I had just broken up with my boyfriend, who I'd been dating for two years, and Dan, a guy I'd been flirting with while getting up the courage to end things, invited me over to his place before the dead relationship had even had a chance to go cold.
When I got there, we made a beeline for his room, collapsing on the bed in the throes of a passionate make-out session. I climbed on top of him, straddling him, wrapping my arms around him and swiveling my hips against his.
I felt nothing. Wasn't this the moment he'd been waiting for? Wasn't this the foreplay at the precipice of the mind-altering sex session that we'd spent the last month building up to? Shouldn't there be something... you know... happening?
"Are you excited?" I breathed into his ear.
"Yes!" Dan said, doe-eyed and smiling at me.
...and he WAS. Hard as a rock- only I had no way of knowing, even while straddling his crotch. He eventually pulled out the tiniest penis I have ever seen, even to this day. It was approximately the length of my thumb, and only slightly thicker.
At that point in my life, I was not the experienced sexual tigress that I am now. I did not know dicks were even MADE that tiny. It was Fun Size, except nobody was having any fun. (Well, I suppose he was. I certainly wasn't, though.)
I left that night perplexed, bamboozled, unsatisfied, and feeling like I'd been utterly duped. Did I just have sex with a baby and didn't realize it? This man was an even six feet tall- shouldn't it have been bigger than that? What the hell was going on?!
Dan represented my introduction to the world of half-pint penises, a world no one realizes exists due to the prevalence of monster cock internet porn and the fact that most women are too kind to divulge the dirty details of their boudoirs.
Most women. But luckily for you, I'm not one of them. Allow me to be your guide to the seedy underbelly of... well, men's seedy underbellies.
SMALL DICK RULES
1. You can't tell how big a man is just by looking at him.
Aside from the glass ceiling and childbirth, this is probably the most frustrating thing about being a woman. A man can look directly at us and know our bra size, give or take a cup. But when we look at him, we can know NOTHING- we're at a girth dearth, if you will.
Bearing that in mind:
2. Height has nothing to do with it.
I once took to bed a 6'3" behemoth of a man named Chris. He had to duck down to pass through virtually all doorways unscathed. People were always asking him if he played basketball. But when it was "game time" for us, his three-inch cock was anything but a slam dunk.
3. Shoe size has nothing to do with it.
In 2011, I hooked up with Jack, a man with a size-13 foot and a size XS wang. Contrarily, my most recent ex had embarrassingly smaller feet than me but a slightly larger-than-average dick. You just. never. KNOW.
That said, sometimes you do know because
4. It has been my experience that certain ethnic stereotypes are true.
Generally, when, um, Irish eyes are smiling, I'm not, because his penis is just too small for me to derive any sort of pleasure from. But Jeff, the Italian guy I casually dated a few years ago? That thing was the Everest of erections, and like any dutiful explorer, I just had to mount it. (I didn't even like him as a person that much.)
5. Sorry, men- it IS the size of the ship.
I hate to be the bearer of bad news, guys, but if the heat you're packin' is set to barely above defrost, you're going to get a lukewarm reception from us. There are some things a tiny dick just can't do, and enable me to have an orgasm is one of them. Don't get me wrong- I'm not saying I need something akin to an Amazon anaconda. Just something not small.
And the bad news doesn't end there because
6. Sorry, ladies- men with small dicks don't automatically "try harder."
I'd like to think that if you knew you came with inadequate equipment, you'd work overtime to get the job done. But this is the only place in this article where I can't make a generalization, and that is terrible, indeed.
Penis size really is one of the last true surprises we have in this world. They are a present to be unwrapped. And then, well, wrapped back up, because no one wants herpes. Ain't nobody got time for that. But, unwrap them we must, and hope, pray, and keep our fingers crossed that the big reveal doesn't make us do this:
Once again, signing off and sleeping with people so you don't have to,