I chose to add this one to the mix again because, well, let’s just say recent events has still left me floored about this phenomenon.
Get your giggles out now and then let’s jump in. I want to really discuss a very sensitive (and taboo) subject, and yes I am choosing to write this from a purely heterosexual perspective for discussion’s sake. You’re big enough to apply it to your own sexuality if that sexuality is fabulously different.
The topic to discuss… Boobs and wieners. And even more specifically, weird boobs and little wieners.
Recently I sat across from a woman who I had thought was so beautiful only moments before. It was our first date.
She had these fantastic and warm eyes that flickered between blue and hazel depending on the angle of the light. Her cute little button nose and her high soft cheeks had finally abandoned the red hues brought to the surface by the thick winter wind outside.
Upon meeting, the conversation had almost immediately elevated to this rare level of communicative excellence. She was one of those people with whom I shared almost too much similar history and life experience.
I found her to be very pretty when we first met. By the time she decided to tell me about her breasts, I thought she was beyond stunning. Great conversation has a way of doing that to people, I suppose.
Then, out of nowhere, she made sure to educate me as to how unbeautiful she was, at least underneath her clothes.
Maybe it was because her mind had wandered to the possibility of future intimacy. Maybe it was because she needed reassurance that I wasn’t an arrogant and judgmental type who needed a perfect air-brushed woman. Maybe it was because she just hated her boobs and wanted everyone to know. I don’t know. I just know that she found a segue into it (a joke she or I made, I can’t remember who) and started to tell me how awful, and tiny, and misshaped her breasts were. She made sure to mention the horrid effects of breastfeeding and age as she painted a Picassoesque picture for me.
The way she went on was a level that I would consider somewhere below disenchanting.
Where moments before I was so comfortable and excited about this new wonderful human sitting in front of me, I now felt like I was drudging through the fine print of an exciting time share opportunity that was becoming less appealing by the second.
I don’t know what it was about this woman specifically. I’ve been on dates with plenty of women who let me know in no uncertain terms how imperfect their breasts are and none of them bothered me the way this particular date did. I think it was because I was liking her so much and the thought of a romp in the bedroom was the last thing on my mind. Out of nowhere, and on a first date I was led to believe that if her bra ever came off with me, two shriveled and aged naval oranges would unroll themselves and come flopping to the floor in front of me.
It was amazing the level of detail that came spilling out of her mouth, almost as if it was doing so against her will.
Finally I cut her off, not knowing what I was going to say.
What came out really surprised me.
I looked her dead in the eyes. “I have a tiny penis.”
“Huh?” she said, somewhat shocked.
“Oh, it’s ridiculously tiny. Like a little smokie, even at full erection. It’s shriveled and hangs off to the right. Ugliest damned thing you ever saw. You’ll be holding your lunch down if you ever see it.”
“Are you serious right now?”
I sure was acting serious.
I just looked at her and said, “I bet you’re so much more attracted to me now than you were a minute ago, huh.”
She just shook her head and laughed. “I get it,” she said uncomfortably. “But are you being serious? Because I think you’re joking but I can’t tell.”
I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders.
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