I live in the land of the va-jay-jay. There are seven women in my city to every one man. I'm not a statistician and can barely calculate my share of any bill plus the tip without counting on my fingers and yet I know this much...the ratio is not good. This ratio means that I often consider exactly what standards I need to be lowering in order to be in a semi-successful relationship.
(At this point I regard anything lasting more than 24 hours as semi-successful, so it's not like I'm shooting for the stars. I settle more for shooting for the street lamps, or sometimes just as high as the lamp on my nightstand.)
The situation is becoming desperate, and I've wondered at what point I become desperate too. I've found myself compromising morals, my own values and at least three different commandments just to get a few physical needs met, and it may only be a matter of time before I compromise on what I may once of thought were bare minimum requirements. Like teeth.
It was for these reasons I was uncharacteristically hopeful about meeting Brian for dinner. He was tall, good looking, employed, athletic and fresh out of a long-term relationship. This may be a red flag for women who don't live where I do, but to me it's like being a collector of rare art work and finding a Picasso on Craigslist.
We did the usual email exchange for a while, and he was sweet and kind. He wanted to know all about my day, and told me more than once how much he looked forward to my messages. The pre-date period was going very well.
The date itself was not terrible. He kept his eyes off our waitress' boobs, which even I found mesmerizing. He complimented me on my outfit, asked me questions about myself and half-way listened to the answers. He had really pretty arms and shoulders. Given my newly adjusted standards - a dream come true.
He drove me back to my place, pulled up to the curb and there we sat. I'm not going to lie. I was on him like the proverbial fat kid on a smartie. I'm not proud of this, but both readers of this blog should know by now that demure is not exactly in my repertoire. Neither is good fortune, as I was about to find out.
Brian was a fabulous kisser, and he really seemed to like that I apparently had no decorum whatsoever. In fact, in relatively no time he was talking dirty and telling me I should move my hand down and feel what he had for me, in just those words.
This seemed rather quick, even for me, despite the fact I'd somehow launched myself onto the front console of his car without any effort whatsoever, a move I probably can't replicate ever again without the use of a harness and or crane.
However, there I was, and it seemed impolite to decline. I moved my hand down. And then down farther. And then over there. And then back. And then...maybe here? No. There? No. I was reaching into the front of his pants like I was rummaging for change, and there was nothing. I couldn't feel anything at all. Just a very small bump...umm...really? This is it right here? Huh.
Brian however, was enjoying my efforts. He asked me, "Do you want to see it baby?" And I replied, "I think I better."
Now...I've seen my share of penises before. Enough so that it would make a lot of sense to me if there were a plural word for the penis. Peni? Pene? The point is, I've seen more than one. More than two actually. Probably more than five, but less than a hundred. I've seen enough to have a baseline - some standard of what a penis should look like.
This penis did not match that standard. To say it was small, would be to imply that perhaps it was just smaller than average, but that would not be accurate. It's too difficult to compare what I was witnessing to other penises (peni? pene?) It would be much more accurate to say that it was smaller than the earrings I was wearing. His penis was smaller than my jewellery.
I think there is actually a medical explanation for this, and I think it has to do with his very attractive broad shoulders and muscular arms. Brian was built, and he trains in mixed martial arts. I quizzed him over dinner on what kind of work-outs he did, genuinely curious as I really enjoy kickboxing. Strangely, he didn't work out much. He hadn't trained hard in a couple of months...but he was huge.
There's only one thing that can make a guy's shoulders so attractive you actually want to have sex with his bicep, but be unable to have sex with his penis. Steroids. Goddammit.
What I should have been thinking about was what to say now that he'd whipped it out and was asking, "Do you love it baby?" It seemed wrong to say that it would definitely look fantastic on a necklace, or hanging from a Christmas tree or some other use that didn't require practicality, so I went with what I was genuinely thinking.
"Wow."
He said he knew I'd love it, and invited me to taste it. How nice of him. I'll admit to having put some questionable items in my mouth for some questionable reasons, not the least being some sushi rolls I thought may have turned and a double-stuff Oreo that I knew was on the ground way longer than three seconds, never mind the roster of guys I've dated, more than five, less than 100.
This shriveled little appendage however, was not going near my mouth. It was so small, it actually creeped me out - way more than the lint covered Oreo. I declined.
Naturally, he was disappointed. "Oh come on baby, I know you want this. Tell me what you think."
A friend of mine recently came up with a fantastic word to say to parents of an ugly baby when some sort of compliment seems called for, but there are no words come to mind. Luckily, all of my friends babies are genuinely cute, and I haven't had to use this word...until now.
"Your dick...is truly remarkable."
I kissed him once more, before remembering something I really had to do right away, in my apartment, away from him. I said good-bye and got out of the car to go figure out what it was.
It seems Brian and I both learned something about ourselves that night, as a few hours later I got a very nice email saying that he'd had a great time with me but he realized that he's just not ready to date anybody again so soon. Meanwhile, I have also come to an important realization. There really are some standards I'm just not willing to lower.
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