I Mentally Compare Dick Size

Sorry gentlemen.

The irony of this post title is that it makes me a dick.

I don’t mean to compare. I’m not keeping a mental scorecard, like remembering the pizza at one restaurant had more savory sauce than at another.

The first time I ever noticed penis size was when I briefly dated a friend’s brother in high school. Jason was a massive hockey player.

In my limited high school experience, I went with the stereotype that hand and foot size dictated man part size. We made out, I crawled my way down between his legs and was met with something the size of a Wite-Out bottle.

I distinctly remember where I was and how I mentally compared it to the bottle of Liquid Paper that my pre-electronic generation used when correcting errors. It was unexpected and I almost bit down on the poor guy as I giggled from shock.

Easiest blowjob of my life.

Over the years, I’ve experienced different sizes and they all mentally averaged out. Comparatively, my quasi-ex-husband is small. There’s no way around it. He knew it and it was somewhat awkward when I tried to bestow it too much attention like it was for pity.

Our sex life was a hot mess, but that didn’t help.

Why is this on my mind tonight? Because I had sex with someone new this evening.

Off the top of my head, I can guesstimate the dick size of only a few guys I’ve been with. I obviously remember my sort-of-ex-husband’s cock size. Am I an asshole for remembering the others when there are so many other parts of them that I’ve forgotten?

There is the ex-coworker-slash-friend I had an affair with a few years ago. He’s roughly 6'3, so my stereotype from the past kicked in when he disrobed. My former coworker’s penis wasn’t that long but very thick. Which made it difficult to get in, like trying to slide a Coke can sideways into a narrow hole.

I’m confident when I say “narrow hole” since I’m petite framed, delivered my kids by C-section, and I averaged sex 6 times a year when married. I might still have my hymen at this rate.

With my former coworker, I never knew how to cram it in unless he was ultra hard. Most guys can stand at 80% stiffness and it’s good enough to go. Somehow he still smushed it in despite my mental hesitation that a Coke can lacking full turgor pressure could squeeze through a tiny opening.

After that was Jon, who’s dick was like the Goldilocks of penises. Not too much of one way or another. For me, it was just perfect. Or maybe that makes it the Cinderella’s slipper of dicks? I should lay off the children’s stories metaphors. His man meat hit the jackpot every time. I’ve trained my brain to stop thinking about Jon naked, or else I begin lusting for someone I can’t have.

At the end of last year, I briefly dated a gentleman who was sweet to me at a time that I needed it most. We had sex two, maybe three times at most. He was ten feet tall. Or maybe 6'5-ish, I don’t know. I’m 5'2.5, everything over 6 feet is all a blur. By far one of the tallest people I’d ever met, even his hands were bigger than my feet (or maybe that’s normal since I wear a size 5 shoe).

The best way to describe his dick would be to cut your leg between your ankle and your knee. Then take that stump and put it between a guy’s legs. If there were a zombie apocalypse, I’d have cut his penis off just to use it as a weapon to whack the undead in the head. I nursed my swollen girl parts with a bag of ice after the first time we had sex.

I assumed that would be the end of my dick-capades for a while. We’re in a pandemic and getting Q-tips shoved up your brain is no fun for anyone.

Earlier this month, I whipped up a Tinder profile to boost my self-esteem as well as see what kinds of guys were out there. I knew I could get guys easily from a fetish site but what about guys who didn’t see me naked first?

After 2 days, I disabled my account. Contrary to my assumptions, someone my age who has all her teeth can attract plenty of good-looking guys who don’t have prison records. Except one guy stood out. Not wanting to lose contact with him, I gave Cory my phone number.

My phone number.

I don’t give anyone my phone number. Ever. If I meet a guy, he either communicates with me via a decoy email address or Snapchat. I’ve had a stalker, I don’t need the drama of getting new digits if the guy turns out to be a psychopath.

Also breaking my own rules, I met with Cory one afternoon despite the threat of a crazy-ass virus. He’s average-looking and not much taller than me when I’m in heels, but I’m a sucker for a guy who exudes relaxed confidence. Add self-deprecating humor and wit, then I’m putty.

This evening we went on a real date. Cory is a lawyer and a former child actor; he patiently answered my millions of questions about Trump’s impeachment as well as snorting cocaine off a hooker’s back (sadly, any cocaine sniffing he did was not off anyone’s body). Absolutely smitten, I planned on making out by our cars before going home. I didn’t anticipate fucking in his car parked adjacent to where I took my kids’ to the movies prior to COVID.

When I’m not in a relationship, I could go a lifetime without sex. If I’m with someone who I like, I’m like a cat in heat.

So…where’s the problem?

Dick size. Sigh.

I didn’t get much hands-on experience with his male membrane before it went in. Reaching between a guy’s legs for the first time is like reaching into a bowl of candy when Trick-or-Treating. Who knows if you’ll get a Snickers or a Tootsie Roll?

It was underwhelming. But was that because it was relative to the last guy I was with, who put Ron Jeremy to shame? I didn’t have much time to figure it out, the whole thing lasted maybe 2 minutes.

Will I see Cory again? Of course. Being a divorced dad with two kids, he understands my priorities and schedule constraints. He’s also chill with my sarcastic, asshole sense of humor and can make me laugh out loud. Very few guys have ever made me laugh so hard that I’ve spit food out of my mouth when reading their texts.

And yet, I can’t help but hope maybe it was the awkward car angle and the lack of judgment from my alcohol buzz that made his cock seem smaller than I’d prefer. While this may sound shallow, I’ve been with enough guys to know the bare minimum size requirement. I also know what it’s like to not feel completely satisfied sexually with someone and there’s only so far his fantastic personality can go.

He texts me as I’m writing this article. “That was amazing tonight — I had such a blast and you are so incredibly sexy. I may just be in trouble…”

Dear Sex Gods of the Ether, please let my initial size gauge be wrong. I’ve never fucked a guy with an IMDB profile. I’ve never fucked someone who was in an episode of Beverly Hills 90210. I’ve never fucked a lawyer who lets me ask dozens of absurd hypothetical legal questions. I lost faith that someone could make me laugh like this again.

Please prove me wrong.