versa) so I did what many men before me have done when faced with this predicament: I faked it.

How, you ask? I moaned, I groaned and I sped up my breathing and my motions to mimic the telltale signs of a good climax. My girl, ever aware of the signs, started to give me the old “cum for me” speech that so many of you women are fond of. So I did—it wasn’t real, but how was she to know? I pulled out, slipped off the condom and went to the bathroom to dispose of “the mess”. She was happy, I was happy and most importantly, I was able to pay attention as Michael Jordan hit the game winning shot (to this day, whenever I see replays of that footage I remember the game winning “orgasm” I had that night).

Nugget #4: All Men Know The Size of Their Johnson…

Men know how many goals Alexander Ovechkin scored last year, how fast their car can get from 0 to 60, how many grand slam titles both Tiger Woods and Roger Federer have, how much mileage they can get on a full tank of gas and can brag about the time they drove from Toronto to Montreal in three and a half hours. So do you really believe they don’t know how big their favourite tool is? Please.

Listen, even your parish priest knows if he’s packing heat or if he’s working with a truly mini me. Look, that sound you heard when we posted The Top 10 Ways To Tell He Has A (Very) Small Dick wasn’t a clap of thunder or the sirens of a fire truck. It was the collective exhalation of all our male readers whose dicks are bigger than three and a half inches.

Nugget #5: Cosmo Is Generally Useless But…

sometimes it has good information. For example, their  article entitled Why Bad Sex is Shortening Your Life, is a must read for every woman (wink). Anything that convinces you women to have more sex with we men is welcome news.

“As she has planted, so does she harvest; such is the field of karma.”  – Sri Guru Granth Sahib

Readers, I am concerned. I am perplexed, worried and even somewhat fraught. I was being self reflective this weekend past - (okay I was hung over and watching reruns of CSI – the Vegas one, not Miami) and I realised that my recent run of luck with male specimens has been less than favourable.

I’m not going to recruit you into my belief system (beyond the creed of “One more for the road”) but I do believe the world is intrinsically fair and in a form of karma. So on that basis – why am I having such a terrible run of cock? Let’s review the evidence…

1. I ran out – the entire city of London and apparently I was running into past rejects.
2. I was in a drought and drove up the price of batteries for the province of Ontario.
3. I wasn’t allowed to view his member – popular opinion that he was too small.
4. I was terrified on Halloween by one so small and so very cheesy.
5. I was surprised by an encounter with a hairy shaft (though otherwise excellent, but still gave me pause).
6. And this weekend, I didn’t even get to review as I was shockingly abandoned for a meat pie!

Where has this ill favour come from? Based on the core pillars of karma and neatly outlined by Sri Guru Granth Sahib above (I don’t know who this is either, but it sounded good) I would be deserving of this harvest through my own actions.

Readers, I appeal to you as witnesses and as a jury of my peers! I am very nice to every cock I get my hands (or lips) on. Even a cheese encrusted minature – I take on risk of infection to complete the task ‘in hand’.

So why is my knob karma currently so poor?

What have I done to bring this upon myself?

How can I remedy this to return to the smooth, girthy perfection that I dream of?

Perhaps an exorcism is in order – but how would one perform such a feat? I can’t even begin to imagine – if it is necessary for me to behave differently than I have been in recent weeks to reverse this fortune, should I be seeking out anal? Or is it required for me to strap one on and ‘peg’ the next owner of a VSD I come across?

I am hurt that some force in the Universe has chosen to single me out for such treatment by the male member, based on the benevolence I bestow upon those who seek me out I should be crowned their Queen.

There must be something else.

I did begin to wonder if perhaps my disclosures are breaking some unspoken masonic code not to tell on their secrets, but I hope that isn’t true as I would be forced to either abandon my post here or leave cock behind altogether and write to you on my lesbian experiences. Since I enjoy telling my chronicles of cock almost as much as I enjoy the organ itself, I don’t wish to give up either of these things.

(And I really, really like cock)

But, what if this isn’t a punishment? What if I am being conditioned by these universal forces by being offered comparative data? I have had a run of bad luck beyond a normal statistical spread. I am considering this may be to encourage me to truly appreciate the value in a man’s nether regions. So that when I am offered the opportunity of truly excellent penis, I will grasp it (the opportunity and the penis) with both hands.

This is our first “instructional” video explaining how to put into action our tips on spotting a VSD (very small dick).

Part 1- “On First Meeting”

There are some tell tale signs for VSD, in this installment we investigate the initial clues on first meeting a guy.

We know, we know boys – no woman has ever faked an orgasm with you. Why would they have to? You’re a ‘cocksman’, a stallion, a bedroom bully, a regular Don Juan if you will, and no woman ever leaves your bed unsatisfied. Trust me, we understand and that is why we are dedicating this list to all the men who are not like you – STUD.

