When I can get people to engage about sex, it’s a favorite topic of conversation for me. I like to know what people are doing, what’s working and how they got there. Good sex should be celebrated, and bad sex should be learned from. One thing I invariably want to discuss is whether or not size matters. This topic could be applied to many objects—tits, ass, vaginal depth, etc. But for the purposes of this post, I’m talking about dick size. I’m going to go on the record right now as a size queen. Size matters to me, the bigger the better, the smaller need not apply. I find that when I bring this up with friends, it can be a provocative opinion. I’ve been told I’m shallow, or “that’s mean” or that really it’s about how it’s used, not dimensions. But I want to talk about how size could NOT matter.
My first couple of nights in college I went up to the frats and partied. I drank a lot of cheap hard liquor and had sex with a guy who was a casual acquaintance. While he was sexy and charming, his dick was very small. Fully erect I remember it being about the length of a tube of chapstick, and about double the girth. When he bared it he preempted with something like, “hey, I’m Italian and we’re small.” I’d not heard that one before and fucked him anyway. It was bad, drunken sex that left no physical impression. I wanted to wake up the next day and FEEL like I’d had sex. I wanted there to be raw edges, tenderness and maybe even a small tear or two. A tube of chapstick just couldn’t create that.
I’ve asked friends about whether they’ve been in similar situations, and how they’ve responded. In every case, they’ve gone through with sex. I like to think that I only went through with it that time because I was eighteen, and drunk, and felt like I should be having sex my first nights of college. Fellow size queens have told me that yeah, they let him because it would have been rude or awkward to turn him down after seeing what doesn’t measure up. I reject that. I hate the idea of people agreeing to have sex with someone in order to protect the other person’s feelings or ego. Life isn’t fair and some guys get the short end of the stick (pun intended) when it comes to physical endowment. I mean, I’m an A-cup and I would never expect a tit man to come after me. It’s called living in reality.
During my senior year of college I was on hiatus from a relationship with a well-endowed man. I had come to expect the exquisite pain that comes from someone long and strong as an essential part of sex. When I began to see a sexy new man, I was intoxicated by his beautiful skin and marvelous kisses. Sexually, he was interested in everything and quite open, impressive for a twenty-one year old straight guy. He was all about what I liked, and what I wanted. He was willing to explore. The first time I grabbed his dick, I was excited to feel a sleek metal bar protruding from either side of his uncircumcised head. A piercing! New to me. But as a reached further, I felt a slender shaft, average in length. The whole thing felt like a tampon in a wrapper. I knew, piercing aside, that his size just wasn’t going to cut it for me. So I politely told him I wasn’t interested in being penetrated, and he made me come with his tongue, instead. Our time together didn’t last much longer after this discovery, but he was memorable for his maturity and sex-positive attitude. Although he was a master with his mouth, I knew I could never have a lasting sexual relationship with a small man. Because of my honestly with myself, and with him, we were both free to pursue satisfying and authentic connections.