There are three e-mails that I know will be awaiting me when I get up in the morning. One will be offering me the latest deals from a certain major online retailer. One will have a subject line designed to make me think it’s the reply to an e-mail I sent myself (“re: your $250,000 direct deposit”). And one will be offering me a larger penis than I’ve ever dreamed possible.
I tend to delete the latter pair. For obvious reasons, I’m sure. But presumably enough, people do click and open them to make it worth the sender’s while to still be blasting them out, close to twenty years after the words “internet” and “scam” first became conjoined in the public eye. Maybe they even get what they were hoping for, as well, and while I sit here wondering whether I can really afford the $200 dildo that is sitting in my shopping cart, there is someone else who just bought a couple hundred of them, thanks to an unexpected online windfall. And someone else is looking at the dimensions of what I consider an impressive beast, and smirking smugly to himself. “You think that’s a whopper, little lady? Come over here and try this for size.”
Big dicks. Great big halfway-down-the-leg, use-it-as-a-tentpole, “the last time he fucked me, I was spitting out tonsil for hours” monster man parts. Put a camera on his head and you could use him as a tripod.
Do guys really dream of having one? Every man I’ve ever asked has usually mused that they like what they have, but wouldn’t have said no to another inch or so. Just for appearances’ sake. Then they panic and say “why, do you think I need a bigger one?” Or words to that effect. Innocent curiosity is transformed into guilt-laden reassurance, and before you know it, you’re having sex again and whispering sincerely, “oh my god, if you were any bigger, you'd be coming out of my nose.”
Because big dicks can be a liability. A serious one. A friend wound up at her doctor’s once, complaining that intercourse hurt like hell. She had a tipped cervix, and he had a cock that was long enough to bang it. Constantly.
I’ve heard of cases of vaginal tearing, and worse things as well that I’m not going to go into. Unpleasantness during anal is allegedly par for the course, unless big boy behind you goes extremely carefully. “Conventional” down the throat-style oral, as I mentioned in a previous article, but will reiterate here, is right out. Pussies and asses will at least stretch. Jaws won’t, and a dislocated one isn’t simply painful. It could also be extremely embarrassing to try and explain at the emergency room. Especially, as he’ll be the one who has to do the explaining.
But still, the "extra pleasure from an extra few inches"-themed e-mails flood in, and when you surf around the internet, there will be pop-ups and ads and all manner of other brightly colored, loudly sound-tracked distractions that insist that what he needs and she craves is a dick that doubles as a garden hose.
I’ll admit, there is a part of me that loves the idea of meeting a man with a penis the size of a python. A part of me that has watched those old pornos where the young John Holmes crosses the set from kitchen to bedroom, and the end of his dick arrives five minutes before him. That has then seen him in action and thought... yes, well nevermind what I thought.
But even a fraction of the Holmesian reality - and comparatively speaking, that’s the biggest I’ve ever encountered, a fraction - will leave me crossing my legs and closing my mouth once we’re past the initial "let's see what you've got"s. A useful rule I learned long ago. If your finger and thumb cannot meet when you hold him, he’s unlikely to fit any other place either.
I know I am not the only woman who thinks like this, nor the only one who is already thankful for what she (or, should I say, her partner) has. Who maybe, under certain circumstances, has even wondered if it would be possible to maybe shave off a bit? Not much, just enough to make things more comfortable. Nobody wants a cock that you wind up flossing your teeth with. But, by the same token, if I’m going to have my jaw jammed uncomfortably wide, you could at least take a look at that sensitive molar in the back. In the dreams of my inexperienced youth, a penis was something that you really could suck on, like an ice pop or a candy bar. Then you get out into the real world, and you meet your first monster, and suddenly find yourself eating your own fist. Before walking bow-legged back to your dorm room, convinced that everyone thinks you’re doing a John Wayne impression.
Some girls can handle it. Some girls will tell you that bigger is better, and they’ve never met a man whom they couldn’t swallow whole. In one way or another. Most of John Holmes’ partners, for example, or at least the ones we see taking all he can give them on film.
But the rest of us have limits, and beyond them, we have a comfort zone and the funny thing is... the bit that our boyfriends just don’t seem to believe, and the online advertisers refuse to acknowledge... the fact that the average male generally falls just between the two. Big enough to fill those parts that really want to be stuffed with sausage; but not so big it tears you apart, and not so small that you’re afraid of losing it.
Which is good news for us, and should be good news for our mates as well. In fact, if it wasn’t for the creators of those ubiquitous e-mails, advertisements and supplements, I’d say it’s a win-win situation all around.
But don’t broadcast the news too loudly, please, because the moment they know that the dicks are all big enough, they’ll just find something else that needs stretching.
"Who doesn't want testicles the size of Texas? Magical mystical herbal supplement will save you a fortune in space hoppers and beach balls. Just send $9.95 for your first month's supply to...."
Umm... actually, you could just send it to me, if you like. See, there's this dildo in my shopping cart and....