Straight guys shouldn't write blogs about penis size. I mean, there are a limited amount of directions for said narrative:

"I have a huge dongpipe, and it's cool."

"I have a average dongpipe, and my dong related activities are unrelated to its size."

And, of course, the most fascinating to the general public: "I have a tiny dongpipe and here is how I work to overcome this  . . . shortcoming."

Personally, with the exception of casual sympathy for the micropenis'd (there ARE other ways to please each other though), I find all three storylines rather dull.  HBO felt differently, apparently, when they green-lit their 2009 original series Hung. The entire plot of the show revolved around the main character being a good looking middle-aged guy with a huge schlong. Essentially the guy's penis was the main character.  I watched a few episodes. There was a lot of spur of the moment sex and seemingly satisfied customers. But, with a one eyed worm that hides inside a guys pants all episode as the lead, I legitimately didn't give a damn for any of the characters -- including the dong's owner.  The show lasted 3 seasons. My guess is that it got extended for the later two because the only thing HBO loves more than entertainment is the opportunity to increase viewership with the promise of nudity. It is the Victoria's Fashion Show of TV stations in that way.


So, I'm not going to talk to you about penis size, both because I'm a cis guy (see above) and because the voyeuristic fascination with this topics has led to a disproportionate amount of coverage already. What I AM going to tell you about is an unexpected story of penis size told by two single women catching up after a few months apart while in the back of my car.  These two amazing ladies, we'll call them Maggie and Janessa, began speaking frankly about their life, love, and adventures.   My wife and I listened unobtrusively from the front seat, giggling our faces off the entire time.

To set the scene, we had all just left a bar where Maggie, who was in from out of town,  had alllllllllmost put the moves on an old friend in order to go home with a him. The old friend was hot, even I could see that. And Maggie liked him. We, her friends, were in the process of giving her a light amount of shit for her closing-move cowardice. She was a fantastic sport.

Maggie: "Uggggh. I was right there. He was right there. Why didn't I? I just . . .?

Janessa: "You JUST should go back there and tell him that we left your ass and you need a place to crash."

Maggie: "I knowwww. But now it'll be weird and unnatural and awkward, and the last thing I need right now it more awkwardness with guy friends."

Janessa: "So have you hooked up with this guy before?"

Maggie: "Yah, a long time ago. We used to live together for a little while and ended up hooking up on the down-low, or on the convenient. But, you know, hooking up with roommates is not a long term solution.  And we didn't like hook-up hook-up (my eyes widen with confusion).  We would. like, make out, and snuggle and touch and whatever. *Pause*  He has a huge dick though! Like a big ol' Dongulator "

*record scratching sound*

He has a what now? How did we get from not a hook-up hook-up to a penis description. I thought the first statement was meant to convey that she didn't know the information that the second statement announced.  Is this what dating is like now? How old have I gotten? Most importantly, HOW did Maggie not go home with this guy.

this is a metaphor

All of these ideas are flying around my head like derby-girls on roller skates. But, at the same time, I realize that I've snuck behind the curtain. This is real talk/girl talk. I keep my mouth shut so as not to interrupt these singles in their natural habitat.  And that's when things got weird.

Janessa: "Like huge, or just big."

Maggie: "Oh oh, it was big. Better than good sized. Huge huge. Remember, I told you about him. The Dutch guy . . ."

Janessa's eyes widened in clear recognition of the story.  "Oh my god, the Dutch guy," she said, "Now I remember!"

What the hell is this "huge huge" sized-dongpipe they they both seem to know all about, but I didn't even know was on the sizing chart. I had to ask?

Me: "You both say "huge huge" like its a bad thing?"

Janessa leans forward towards the front seat and states emphatically, "Big Dicks: Not Always Awesome."

Janessa continues the story now, as if she had originally brought it up, "Maggie dated that Dutch guy for a few months or so and he was HUGE huge."

And then Janessa turned to Maggie and LITERALLY SAID, "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm pretty sure that after that guy your vagina is actually bigger now."

As soon as the words left her lips, both women realized the urgency with which they needed to  convey the conviction behind that statement. The presumed understatement regarding the "huge huge" sat between us all, smack dab between the front and back seats, building a tension that soon exploded as if my original question were street magic and the women behind me were Black spectators.  M & J began a riff that built in both ferocity and certainty.

Maggs & Janessa: "Oh hellllllllls no!" "That shit hurts!" "Not always awesome!" "Not always WELCOME." "It's frightening if it's like a friggin salami." "You know you're gonna be so sore." "Too big is exactly that -- no way I wanna get hurt." "Those things could wreck my shit up, I don't need my vagina getting impaled by a god damn sperm whale!"   "No way I'm fucking with a huge huge anymore."

this is another metaphor

My wife is now laughing so hard she is heaving for breath. I am trying to keep my eyes on the road as tears are rolling out their corners.  These ladies are not bull-shiting (see above). These are the facts whether I choose to believe them or not. And they are speaking with the authority of experience. From the sound of it, both had met multiple huge huges, and they will not make that mistake again. I could either choose to accept the knowledge they were imparting, or live purposefully obtuse, ignoring their  existence.  Either way, the huge huge is out there, and it is too big.

I catch myself sympathizing with each of those college girls slow dancing with their maybe maybe-not boyfriend, tickling the back of his neck with her nails-tips in order to induce the reveal of whatever kind of situation he's working with.  At first, there is nothing, which brings with it the anxiety over the potential for a micro-penis. In college nothing is scarier than the possibility of having to communicate through awkwardness stemming from navigating sexual situations that aren't vanilla as hell or pre-scripted by some male-centric pornography. But finally, mercifully, she feels its length extend, pressed up against her abdomen -- and then -- like so many metaphors in life, she's playing the Price is Right Range Game. Or maybe in this case its the Cliffhanger game.

I just figured women were hoping to feel something, anything, of significance and then they moved on. But now that I know about the huge huge, it changes everything! With my new knowledge I realize that even the Stairway to Heaven has its upward limit, and every (not so) Little Shop of Horrors can grow too large to handle. And that as Jack's beanstalk starts its way to the sky, once it hits cloud-level, Jill is all, "Ok that's enough. Stop now. That's high enough."

last metaphor

We're back in the car. And I am integrating this new knowledge into my current reality. My wife is catching her breath. I'm not sure if, for her, the source of the humor is empathy towards the situation or if, like me, she's learning something new. I have zero interest in knowing the answer. That's what maturity will do to you. What strikes me most about this whole vignette is how many guys out there have worried about if they measure up, while I have two attractive single ladies in the backseat of my car mutually retching at the thought of an enormous dongpipe. We almost never worry about the right things in life. Almost never.