I fell (madly, hopelessly) in love for the first time at 15 with a guy who I will, to avoid his total public humiliation, call C.
To me, C was pure perfection—he was smart, he was funny. Although he secretly agonized constantly about his hair, he achieved that rumply just-rolled-out-of-bed look. He played guitar in a (really shitty) band, wrote (really shitty) songs about me, and I managed to outscore him on all standardized tests and get better grades on all of my papers -- this is important! I am competitive! I was in heaven.
Well, I was in heaven for the first two months, while I agonizingly avoided rummaging around in C’s boxer shorts.
In the real world, if you are dating someone it is assumed you are having sex. In high school, it matters how long you hold out, and I found the longer I waited the more compliments and jewelry I received. Although I never actually wore most of said jewelry, I still liked receiving it and hoarding it in my bedroom like a squirrel.
I waited just over two months before I began my first expedition down south. Up in my bedroom while my mother mowed the lawn outside (this was strategically planned, as I could tell where she was -- still outside! -- by the constant hum of the mower), I molested C from the outside of his pants.
My hand passed over his right thigh -- cell phone. My hand passed over his left thigh -- Cigarette lighter? Chapstick? Please, don’t let that be all that he is packing.
Oh, but it was. This was my first introduction to C’s heartbreakingly small -- and I’m talking reminiscent-of-my-four-year-old-cousin small -- penis.
Had I been a normal, somewhat inexperienced 15-year-old, then I may not have even realized that C was remarkably ill-equipped. Unfortunately, I had spent most of middle school and the first year of high school skanking about in dingy basements, church parking lots and borrowed minivans. I was already grossly proud of my oral sex skills. Seriously, I bragged about them.
At first I was hopeful that C’s little man was just a grower, not a shower. Half a hand-job later, I realized that this was not the case. There was no getting around the fact that my adorable, sweet, delicious new boyfriend had an abnormally small penis. What’s a girl to do? Do I break up with him? That would be super shallow (although not completely beneath me...).
No, I didn’t break up with him. For the next three years I would constantly come up with reasons why having a boyfriend with a baby dick was just fine -- it was more than fine! It was great! Yeah ... Great! Here are some of the top reasons I came up with:
1. Deep throating is suddenly cinchy, so your guy will think you are really really good at oral sex when in reality you have tongued baby carrots with a more impressive girth.
2. You can have as much sex as you want, as hard as you wanted, for as long as you want, and never have to deal with that pesky I-Just-Got-Railed waddle the day after that makes going to school and/or work really painful and awkward.
3. Although anal sex has never really done it for me, if there was ever a time to get into it, it’s definitely when you have a boyfriend with a finger-sized dick!
4. If you aren’t in the mood to have sex but are going to do it anyway -- just so you don’t have to deal with him whining or prodding you with his pint-sized erection for 45 minutes until you inevitably give in on the condition that he take you for an ice-cream cone when it’s over -- it’s easier to space out. Just pick a spot on the ceiling to focus on and throw in a well-timed moan for effect.
5. It’s actually sort of cute, like hairless baby animal cute. Awww. Sort of.
6. You can fine tune your lying skills. No, it’s big. Huge! Oh, wow, so big. I don’t even know what to do with that. Really.
7. You never have to buy lube, so you now have more money for things that offer instant gratification, like new underwear, chocolate and sex toys.
8. You can play the really fun game “This Is Bigger than My Boyfriend’s Penis” with your slutty girlfriends, where you find amusing things to randomly declare as bigger than your boyfriend. For instance: Ew her zit is bigger than my boyfriend’s penis. This will make you feel both better and worse simultaneously, but at least your slutty (slutty is good!) friends will think you’re funny (funny is good too!).
9. You don’t have to worry that oversexing will make you loose like those nasty old ladies/prostitutes you have only heard about but never encountered on your own, except for in porn or on Talk Sex with Sue Johanson.
10. When -- right before you head off to college -- you find out your sweet, sensitive all-around-great-even-if-he-is-small-dicked boyfriend has been baby-boning some Catholic school girl (I mean, really C? Couldn’t you at least be creative?!) two towns over, you can make yourself feel better by drinking too much Jack Daniels and leaving him drunk voicemails about how tiny his penis is and how you don’t think he even knows what a clitoris is, let alone where to find it.
11. The next guy you’re with will automatically seem gigantic by comparison. Upgrade!
My bitterness has had the better part of a decade to mellow, and so I can honestly say that C’s mini-meat really wasn’t that bad. I was crazy about the kid, and when you’re crazy about someone, sex is fun, regardless of the equipment size.
Plus, when you’re 15 and your libido is as rampant as a rabbit, it’s alright if the sex lasts 3 minutes and you barely felt it -- you just wait another 3 minutes and go at it again!