Size DOES matter

This story begins with another website: Match.com

He wasn’t my type exactly. But I decided to try something new. After all, you never know what you like until you try everything. He was fluffy, typical southern gentleman, good manners, etc. This story is taking place during our sixth date. So, he’s really a gentleman! Because we hadn’t done the deed until now.

After our date, we somehow ended up at his apartment. Shocking, I know. He puts on some music, opens a bottle of wine, we sit on the sofa conversing. We were like proper adults. Its getting late, he doesn’t want me to have to drive home. He continues his Southern gentlemanly-ness.

He only has one bedroom, naturally… But he claims he’s going to keep his hands to himself. I think to myself, uh huh. I know how this goes. Keep his hands off, ha! That’s like a zebra saying its going to change its stripes, or Bond getting a Shirley Temple instead of a martini, shaken not stirred!

Ladies, you know what I’m talking about! Sorry, I digress. Back to the story…

We make our way into his bedroom. He gives me a t-shirt that covers my ass. I poke around in the bathroom. It’s all clean and in order, nothing for me to judge adversely.

I emerge from the bathroom, to a romantic setting. Music is playing, candles are lit, the sheets are turned down. It’s like a telenovela minus, the Spanish. I mean I took it in high school. But anyway, back to the man setting the mood.

He gives me another glass of wine. Why is it that men think alcohol equals sex?

I have a sip, I look up. He takes this opportunity to swoop in and make his move. We are kissing. He begins to tell me how much he enjoyed the evening. In my head all I’m thinking is that I want to finish my glass of wine. He’s a decent kisser though, good enough that it distracts me from my glass of wine. We begin to make out, like its middle school behind the bleachers.

Y’all remember those moments, right? That’s quality kissing time.

He removes my beloved wine from my hand. I scoot back to the middle of the bed. T-shirt is still covering all my girlie parts. He gives me this Cheshire cat grin and tells me he’s nervous. He takes his shirt off. Not what I’m used to, but I go within it.

Another pause, than the show begins!

He drops his pants. But it’s very dark. I’m trying to get an idea of what I’m dealing with…

A beam of light is now hitting his package in all the right places. But I think to myself, maybe the lighting is bad. Because I’ve never seen anything quite like this and I don’t mean that in a ecstatic way.

Instead of keeping my thoughts on the inside, they kind of spilled out of my mouth like water running out of a faucet. Along with verbal questioning, I also used my finger to point at the situation. I also might have giggled, but we can blame that like Jaime Foxx said on the alcohol.

Even though I don’t think he’ll remember it quite that way. So anyway my actual question was, “What is that?” While pointing and giggling as the previous sentences stated. Not my best moment, but it was a shock. I didn’t know they came that teeny. I mean I know it takes all shapes and sizes.

Everyone is different. It makes the world a more interesting place. But the women of the world need a little more to work with than that.

He pauses, fidgets, and says he knows he’s lacking but… It doesn’t matter how deep you fish, its how you wiggle your worm. I think to myself okay. I’ll give it a go. I should at least try.

We start making out again. I hype myself up. I decide if I’m going to get any enjoyment out of this I need to switch positions. I need to be on my knees and let him go in the back door. It’s the only way I’m going to get any pleasure out of this experience.

I do believe he enjoyed the experience. The problem is that I did not.

After he rolls off, a happier man. I am an unsatisfied woman. But I put a smile on my face and to add insult to injury now this man rolls back and wants to cuddle! I think to myself, REALLY? REALLY? He falls asleep and is now snoring in my ear, ugh. I can’t take it anymore.

I’ve reached my limit.

I roll his fluffiness over. I pause, make sure he’s still snoring. Then I slowly get out of bed, grab my clothes, and run. But as luck would have it, I left something.

My fave scarf!!! It was perfection. It went with every ensemble. It loved me, I loved it. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. My scarf and I. I miss that scarf!

Two years later… I cross paths with him. I of course thought about my beloved scarf. But I stiffed it back. I asked how he is, you know the regular. He’s now married. He then informed me that he sought out a therapist after our night together. Apparently my pointing and giggling affected his self-esteem. Oops, my bad!

Moral of the story: Like everyone’s mother taught them… If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

© southerngabunny