Are you over 18?

The stuff you're trying to look at is considered "naughty" by busybodies, legal types, and (probably) your mom, so we'd like to make sure you're of legal age before we let you see it.

No

Your Huge Cock Is Overrated

By Kat George


Photo by Shockingly Tasty via Flickr

When I was 18, I met a guy who worked in a surf shop. I was buying a white triangle bikini that had sequin flowers embroidered on it. His name was Zane, which at the time seemed cool. I never asked how old he was, but let’s say he was comfortably older than I was. It was a Thursday afternoon after school, and I was still in my uniform. We flirted while my friends sniggered audibly, mere feet away, and he wrote his number on the back of my receipt when I paid.

The next day I called him at recess from the schoolyard, with my friends gathered around, all trying to listen into the receiver—the way high school girls do. He asked me on a date, and the following Friday, I picked him up from his job at the surf shop after school. We went to dinner and a movie in a trendy suburb of Melbourne, and I spent the whole night falling in love with his ocean-blue eyes, scraggly hair, and older-than-me-ness. At the end of the night, I drove him home, and he asked me to come in. Wanting to seem grown up, I said yes.

His house was a mess, and there were about ten other people living there. It was like a squat full of surfboards, and his roommates were sprawled across the living room smoking bongs. I’d never actually seen a bong before, and when he passed it to me, I politely declined. He shrugged and took a hit, and I tried to memorize Every. Little. Detail.

Eventually, Zane, completely baked, led me to his room by the hand. He lit candles all over the place, and I found it all achingly romantic. Zane pulled me on to the bed, and we started making out. Seconds later he was fingering me and panting in my ear. I began fumbling for his belt, and once I’d managed to pull off his pants and undies I recoiled, dumbstruck.

“Wow,” I said, wide-eyed, sitting back on the bed.

“Well I’ve never had a girl react quite like that,” he responded with amusement.

Zane had the biggest cock I’d ever seen in my life. Up until that point, I’d only seen one other cock in a sexual context, but I knew, instinctively, it was a monster. The situation went from a romance to a horror show. I had no idea what to do next. So I did what has become a habit for me in awkward sex situations: I tried to diffuse the weirdness by giving him a blowjob. Except that I could only get the tip into my mouth.

I just want to take a moment to make sure you understand how big this particular dick was. When I wrapped my hand around it, the tips of my fingers were still about an inch away from reconnecting with my palm. And when the end of it was in my mouth, I was pretty much deep throating. His penis was fucking enormous.

After I unsuccessfully sucked him off and tried some two-handed jacking, Zane thought it would be a great idea to try and get his colossal dong into my tiny teenage-girl self that hadn’t had much experience with penis. Needless to say, it didn’t fit. Embarrassed, I got dressed and kissed him goodbye. I never saw Zane or his massive appendage again.

The next day, I told all my friends about the Godzilla dick like it was the coolest thing ever. What did they know, anyway? Most of them were still stupid virgins, and when you’re a teenage girl, for some reason the world has convinced you, or maybe you’ve convinced each other, that huge dicks are The Best. This is not the case. No offense to the big dicked out there, but your cock is beautiful, probably. It’s just not for me.

I’ve been telling girls for the past ten years since the Zane incident that the perfect penis is medium-to-average-sized, and I proved that point to myself recently when I dated Zane 2.0. Last year I met a guy that my friends and I referred to (behind his back, duh) as “Baby’s Arm.” It was my second sighting of Moby Dick, and it was just as overwhelming as it was the first time, despite my now whorishly stretched-out vagina.

But huge cocks are hard to get in small holes of any variety, and with Baby’s Arm, I always had to be on top so I could control the depth of penetration, which was about half his dick's length, according to my calculations. Balancing high on my knees while also trying to grind my hips and be sexy, while at the same time trying not to let the tip of his dick stab me in the cervix or uterus was a real challenge. It was distracting, and no one wants to be challenged or distracted during sex. It’s not Sudoku.

In sum, huge dicks are fun because you get to tell your friends about them afterwards, but otherwise, they’re nothing but trouble. I’m not Amanda Bynes; I don’t want my vagina murdered. I just want to get it on with a dick that fits without any strategic planning or maneuvering needed. As it turns out, size does matter. 

Comments