So first and foremost this is a public apology for the story I’m about to tell. Should you ever happen to realise that I am in fact, writing about you I can imagine how you might feel. You may feel ridiculed, embarrassed, mortified and any other similarly distressing feeling. Please know I’m only telling this story because it’s mine to tell, I tell it as a survivor of the day that passed, the trauma will live with me always. Ok I’m being a little dramatic now… anyway sorry, not sorry.
Max ( names have obviously been changed to protect the identity of the not so innocent), and I met not too long ago at some convention we both attended. He was receiving an award there, and when I met him I’d thought for sure this man has to be taken. You very rarely come across single, men who happen to be good looking and know how to dress in this country. After the ceremony people were just socialising then Max and his group of friends decided to try and holla at the only black girl table that was there. We soon established that we were all from the same country which then led to most of us exchanging numbers at the end of the night.
Max was very chivalrous, had a nice smile, good sense of style and more importantly, when my friends and I first laid eyes on him we immediately all began to salivate, perhaps visibly and audibly. He had a really beautiful face and a body to match. He messaged me the next day wanting to link up. We went on several dates and he was still very chivalrous and all that good stuff. I was in the process of nursing a “break up” so I played along. Who am I to refuse such a beautiful distraction.
One day, I started to notice signs of craziness when he called me and told me he was just on the phone with his mother and he told her about me. I was mad confused, what could you possibly tell your mom about me when you barely know me??? I let it go though and we just spoke about other things. A week or so later, I’m posted on his couch at his house and he’s on FaceTime with his sister and just brings the phone to me on some ” talk to my sister” tip…ah ah excuse me my brodda, why must I speak to your sister please?
This man must have been smoking some wild herb because he was getting way too ahead of himself. Was I already his girl or something in his head?. I think that was the very first time I realised I would never date him. I wasn’t into him like that. We later went to sleep that night and like the “gentleman” he was, nothing happened that night. I peacefully slept on my side of his bed and he also kept to himself. Progressively Max and I engaged in what I convinced myself was “harmless flirting.” He was my escape from constantly thinking about the man I actually wanted, so by giving me all this insane attention, he was just being a good person I convinced myself.
One evening after a dinner date he grabbed me and shoved his tongue down my throat like his life depended on it. That was the very first time I kissed him. This all happened so fast I didn’t have time to think about the repercussions . We ended it there. The next night we hung out, we were drunk at his house party. After almost everyone had left we got into his bedroom and started making out for a couple of minutes. Everything just felt so rushed, like he was too keen or something. EW. He began to rip off my dress in a somewhat passionate, semi aggressive manner. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was about to allow this man to have his way with me and I didn’t even like him like that. My mind told me to stop but I didn’t. And Max was way ahead of my mind.
OMG, I am going to rot in hell for this. What shall be my punishment for this sordid, stupid act I was about to commit? A few seconds later, I found out. As fast as he got my panties off, he removed his… and there it was NOT. I couldn’t believe what I wasn’t seeing. I have no clue the expression that was on my face, but I imagine it was something like this:
The irony was unbelievable. This musculine-hot man with a Lance Gross type body had a ding-a-ling the size of a zit on a bad day. I honestly didn’t know they came that small. I wondered if he had a rare disease that permanently arrested the development of his pee-pee at age seven. Or if God tremendously fucked up and put a pinky where his penis should have been. Because without exaggeration, that is the best estimation of its length and girth – a pinky. My pinky, not his. Before I could flick it away he had already put on a rubber and was inside me, and I didn’t feel a thing. At this point I’m just crying inside like….
How did I allow this to count as a body I’ve collected. Surely there should be a way to void it. I would have had more pleasure if he had just fingered me instead. As I was laying in bed that night, I could’ve sworn I heard the Universe laughing at me. Ha ha ha, good one, S. I found the entire experience to be mortifying. I was in the process of preparing myself thinking any minute now the real action is about to start about 1 minute later, about 5 strokes in (not an exaggeration) he says “Oh shit” and I’m thinking the condom broke. Nope. He’s done. It’s over.
So basically, I got rubbed down and fingered by his penis for less than 2 minutes. How Unfuckingsatisfying. “You know there’s round 2 right?” he said. I didn’t want him to touch my body at all. I was beyond done. I realised there was only one way out of this mess and that would be to do the unthinkable and fake tiredness, and get to sleep so that I could be left in peace to contemplate the impending walk-of-shame the next morning.
I have to say, it felt like I was living inside an episode of Sex and the City. Specifically the final episode of the first season, when Samantha starts dating a lawyer named James, only to find that his penis is so tiny that she can’t even tell when it’s inside her. As she sobs at this revelation in a bathroom stall, Charlotte tries to remain optimistic by asking, “Is he a good kisser?” To which Samantha responds: “Who . . . cares! His dick is like a gherkin!” Before I finish my story, I should probably mention that my problem with small dicks isn’t that they result in a lack of pleasure, but rather that they can be kind of, well . . . awkward. Either way, I totally empathize with the insecurities of less-endowed men, because there’s just nothing they can do about it, you just have to play the hand you’re dealt.
Would it be wrong to give advice to all of the less endowed men out there? Would I be remiss to point out that phallic friction is lovely, however women who have just penis-induced orgasms are kind of like Unicorns. Very few have ever seen one. Fellas, face facts and learn to use the other tools at your disposal and you’ll be set. A micro-peen doesn’t mean you can’t be good in bed, just like having a gigantic vagina doesn’t mean a girl can’t still please her man.
Just own it and make do and we can all rest easy in an orgasm-induced stupor.