HEALTH & LIFESTYLE
Have We Talked About Size Yet?CHICAGO 01 June 2009 |
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The thing about penises: they make great conversation.
Think about it. Other than at a strip club, I challenge tits or pussies to even come close to being the conversation-starter that dicks are. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that penises are often the brains of the operation when it comes to their relationships with their “owners.” We tend to humanize the penis, calling it “him” and behaving as though it has its own set of emotional characteristics, independent of the man to whom it is attached. People don’t talk about arms or feet or even vaginas this way, exactly. The dick is everyone’s universal little buddy, whose behavior occasionally embarrasses its owner, like a toddler or an un-housebroken dog.
We are preoccupied with how quickly and often it goes up, how hard it stays once it’s up there, how long it takes to shoot its wad (or, in the case of one friend’s boyfriend, its seeming inability to do so, despite being up there almost all the time for hours at a stretch!), and, of course, the perennial favorite: its size.
Last fall, I was drinking with two friends of mine (whom I’d just set up, but that’s a different story) at a Chicago reading series aptly named Reading Under the Influence. Like many drunken people, we were talking about sex. I should specify that I was not only drunk but extremely giddy that the set-up was going so well, as set-ups are a specialty of mine though they often go awry (as they soon would in this case) so I’m not sure why I’m never dissuaded. In any case, we were smoking in the courtyard of the bar during an intermission from the readings, when the size of my husband’s penis came up.
Yes, I know: inappropriate. Apparently I am the kind of woman who, in response to having done something inappropriate, loads on more layers of inappropriateness by blogging about the incident. But I’ll worry about that later.
Here is the thing: my husband is well endowed. If you don’t know him, you weren’t previously aware of this, but if you already know him you probably already knew. It is something of a joke among our friends. Back in the 90s, we did things like travel in gaggles to nude beaches in Sitges, and ever since that incident—and a few others like it—all of our usual suspects have liked to bring up the size of David’s dick over dinners in swank restaurants, preferably in front of people he doesn’t know. This is funny because David is not the type of guy to go around talking about his own dick or its prowess (see Erika Rae’s post “I Love My Geek” to better understand my husband.) Probably, our friends imagine that he is embarrassed by his Superhuman Member, being such a nice, model-geek and all.
Of course this is not actually the case. Like all men, geeks or otherwise, David is completely in love and symbiotic with said Member, though I would venture that he’d rather it not come up in group conversations.
But he was not with me that night, so the subject came up. I don’t remember what actually started the discussion, but somehow the next thing I knew I was complaining about my TMJ. TMJ is a jaw disorder and hurts like hell. You can get it for a number of reasons. One of them is the repeated blowing of a Superhuman Member for a period of nearly 20 years.
When the guy I was setting my girlfriend up with heard about the Giant Penis of my husband, and my afflicted jaw, he seemed nervous. Actually, I didn’t notice it at the time because he’s the sort of guy who often seems nervous. But later, when he and my friend were actually dating, sometimes the topic would come up when they were alone. Like my friend would say, “Oh, Gina and David asked if I could watch their kids tomorrow night because they have to go out,” and the guy would say, “What, are they taking his Giant Penis for a walk?” Or it would be raining when we were all going out somewhere and after David and I had left for our car he’d say something like, “Maybe they can use his Giant Penis as an umbrella.”
You get the picture.
This got me thinking. What the hell is with this obsession over penis size? I began reviewing in my mind all the cracks that have been made over the years about my husband’s dick, and—cumulatively—I have to say it began to seem a little strange. I mean, we know plenty of women with big breasts, and while it would be a lie to say that no one ever notices their breasts or mentions them, I cannot recall anyone ever snidely suggesting that they use them as umbrellas or take them for a walk as the evening’s outing! It seems a bit crazy, doesn’t it? I thought people were supposed to be obsessed with boob size . . . and they are, I know. But does dick size trump boob size? What is so damn fascinating about a big dick anyway?
(No offense, David. I know you read these posts, and I love your penis. But not because it is big: because it is yours. Please forgive me; you know I have no manners.)
Once, more than a decade ago, a woman in my writing group actually said the following thing to me: “Well, you may have a husband with a big dick, but I guess at least I’m fertile and have a child.”
At this time, I was thought to be infertile, and while that did not turn out to be accurate, I’m pretty sure her comment still qualifies as “rude” to put it mildly. She was a divorced woman with man troubles, and I guess she was jealous of my marriage.
Or maybe not. Maybe she was actually just jealous of the size of my husband’s dick.
Is that possible? Do women really care about that?
People, let me tell you something. Remember that TMJ? I sleep every night with a night guard in my mouth because of my fucked-up jaw. This is Not Sexy. It’s uncomfortable. My TMJ has caused me such chronic headaches that 3 of my girlfriends once practically had an intervention for me, trying to persuade me to stop blowing my husband. Their argument was that a man with a XL Member cannot logically expect any sane woman to fit it into her mouth. I argued that David should not be punished for his dick size, which is no more his “fault” than if he were born with one leg or an unfortunate nose, and that this was part of the For Better or For Worse of the marriage vows. Big Dicks need love too.
Okay, by now you are probably imagining that David is King Kong and needs penile reduction or something like that. This is not the case. His is actually not the biggest I have ever seen. That belonged to a guy I barely knew, with whom two of my girlfriends and I had a four-way when we were seventeen. It originated as a ménage-a-trois, but when my first friend and I got a load of the size of that thing, we invited our third friend into the room because we knew that otherwise she would never believe us afterwards. Or maybe we invited her in for help. A girl does not want to tackle something like that on her own.
That guy was Freakish Large. David is Normal Large. But apparently Normal Large is still enough to inspire envy, mockery or fascination.
I’ve been with the same guy for 19 years, and so by the very nature of that I cannot claim to be a great Connoisseur of penis size far and wide. However, I have seen my share, and they have run quite a gamut. And here is what I have to say about that: despite the fact that the vagina is equipped to squeeze out an entire human baby, in its au natural state it is a fairly small space. It does not require a tree limb in order to receive the proper stimulation. Small Dick, Average Dick, Big Dick—really, once they’re in, they don’t feel much different; it’s what a man does with it that counts. If anything, the bigger end of things tends to smack into one’s cervix, etc., and could be argued as an inconvenience. Smaller is easier for oral activities—not to mention, um, other penetrating activities for which Big can clearly translate as Scary.
I’ll close on this note. Only about a week after drunkenly disclosing my TMJ in the bar, a bunch of our friends went away for a weekend in Arizona. My girlfriend from the bar was there too. One night, we were all sitting around reading out questions from one of those “All About Me” books. My girlfriend was reading the questions aloud, going around the group and having everyone answer in turn. One question was “What is your best physical attribute?” Answers ran the gamut—most people said things like eyes, hair, smile. Then it was my husband’s turn. For a moment, David looked embarrassed. Then he said, “Um . . .”
And the room dissolved into laughter. One “um” had said it all.
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