July 3, 2017



Why having a really big wang isn't all that great…

Why having a really big wang isn't all that great (so I'm told) OR, why I'm like a cat with a toy, and what scares a broflake? (Apologies for the iffy quality - tech issues.)

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.

Patreon.com/ProbablyTrue //  @ScottFlashheart


Theme music is 'RetroFuture Clean' by Kevin MacLeod 
Licensed under Creative Commons by Attribution 3.0 License  

See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.


I saw a cute guy’s profile appear for the first time on Grindr the other day, so I thought I’d message him. Here’s how the conversation went. I’ll use my normal voice for me, and a much lower one for him, so you don’t get confused. 

Ok, so, here we go. I started. Hi, how’s it going? Hey. Cock? And then I blocked him. 

I’ve been getting this a lot recently. 

That or someone who’ll randomly send you three photos of their bumhole before they’ve even said hello. As if after the second one you might be thinking “Ugh, that’s disgusting” but then the third one appears and you’re like “Oh, actually, yeah, that’s much better.” Because, y’know, it’s all about the angles. 

Anyway. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, dick. Shocking, I know.

I had a trial period at one of the expensive gyms near my office last week. No plans to spend money, but I thought a week of hanging out near some different showers, waiting to see if anyone wanted one of my special scrub downs might be fun. 

It was one of those hyper-masculine gyms, where everything’s based around boxing, and they have a big boxing ring in the gym, so all those broflakes can feel proper manly and stuff. 

It was fun to listen to the conversations about who was doing Muy Thai, who preferred MMA, and who had a fight coming up this weekend, proper hardcore masc shit. 

But I noticed that all these slabs of muscle and testosterone, while chatting about the best way to feed someone their own kneecaps, would all act like the shyest schoolboys in the changing rooms. 

They’d stride around the gym, legs wide, as if needing to make room for some enormous swinging genitals, but then as soon as they got into the changing room, there would be this dramatic change. They’d wrap the towels round, nice and tight, then turn to face a wall, and shimmy out of their gym kit, as if their cock would shrivel and drop off if exposed to light. 

I dunno. Maybe that’s what happens if you get a blowjob from Dracula. 

I’m not saying you have to wave your willy around in there (although wouldn’t that be lovely?), but these guys, all of seemed terrified of seeing each other naked. 

Maybe it’s just because I’m pretty comfortable being naked, but these guys all acted as if their big manly facade would crumble is anyone saw what their willy actually looked like, instead of the meaty mammoth they project.

I was chatting about this sort of thing, and dick size in general with one of my lovers recently. Mother Nature gave him an extremely large helping of sausage, so I thought he’d be a good person to talk to. 

And he was telling me how, when you’re really big, it can become all anyone really cares about. I rolled my eyes, thinking he was exaggerating, until he showed me his whatsapp, his Grindr and any other way people could message him. 

So many of the messages started with things like “Hey, hungalicious” or “Hello, big dick” or “Yo, donkey-boy!” (all real, I swear). And he said how it could be a bit exhausting, to be seen as nothing but a dick transportation device. 

And while this might seem like the very worst whining of the penally over-privileged, like complaining that there wasn’t enough time to try everything at the banquet to someone rummaging through the bins for a half-eaten party sausage, it turns out there’s a lot more to it than that. 

He told me it got to the point where he wasn’t really invited to parties, his dick was. Like, the gays having the party knew that there was a good chance he’d get drunk and horny, so they’d invite him. 

When he realised and drank less, or took a date, or changed his behaviour so that things like that didn’t happen as much, the invites and parties and interest in spending time with him started to dry up. 

And that feeling of being invited somewhere, not because you’re surrounded by friends, but because some gays want to look at part of your body… That can be really damaging. 

We all want to have friends, and feel loved and part of a social group. But no-one’s interested in any of that when you’ve got a big wang. Be as interesting as you want, try and get to know people as much as you like, but if all they’re after is a play with your man-meat, then it’s not going to matter that you’re charming and witty and stuff like that.

He told me it got to the point where he didn’t know if someone was flirting with him because they were actually interested, or if it was just because they’d heard about his enormous pickle and just wanted to have a play. It’s a bit like being rich and surrounded by people who only want you for your money, until you lose it all and then find out who your real friends were… Except in this case, that would involve a breadknife and oooh, I just made myself feel a bit sick.


And to be honest, I’m probably slightly guilty of it too. I remember the first time I saw a truly big willy on a boy for the first time. It was a lad called Michael that I went to swimming club with when we were at school. He was the year below me, but easily a foot taller. 

I remember being physically shocked, and staring at it, as it swung around there, like a chip shop sausage or, if we’re being more middle-class, a salami in an Italian deli. 

Huge, it was. I was mesmerised. I just wanted to sit there and bat at it, like a cat with a piece of thread of something… 

He never let me play with it, though. I had to make do with watching him change into and out of speedos three evenings a week.

Probably something formative in there. Anyway.

It’s not even as if a bigger wang makes for better sex. It’s pretty much all about technique. At least, so I’m told. The guys who take the time and are confident enough to learn how to use what they have, whatever the size, are always the better lovers. 

A big wang, wielded badly, is going to make your eyes water, but similarly, if you’re on the smaller size, not knowing what to do just leads to a jabby, uncomfortable experience. So I’m told, anyway.

I asked about the size of my cock, once. Only once. I was a teenager at the time, and asked “Is it ok?” That’s exactly what it is was the response I got. Could be worse, I suppose.

So despite everyone wanting to be bigger, to feel like more of a man, or whatever, it might not be all it’s cracked up to be. Maybe we need to be a bit less concerned with everyone else’s, and learn to love what we have. And also learn how to use it. 


Because dammit, people, it’s not like we don’t play with it all the time anyway. And whether you’ve got a truck or a moped, there’s no point just sitting there and polishing it. You’ve got to learn to drive it properly. And also learn how to park it in a particularly tight space. Lube helps. Well, no. Not for parking cars. Don’t… Don’t lube up your actual car.