Although this post clearly doesn’t apply to you, please read on to learn some of the reasons why women fake ‘The Big O’ with your less talented brothers.

1. She knows you’ll be crushed if she doesn’t come.
2. Her mind was elsewhere throughout most of the action and she feels guilty.
3. She doesn’t want to mess up her hair.
4. She wants to get it all over with, because she didn’t feel like having sex in the first place.
5. She can’t take anymore of your lacklustre performance in the budoir.
6. You came already and she feels badly, despite the fact it took you less than three minutes.
7. She thinks her cum face is unattractive and doesn’t want you to see her that way.
8. She’s doing her best to ensure that you keep doing what works for her – a little embellishment can go a long way.
9. She’s trying to spare your feelings as you’ve already made a number of unsuccessful attempts to please her.
10. Glee is about to start and she doesn’t want to risk missing her favourite TV show.

We got to 10 and were having so much fun we decided to keep going – lucky for you.  Here’s 10 more.

1. She’s amused by the fact that you’re convinced that ‘you’re the best she’s ever had‘ and that you really believe that you make her multiorgasmic.
2. She can’t feel it anyway, because you have a VSD (very small dick).
3. You’re ‘stretchin’ sweaters’ (thank you Alana), and she can’t take another moment of being speared by your ‘girthy’ manhood.
4. She hopes someone may be watching or listening, as she used to go out with her upstairs neighbour and wants him to know she doesn’t miss him.
5. She can’t remember your name and yelling ‘Oh God’ a few times is a sure fire way to make sure you don’t notice.
6. The sweat from your man boobs is dripping into her eyes.
7. She plans to dump you soon, as she’s been boffing her co-worker for months, and her cries of ecstasy are your consolation prize.
8. She needs to borrow money from you so she can make her car payment on time.
9. Her mother told her that it takes 50 orgasms to make a man confident enough to give a woman an engagement ring.
10. She’s trying to make your night together very memorable, so you’ll believe her when she tells you she’s pregnant with your baby next month.

People, the stories keep rolling in.

After reading a Tale of Two Thumbs, one our readers, Ms. Z, asked me to share her story. Like poor Saffron, she also had a run in with a teeny tiny cock recently, although she didn’t make it out of the situation unscathed.

Ms. Z and Rudy met through a mutual friend she had hounded for an introduction at a birthday party. According to Ms. Z, Rudy was hot – cute, tall and real buff, just the way she liked her men. Once they finally connected sparks started flying and before the end of the night they had scheduled their first date.

The first date was so good they quickly scheduled their second, and then their third. They continued dating at a frenetic pace, racking up 12 dates in a three and a half week period. Despite this, to Ms. Z’s dismay Rudy was not letting her anywhere near his goods (Sound familiar folks?). She could tell he was into her as much as she was into him, but whenever they got close to doing the horizontal mambo he would give her this line, ‘I really like you and think we should wait until we get to know each other better.’ At first Ms. Z thought it was sweet, that she’d met a real prince so to speak. But as they edged their way to the five week mark Ms. Z got real frustrated. She wanted to know what Rudy was packing and she was determined to find out sooner than later.

As luck would have it Rudy cancelled their plans to see a movie one evening and asked her to come over to his place instead because his dog was sick – he didn’t want to leave the poor creature alone. Ms. Z cheerfully agreed to be there by eight and then started plotting. She was going to hit Rudy with everything she had that night and him into bed, come hell or high water.

An eager Ms. Z arrived at Rudy’s place at 7:55 pm and knocked on his door.

‘Hi Z, come on in,’ Rudy said, kissing her cheek as she passed him. ‘Thanks for being so good about not seeing the movie.’

‘No problem,’ Ms. Z said, placing her purse on his front table and stepping out her high heels.

‘Oh, let me take your coat,’ Rudy said, reaching for a hanger in the closet.

Ms. Z, slowly undid her trench coat, revealing the fiery red merry widow ensemble (for all the boys and any girl not in the know – that’s Moulin rouge style lingerie) she was wearing. When Ms. Z, heard Rudy’s breath catch in his throat she quickly moved into action. She stepped forward, pressed her body into his, and kissed him hard. Rudy didn’t know what hit him. All his ‘we should wait until we get to know each other’ talk went out the window when he saw her decked out in her finest lingerie.

Soon they were on the couch and clothing (mostly his) was being removed. Ms. Z, was excited, as she gleefully pulled his boxer briefs off. But when she looked down to see the prize she’d worked so hard to get, all her lustful exuberance left the building. Rudy’s erect dick was about ⅔ the size of an uncooked hot dog. Just looking at it made Ms. Z feel nauseous. I so can’t do this.

By this time, Rudy, had noticed the disappointed look on her face. But unlike our man Colin, he was going to get his no matter what. ‘Stroke me baby,’ he said as he wrapped her hand around his dick.

