Size does matter. (Although, I personally think personality and technique matter more, but wait, let me finish my first train of thought…) Size DOES matter. And it’s not what men think, that bigger is BETTER. It’s not that either. It’s that ‘perfect fit’. Where your canal matches the length of his shaft… it just works.

For example, I have a casual partner I love to sleep with. I do. He’s awesome. The foreplay and sexual tension is FANTASTIC. The oral, very nice. It’s very Natalie Portman and Ashton Kutcher. I love him very much but there is very little chance of us ever getting together as a couple. He has the need to sow his seed; I have the need to kick his ass every he does. Together, we’re not so good at monogamy.

But this is not about monogamy. This is about his penis. Now, race issues aside (this is about his size, not whether his penis was coconut brown, passionate pink, deepest ebony, florescent yellow, or Telly Tubby purple), this man has a penis the size of a 9 month old baby’s right arm. Seriously. He literally UNFOLDS his penis out of his underwear. It kinda unrolls and hits his knee with a resounding THWACK! (Okay,maybe that was exaggeration…but you get the picture.) Is he a ‘grow-er’ or a ‘show-er’? He’s…. BOTH. He starts off as a single brick of clay.. and with a little coaxing in no time, he grows to the equivalent of the Great Wall of China, visible from space.

He had no problems in the high school locker room. He was the penis that men stole glances at, that jealous jokes were made of…. his penis was a dangling preposition just waiting to stuff itself into some woman’s proper noun. When he dropped his towel to shower, there was most likely a communal moment of awed silence.

Now it sounds great to have this ginormous boomslang outlined in your 1980′s track suit pants, right? Well, try to see it from a female point of view. As a woman, the first time you see it, you’re a little dumbfounded. “Oh wow. That’s porno big.” Then the next emotion is fear. “Holy mother of god!” Then bizarre madness takes over, “God, I wish I had a vagina the size of a Slovakian donkey!” But we smile sweetly and brace ourselves with hope, “Well, maybe this is gonna be as good as everyone says it will be.”

You hope that he’s a gentle being. You hope that he’s a teaser with long and slow, maybe various quick and short strokes here and there. And he is. But as both of you get excited, that penis, so accustomed to manual dexterity honed from years of hiding in the bathroom with a Penthouse magazine since middle school…. starts to JACKHAMMER.

Which, once again, is a good thing. But oh wait, that thing just slammed into my cervix. Oh, wait, it just did it again. Nope, it’s got good aim, that was my cervix, alright, it might just rip right past that and straight into the uterus and up a fallopian tube. Why not say hi to the eggs while they’re all bunched together in the egg sac? Might as well!

It’s almost like… you ever put your running shoes in the dryer to dry them out? You know that sound it makes as the shoes are hitting the sides of the dryer? Yeah, it’s awkward like that. Here you are, with someone you really care about, almost to the point of orgasm, and it’s like getting punched from the inside.

Which is oddly pleasurably painful. It’s like… that kind of sex where you have someone you know pretend to be a stranger and climbs into your kitchen window while you sleep and ‘surprises’ you (is this TMI?)… it kinda feels crazy wrong and good all at once.

But at the same time, you know you can’t do THIS on a regular basis. It’s just not sustainable. It’s nicer to have a penis that actually fits you well, that every time he’s in you, all you want to do is swallow him up and tighten your kegal-exercised self and hold him ‘right there’. (Insert blissful sigh here.)

I have another friend (let’s call him ‘D’). D has massive feet. Like clown shoes. Massive hands. Apparently, his penis is also the size of South America. He has confessed to me (once I confessed that I would never WANT to sleep with him since I value not splitting myself in half) that it’s really HARD to be as big as he is. He has to be extra careful with some girls and sometimes he can never put it ‘all the way in’ because ‘I would break her’. And he doesn’t mean it in a macho way… he really might BREAK her… or at least her desire to continue sleeping with him. He looked sadly off into the distance, as his big hands cradled his tiny chin. He looked like chimpanzee.

Size does matter. As long as you can get the car into the garage. And there’s a garage that’s right for every Escalade, every Honda Accord, and every Mini-Cooper. (And what car is the best-selling?)

Happy dating folks!