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After I saw the movie “Super Size Me”, I developed a fascination with putting the biggest things possible in my mouth.

Yes, I will get the bucket-sized equivalent of Diet Coke.

Sure, I would love a foot-long hotdog.

OK, If I have to eat that four-tier ice-cream-cone, I will.

Reverse psychology works wonders on me and so the moment Morgan Spurlock said not only could I not eat McDonalds anymore but I also couldn’t order fries as big as my head, I decided to change my lifestyle and indulge every large whim I had.

“Fuck you Morgan,” I thought while using a Quarter Pounder as a pillow. “It isn’t the size that matters. It is what you do with it.”

 

When I was in L.A I met a boy with the smallest penis I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. I was introduced to the reality that the appendage came in totally different sizes as an eighteen-year-old, but it had been a long time since I actually needed a totally different unit of measurement to compare.

“I need a visual,” my girl friend demanded after I told her that I lost a game of Where’s Waldo[?].

I gripped my hand into a fist.

“Wow!” She gasped.

“Hard,” I reinforced. I threw a ping-pong ball at her. “He had three of these.”

“Oh. I would never…”

But I would. See, I was more interested in the nice man attached to the penis and so I returned for seconds.

 

I have never dated a Boob Man, those boys who have a preoccupation with mammary glands. Or, if I have, he has kept his desire very well hidden and must have been disappointed beyond my comprehension.

At eighteen, my boy friend explained that he didn’t need more than a hand-full.

“Me neither,” I realized, gripping my fist. Part of me wished I suffered from some form of giganticism but the rest of me understood that the futile nature of the entire concept. See, girls can fake their size, either through superficial methods or in more permanent ways, while guys are literally stuck with whatever they have forever. Luckily, someone decided that humans should have personalities, various talents and tongues.

“It can suck,” my boy friend informed.

“Oh, I know it can,” I winked.

 Give me an inch and I will take a mile.

 

The population can be divided into two categories: Those Who Have To Work For It and Those Who Don’t. “It” is the undiscernible X-factor that can represent bedroom ability as easily as it can indicate career success. Furthermore, and [I think] more importantly, the populace can be grouped into Good In Bed and Bad In Bed. The categories, while always subjective, are much more absolute and results much more heartbreaking.

 

I employ the a theory which states that size only matters in relation to what one does with it. 

“I have had some of the best sex of my life with guys who are below what is perceived to be average,” I told my relieved boy friend. “They didn’t just turn up and expect that I was going to get excited about something they simply had. Instead, they worked with what they had and knew exactly what they were doing.”

Unfortunately, some of their well-endowed brothers have graduated from the school of Hurrah! Look At This[!] with a conceded pass average at best.

 

We get so worried and worked up about superficial aspects of our person that is completely out of our control. I once had a boy tell me that he would be more attracted to me if I had brown hair.

“What a coincidence,” I replied. “I would be more attracted to you if you didn’t speak.”

I would never be attracted to someone who didn’t like me for me: Big personality, small boobs or similar. And I will never be attracted to someone who isn’t comfortable with who they are: small penis, big penis, good personality or whatever. We have an unfortunate fascination with creating huge problems that don’t really matter when great personalities are so hard to find, but big dicks come…and come again**.

 

I put on a hard hat, packed a lunch and thought about my super size experience. I realized that I couldn’t remember a measurement of anything and, instead, grouped people into Nice and Not So Nice. And thought about what they did with that. 

 

 

* – Dick

** Copyright – Lisa “That Girl Winked At Me” Shelley.