Size sin't everything; always wash your hands
A penis size scale; gym shower glimpses; and the dangers of Vix VapoRub. Or: Bigger isn't better, but that won't stop us obsessing over great big cocks.
Stories of queer life and even queer-er sex.
Always interesting, definitely amusing, Probably True - the repeatedly-award-winning, slightly filthy storytelling project tackling LGBTQ issues in a fun and engaging way.
Much like its creator, it is a smutty-but-charming collection of personal misadventures working to make the world a better place, one silly, sexy story at a time.
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Theme music is 'RetroFuture Clean' by Kevin MacLeod
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Regular listeners may have picked up that I have a bit of a complicated relationship with my body. Or, at least, my body image. The body itself is doing exactly what it’s supposed to, and really that’s the thing I should be focusing on, not the fact that it’s a bit squidgier than I would like, or that it doesn’t fit into clothes that weren’t designed exactly for it but for some strange “average” body that doesn’t really resemble mine.
As I’ve mentioned before, when I was coming out and learning about being gay in my 20s, all the magazines were drumming into me that to be happy and “doing it right” as a gay man, I needed to be white, 21, and have a six pack. I’ve got the white bit nailed - you should see me dance - and while it would take nothing short of the entire special effects budget of the latest Avengers movie to make me look 21 again, there’s nothing stopping me from going for the 6-pack thing. All it takes is discipline, commitment and the kind of self-hatred that burns hotter than accidentally getting Vix Vapo-Rub on your nob.
This is all taking a very long way around to saying that I go to the gym quite a bit. While I was at the gym, I spotted this guy, tall, skinny, kinda cute, but I do my best to focus on my workout in the gym because 1) it’s a bit creepy to be trying to work out and there’s some weirdo drooling every time you look over, and 2) I have, on more than one occasion, smashed myself in the face with a dumbell because I was too busy perving and not paying enough attention to what I was doing.
Clocked him, went back to my workout. Thought no more about it. Until.
Later on when I was getting out of the shower just as he was about to get in. Just as he put his towel up on the hook thing by the door to the cubicle, I caught a glimpse of his wang and I was like BUH. The thing was huge. Just swinging there. Pendulous. I mean, it was just a split second as he stepped into the shower and closed the door, but blimey. He wasn’t excited or waving it around or anything, sadly, but even so, it was huge. Like, even if it didn’t get any bigger when he got excited, just sort of changed direction so it was pointing upwards, it would still be big enough to make your eyes water.
And he wasn’t hiding it, or waving it around, it was just there for a moment, and then gone. Which is entirely the opposite of how I would be, if mine were that big. I’d be naked all the time, just swinging it about like “What’s up, motherfuckers?” and just any excuse to get naked. Like, “Hello and welcome to my Ted Talk on global warming and the imminent global crisis, but first, *zzzzip* COP A LOAD OF THIS!
The stupid thing, though, is that once I saw that monster on him, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Suddenly I was a lot more attracted to him, which is just stupid - it’s just a lump of skin. Besides which, I’m not sure what I’d do with it.
There was that story recently about the guy who ruptured his airway sucking on a huge dong, and the thought of it going anywhere else is just terrifying. You don’t know what would happen to your other organs... “Sorry, that’s one of my kidneys. Just pop it on the bedside table and I’ll sort it later. No, don’t stop, I’m nearly there…”
Although, fair play to the lad who sucked that monster dong - he knew something was wrong, but didn’t stop what he was doing. Both parties were properly satisfied before he thought to go to the hospital, and being literally almost fucked to death by The Hulk is a level of commitment I don’t think I’d have had. I mean, I’ve faked it before just because I got a bit bored. If there were the risk of something doing me actual damage, I’d be grabbing my phone and saying “What’s that? Something awful happened? I’ll be right there!” before he’d finished looking for a bin bag to use as a condom.
I mean, imagine being ambushed by a big one. Just getting a perfectly pleasant, charming and unassuming boy home, him dropping his trousers and there just being this enormous thing just looking at you.