Ms. Z took a deep breath, hoping to ease her nausea (to no avail), and got to stroking. What else could the poor girl do? Unfortunately, since she was used to much larger ‘joysticks’ his dick kept slipping out of her hand. That’s when Rudy decided to help her out by wrapping his large hand over hers to get the job done. As he moved her hand up and down on his shaft (hmmm…can we call something that small a shaft?) he closed his eyes, which prevented him from seeing the unmasked terror in Ms. Z’s eyes.

Lucky for Ms. Z he started moaning and grinding his hips five minutes after her ordeal began, and came within seconds after that. When he was done, he opened his eyes and smiled at her.

‘Thanks babe, that was soooo good,’ he said, as he wiped her hand off with a tissue. ‘Let me get up and go to the bathroom for a minute.’

Ms. Z, stood up and let Rudy get up off the couch. When he did he pulled her close and kissed her. ‘I’m going to clean myself up and be right back. I’ll catch you next time, okay?’

Ms. Z, forced a smile and nodded. ‘No problem.’

Rudy grinned, kissed her again and then disappeared into the bathroom.

As for our Ms. Z, she was out of there before the water started running.

In closing, dear sisters I implore you not to ignore the early warning signs that your future bed mate may be the owner of a VSD (very small dick). Beware of any and all men who won’t allow you to assess (i.e. see or touch) their jewels early in the game.

^{“Sweet Melinda , the peasants call her the goddess of gloom}

^{She speaks good English, and she invites you up into her room}

^{And you’re so kind, and careful not to go to her too soon}

^{And she steals your voice, and leaves you howling at the moon”}

^{~Bob Dylan}

In case you haven’t visited the site over the last few days, Elisabeth Rose and Skye have been posting about the “shortcomings” of some men. Modus Operandi here at “love, sex and scandal central” aka metanotherfrog.com decrees that I respond in some manner to the topics, ideas and views presented by these two lovely ladies. However, in the case of The Top 10 Ways… and A Tale of Two Thumbs I had a difficult time coming up with anything worthwhile. Initially, I felt that I didn’t have much to say or much to add.

Having said that, I am very rarely left speechless, so I thought I would just make a few observations:

1. The 10 points listed in The Top 10 Ways… was compiled with Usain Bolt like quickness. I mean, we all know that size isn’t the only thing that matters, but after bearing witness to women yelling out the myriad warning signs that a given dude is not exactly packing heat, it’s clear it does matter to some extent. And women who care enough about these things clearly would like to have some kind of early warning system—hence the list. (But I’m sure if you’ve got a big dick and the personality of a slug you won’t get much love either—small men of the world rejoice!)
2. Though tempted to call women like Saffron superficial and insensitive, I think one of the real problems with Mr. Tom Thumb is that he’s sidling up to the high roller’s table with a short stack of chips. Not to be a prick here, but when your money’s short, you bet accordingly. I dunno, maybe I’ve got it all wrong, but fellas, if ya’ got a short stack, leave the $1000 tables alone and play the slots. If you’re so worried about the size of your penis that you refuse to take your pants off, you risk being humiliated like Mr. Two Thumbs.
3. I’m not a female (or a gay man for that matter) but aside from the size of a penis, don’t you think shape could be just as much of an issue. I once had a girl tell me that the head of her lover’s schlong was “sharp”. When I asked what she meant by “sharp”, she said “y’know, pointy like the tip of a pencil”. Think about that one for a moment.

My advice for my not so Henry Longfellows out there:

Don’t worry about it. I don’t know if there’s any truth to the saying “it’s not the size of the wand, but the magic in it”, but I do know that if you carry yourself in a “small” manner it doesn’t matter how big your cock is, women are going to respond to you negatively. I know I might be contradicting what I just finished saying about men with “short stacks” but any woman who’s going to disregard who you are as a person and dismiss you because of your size, is going to do it regardless of what you do or what you buy. Be confident. Don’t “walk small”. If you believe the size of your manhood is a problem, women will too.

Gather round y’all, because Skye has got a story for you.

Now the heroine of my story is my friend Saffron, a real looker by anyone’s standards, who oozes sexuality – even when she’s doing something as mundane as cleaning a toilet. Due to her natural ‘talents’ men tend to notice her, and by notice I mean work real hard to get close to her.

Colin, was one such man, and he first noticed Saffron while she was hard at work in a clothing store. Although he did his best to downplay his interest, Saffron (who at 16 was already used to guys running a full court press to get to her) quickly drew his card.

‘I think I should probably tell you that I’m only 16 – sir,’ she said, flashing him her Colgate smile. ‘Because I think you’re probably too old for me.’

Colin (who was pushing 25 at the time) started stammering. ‘Uh…uhm…I thought you wer-’ He nervously fingered the dress shirt she’d been showing him. ‘I’ll take this one in a size 16.’

