by David Wraith
I read an article in a magazine a few years ago asserting that, in the single’s scene, a person’s worth is often reduced to two arbitrary numbers. For women, it’s their age and their weight. For men, it’s their annual income and penis size. Each number is often lied about, but since it’s much easier for a man to conceal his income and penis size than it is for a woman to conceal her age and weight, the writer suggested than men should wear their numbers on a t-shirt when they go out to bars. The writer followed several men to a bar while they wore their annual income and penis size screen printed on to their shirts, just to see how women reacted to them.
For the record, ladies: six inches and thirty thousand a year. Full disclosure: that’s my pre-tax income. And, my pre-tax penis size.
Six inches is average… for a white guy. I don’t quite live up to the myth of the BBC (and if you think I mean “British Broadcasting Company,” I suggest you do a Google search on “BBC.” Make it an image search and make sure your safe search filter is turned off). I should also add that it’s a grower, not a show-er. Six inches is fully erect. Flaccid, my penis measurement hovers between two and four inches.
Not a big deal, right? I mean, how many people are going to see my flaccid penis? Did I mention I’m an exhibitionist and a nudist? If I had to guess, I’d say that more people are going to see my dick at half staff over the course of my lifetime than that of the average guy, whose semi-public nudity is confined to locker rooms. Exponentially more people will see my penis flaccid than will ever see it in all its turgid glory (this blog post, and my best efforts, notwithstanding).
Funny story: after my first World Naked Bike Ride, I was walking down South Grand naked, and a woman in a passing SUV screamed out, “That’s the smallest dick I’ve ever seen!” Really? It’s not even the smallest dick I’ve ever seen, and I’m not into guys. I guess I’ve seen more dicks than she has. The point being, after something like that happens on a crowded street on a Saturday night, the thought of being self conscious about taking my clothes off in front of people in a pool or a hot tub, goes out the window.
So now I’ll address the question that has plagued mankind for centuries: Does size matter? Yes. SIZE ABSOLUTELY MATTERS. Drive a Smart Car exclusively, every day for six months, then get behind the wheel of a Lincoln Navigator (or vice versa) and tell me I’m wrong. Yes, size matters, but since our culture is obsessed with binary propositions, we’ve come to think that means size is the only thing that matters. So a giant cock means great sex and a small cock means a lifetime of disappointment, right?
Cock enthusiasts, ask yourself, would you rather have a lover with a below average sized dick, who’s sexually creative and knows how to come from the hip (or the wrist, or the jaw)? Or would you prefer a lazy, selfish owner of a monster cock, who thinks he’s God’s gift because he’s genetically blessed? If you answered the former, you can reach me via SEX+STL. If you answered the latter, I wish you the best of luck on CollarMe.com.
Look, I know six inches is nothing to sneeze at (unless that’s your fetish) but I’m also saddled with mild erectile dysfunction which, at times, renders the size of my dick pretty much irrelevant (more on that next week). My point is, despite these issues, I have a pretty amazing sex life. There’s probably a guy posting pictures of his nine inch hard-on to his FetLife profile as I write this, who would change places with me in a heartbeat.