This happened to me once, and I think I just stared at it for a second and said “Well done…” as if there were some kind of skill to it, rather than just a genetic lottery, like eye colour or back hair. And it can be difficult to know what to do with, as I couldn’t comfortably get it in my mouth without grating it on my teeth, so there was absolutely no way it was going anywhere else. I remember he was a really handsome, short Australian guy. Or was he Italian? Same thing.
Anyway, he was a lot shorter than me, which I thought was really hot, because I love having someone I can throw around the bed and stuff…
But then he whapped this monster dong out and as lovely as it was, I started to get more into the logistics of his owning it. Like, does he have balance issues?
If I got him naked, tickled his fancy a bit and then gave him a gentle push from behind, would he fall over? And, once you’ve started thinking about the hot, sexy man opposite you more in terms of Jenga than sex, it’s probably not going to end the way you thought. Which is the thing, I guess.
It’s stupid that all men want to be a bit bigger downstairs. Like, boys with a willy want a dick, and boys with a dick want a cock, and if you’ve got a cock you want a dong… (Because that’s the new sizing system I’ve just invented.) But wanting anything bigger is entirely stupid. Because it’s unlikely to change, so you just have to work with what you’ve got. B
ecause, and this is important, big dick doesn’t mean good dick.
And since the basis of all good sex is making sure the other person is enjoying it at least as much as you, then having a monster dong probably isn’t going to achieve that. So, work with what you have. Learn how to use it well, how to listen to your lover’s cues and rock their world properly and it won’t matter is yours is a willy or a cock, because everyone will be having fun. If you just keep wanting bigger and bigger, there’s going to get to a point where it takes longer to get going than is worth it. Like, instead of a minute or two of gentle, slow movements to get used to having something shoved up your nethers, it’ll be five, ten, fifteen minutes as you try to get a horse through a catflap.
Then there’s the catch-22 of telling people. Not like I would be if mine were that big “Hello, I”m Scott, I just moved in next door. No, my place isn’t as spacious as yours, but that’s mostly because of MY ENORMOUS PENIS. *zzzzip* Not like that, but more letting people know that you’re a bit on the big side. I mean, would you want to know? I suppose anything in the mid-range is fine, but if you were particularly large, you should probably warn people. Would come across as bragging?
Like someone casually dropping into conversation on a first date that owning a private jet isn’t all it’s cracked up to be because of all the paperwork. I suppose there’s something to be said for announcing the size of your willy to the people you want to stick it in, so that they can decide if it’s something that actually want to try, but then that becomes a bit braggy, and you get people wanting to shag you not because they’re necessarily attracted to you, but because they know that you’ve got a big one. And no-one wants to be thought of as a mobile dildo. It’s degrading.
I had an experience like that recently, and I”m nowhere near needing to use bin liners for condoms. A young gentleman and I were getting down to it, and as soon as everything was where it should be, he said “Ohh, that’s great. Don’t move!” So I sat there for a sec, just assuming he was taking a moment to get used to my … affections. But he meant it. Any time I tried to move, he just asked my to keep still. So I ended up just sort of parked. Looking down at him as he played with his nipples, wondering if I should have brought a book. After a while of him twiddling with his fun buttons he shouted “Oh, yeah, keep doing that!” “What, checking Twitter?” And then it was all over and he started making all of those noises that we use to mean “Your work here is done. Be about your business.” As I was walking home to finish myself off, I couldn’t help but think it would have been a lot less effort for him to just use a dildo. There was nothing in that encouter that I did that couldn’t have been done with a toy.
And it’s not a great feeling to come away from sex comparing yourself to a moderately-sized lump of plastic.
So, to sum up:
1) Enjoy the person, not their penis. Make sure the sex you’re having is working for both of you, and don’t obsess over a single body part of anyone.
2) Every body is different, so learn to work with what you have, and what they have, rather than wishing it were different.
And 3) Vix Vapo-Rub burns like a demon.