I didn’t want to believe that I could be so shallow. I didn’t want to believe that if the right man came along, and the only negative was his penis size, that I would kick him to the curb. I wasn’t that bad- was I?
I started talking to G_OKC in April 2017. He arranged for our first date to be at a wine & cheese bar on the west side, just beyond Times Square. I left from work and hopped on the train to meet him. When I got off the train, for some weird reason, my logistics were totally screwed up and I had no clue where I was. I started walking, using my Google maps app but after 5 minutes I realized I was going in the wrong direction. I was in heels, a tight pencil skirt (looking very sexy, I must admit) and then it started to rain, I did not want to walk anymore. I tried hailing a cab, with no luck after 5 minutes. I eventually called an Uber. It arrived 10 minutes later and I was on my way to meet him.
When I arrived the restaurant was quite crowded. He saw me before I saw him, he walked to embrace me with a hug and he asked the hostess for a table. He was very handsome; great stature, bold glasses, distinct looks and an accent that was a combination of Indian and British. As dining at a wine and cheese bar was new to me, I let him choose the wine and food. He was a computer engineer and did private catering as a hobby, so I knew I could trust his taste. I thought to myself, finally!- a man with a career and evolved culinary knowledge. (This was very important to me. I love food! Many people eat to live, while I live to eat- #HaveFoodWillTravel is my motto. He was such a breath of fresh air, especially since my last ex was a fast food, 25cent snack at the corner store food junkie. The date went well, compared to what I was used to. The only issue that day was his smoking. I hate dating smokers, but I said to myself- if everything else is good, could I live with it? The answer was yes, so I didn’t hold it against him.
On the next date he invited me over for dinner. In the comfort of his own home the uniqueness of his character was much more obvious. He had on some ethnic print harem pants; his flip-flops showed his awkward hobbit-shaped feet, with his big toes painted a bright green. In my mind, I had casted much judgments, but I remembered he was at home and as long as he didn’t walk outside with me looking like that it wasn’t so bad.
He made, quite possibly, the most delicious pork dish I ever had, with flavorful brown gravy with bright citrus notes and jasmine rice, simply delicious. His table manners, on the other hand, were totally despicable. I used my fork and knife, he was a caveman, and he used his fingers. I finished my food and gravy with a spoon, and he picked up the bowl and drank the sauce. When he was done, he placed his foot on the kitchen table and rubbed his slightly plumped belly- no table manners what so ever. I should have called it a night then but I was optimistic. (You see, this was during the first season of American Gods. If you haven’t already seen it, you must watch it. There is a scene where an Indian man, who’s actually a genie, has sex with an unsuspecting human male passenger. In the scene he drops his pants and this mammoth penis is on screen #wow. Now, I’ve heard all the rumors about Asian and Indian men having small penises but I didn’t want to believe the stereotype and I had hope that maybe I was finally finding the total package, so I decided to stay and see for myself.)
In his room, I was laying on his bed (fitted orange dress and strappy cork heels), while he smoked his cigarette and blew the smoke out of the window. We spoke with ease, but I could tell he had something on his mind. So, I asked him what he was thinking. It was the first time a man had ever asked for permission to kiss me. I told him, yes but only after he brushed his teeth. With that, he jumped up, went to the bathroom to freshen up and came back new and improved. We commenced to kiss. His lips, upon viewing them, seemed small, but once we started kissing had the characteristics of an iceberg status (small on the surface, yet large and powerful underneath) those lips made me weak in the knees. In that moment I wanted his lips everywhere. He continued to ask my permission with every advance he made: hands around my waist, down on my ass, laying me down on the bed, hiking up my dress, kissing behind my knees, in between my thighs, kissing over my thong, then removing them to kiss what lay beneath. At every advance my body wanted more and more. The power his mouth possessed on me that evening was explosive beyond measure. He brought my body to screaming pleasure three times with just his tongue and fingers. I thought to myself Thank God.
As I lay there spent on his bed he went back to smoking another cigarette and drinking his wine. We started talking about sexual gratifications and we got on the topic of penis size. He asked what my ideal was, and I was honest and said 6” being my minimum and around 8” being my maximum (I don’t want to have an involuntary hysterectomy because my man has donkey dick- some things are too big for me). When I told him my answer he was very honest about his size. There is nothing I hate more than a man that tells lies on his dick but his being honest was a chance for me to really see if size really does matter. Could I let a “little” thing be a big issue? I was willing to see.
When he finished his cigarette he brushed his teeth then came to bed. He started me back up again with his lovely mouth and fingers. He got a condom and I was able to see exactly what he had. There was so much disappointment in my rapidly beating heart at that moment. His penis may have been the size of my middle finger at full erectness. I was in utter disbelief. We started in missionary- I felt absolutely nothing. I then forced him to switch to doggy style, I felt something but it was still closer to nothing. Because he made me reach orgasm five times already I figured I could give him one… or so I thought.
Now, normally when my partner reaches orgasm I hear a few groans, they grab tighter, cum, and come down off their sexual high. That night, I had experienced brand new territory.
It started with his moaning, then his pushes became more rapid, then his body began to shake. He slammed the wall with his fist and continued to convulse. I’m bent over, facing the wall; wondering- is he having a seizure? What the fuck is going on back there? He must have read my body reacting because he then explained that he has multiple orgasms. He must have been climaxing for what seemed like 10 minutes, after he had already cum. Well that’s different, I thought to myself.
When he was finally done he pulled me close, we kissed and he wrapped his legs and arms around me. Lying next to him, ignoring all the questions and concerns looming in my brain, it felt good. His skills were great, minus his obvious shortcomings, but I hoped for a man like him for so long: good career, cultured, well traveled, foodie, can hold a conversation, accepts my weird-uniqueness, genuinely into me, and a gentleman. I could try and look beyond the “small” “insignificant” physical issue right? I tried it for a few months and it would all come to an end in part 3B.
(Attack of the Gherkins finale in Part 3B, Next Week)