The last guy I dated had a small penis.
Really. I’m not kidding.
I’m not even kidding when I say that it didn’t bother me.
While it did make the bedroom activities a little awkward at first, I was willing to overlook that, well, tiny detail.
All that mattered to me at the time was the way he treated me. I have gone out with some jerks in the past, and I appreciated the fact that someone nice had finally come along to treat me the way our vulnerable little human hearts need to be treated once in a while.
And sex isn’t everything, anyway.
Ha, stop shaking your head and let me continue.
So I ignored the guy’s shortcoming. But for only about a month.
Once his friends teased him about his tendency to be ‘pussy-whipped,’ he bid his sweet and caring ways adieu and turned alpha-male on me.
Whether he had ever actually become subservient to me or not, I’m not sure. But he sure did what he could to salvage his cool-guy image.
Even if that meant being a dick about it.
I suppose one might consider being a prick to be better than being pussy-whipped. But what was I supposed to think? I went from dating a nice guy with a small penis to dating an asshole with a small penis.
Well, he didn’t exactly go from anti-chauvinist to chauvinist overnight.
I mean, even before he sensed whatever threat there was to his manhood, I noticed his extraneous concerns with impressing the homies
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