‘I’m sure you will.’ Saffron placed the shirt in his hand, and watched him move, at a feverish clip, towards the cashier – away from her.

But that was not the last time they would meet. Saffron and Colin ran into each other time and time again – at the bank, the local YMCA, the grocery store, the mall, and even the library. They bumped into each other so often that they fell into the habit of stopping to chat for a few minutes whenever they met. Over the years they became friends and despite herself Saffron started to develop feelings for Colin.

How could she help falling for the man who’d spent years waiting to be with her? Colin had watched her grow from a girl to a woman and dealt with her giving him a whole of attitude on more than one occasion. Even with all of that, he was still here, waiting patiently for her to notice him. Well, one day about 10 years after their first meeting, Saffron finally let him know how she felt.

When she told Colin she wanted to date him, he was flabbergasted. When he got over his shock he asked her to go out that very night. They went out together the next four nights, and enjoyed being with each other so much that they both knew they’d be hitting the sheets on their next date.

On the night of their hook up, Saffron agreed to meet him at his place. After eating dinner together, they made their way to his bedroom. Now, my girl Saffron was good to go and based on the way he’d been looking at her over dinner, she was sure Colin was too. They’d both been waiting a long time for this moment, so she couldn’t understand why he was moving so slowly. After more than 30 minutes of some intense groping, she was buck naked and waiting for him to shuck his pants – which he seemed determined to keep on. Whenever she reached for his fly, he gently guided her hand away from his waist.

What the fuck is going on? Saffron sighed as he buried his face between her thighs again. How much of this no dick action does he think I can take?

A few minutes later (what seemed like an eternity to Saffron) Colin finally said, ‘You ready now baby?’

Damn straight. ‘Yes,’ she said, reaching for his fly once again.

‘Let me get the lights.’ Colin leaned towards the bedside lamp.

‘Why? I like looking at you,’ Saffron said.

Colin switched the lights off anyway.

Once the lights were off Colin seemed to relax and Saffron took the opportunity to unzip his fly. I finally get to see what you’re working with. She slipped her hand through the opening of his boxers and eagerly reached for his jewels. But when her small, delicate hand made contact with his junk, she had to stifle a gasp.

Oh. My. God. What’s up with his dick? Is it even hard? Saffron’s heart sank as she processed the sad truth. She could almost feel her love juices drying up. Colin’s dick was (from what she could tell without seeing it) about the size of

…both her thumbs put together

…side by side.

That’s why he waited so long to take his pants off. Shit, what do I do now? Saffron knew she couldn’t even pretend to be excited about playing with such a tiny dick, and that she needed to get out of the situation without hurting his feelings – too much.

‘Colin,’ Saffron whispered in his ear as he kissed her neck.

‘Yeah, babe?’

‘I’m feeling a little queasy. Just let me go to the bathroom, I’ll be back in a second.’

When Colin responded his voice was almost inaudible. ‘Okay, I’ll be right here.’

Saffron got out of bed and scurried to the bathroom. Once safely behind the closed door, she moved into action. Alright girl. Focus. First, she made a production of making loud retching noises and flushing the toilet a few times. Then she splashed water on her face and pinched her cheeks hard until they were both bright red. Finally, when she was sure that she had spent at least 10 minutes in the bathroom, she took a large bath towel off the shelf mounted above the toilet and wrapped it around herself. Make this convincing Saffron.

She opened the bathroom door to find Colin sitting in bed with his pants on, as he flipped through a magazine.

‘You feeling sick, huh?’ He didn’t raise his eyes to look at her.

‘Yeah. I’m not sure what happened, but I think I should probably go home.’

‘Alright,’ he said, getting out of the bed. ‘I’ll give you some privacy.’

‘Thanks.’ Saffron felt relieved and like a complete bitch all at once.

Once he was gone, Saffron got dressed in lightening speed, found her purse and then made her way out to the living room. He was on his couch watching TV.

‘Uh…Colin, I’m ready to go.’

‘Alright,’ he said, again without turning to look at her. ‘Please just call me when you get home, okay?’

‘No problem,’ Saffron, struggled to find something positive to say, that wouldn’t imply that they’d be going out again. ‘I had a nice time tonight. Thanks for everything.’

Colin nodded, but still didn’t look at her. ‘You’re welcome. I enjoyed myself too.’

‘Okay, Bye.’ Saffron continued down the hall and out the front door. As she walked toward the elevator she knew that as much as they liked each other, the events of the night had brought their connection to an end. Saffron felt a wave of sadness hit her. Am I giving up on  a great guy over something frivolous?

‘No,’ she said to herself, as the elevator doors closed. ’Two thumbs simply aren’t enough for me.’

The End

Until next time keep your two thumbs up,

Skye