‘Was your ex’s dick bigger than this?’
I asked
holding up my large battered sausage to her.
‘How big do you think that is?’
she asked.
‘9 inches,’ I approximated.
‘Well yeah, as big, but it was fatter than that.
He said it was
nine and half long and
seven around.’
I nodded and laughed
but inside
I think I was crying.
Your poem was entertaining - fetching indeed.
Cynthia is right. It was the wrong question to ask. There will always be someone bigger than you, just as there will always be someone smaller. The important thing is what kind of a lover you are, which doesn't always have anything to do with your dick. I wouldn't advise asking anyone about that either. Just presume you are the best. Women like a confident man, happy in his own foreskin :)
What do you mean, I make it worse? This is a very real, emotional and psychological question, that plagues many men. I chose to answer the premise with humour, to devalue its presumed importance. It is no different than women who might feel less womanly because they have breasts 'the size of peas!' (as I was once told with no joke intended. It did not undermine me, but it was deliberately cruel, and intended to make me feel less than attractive.) This is a very sad poem, because it is self-destroying.
Cynthia! You make it worse.
Balderdash! Besides, it was a stupid question. But very fetching poetry - in the 'short and punchy' style.
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David Mac
Wed 21st Sep 2011 06:01
calm down, people! let's not get all serious about things, it was just a dumb little poem - but true. i do alright.