There are things in life we are never going to be proud of, no matter how far back in the past they are.
This is where that kind of deep down scandalous shame lives and eats at you for decades, but only late at night, when you are at your weakest.
There is a quote that goes something like, “The only thing necessary for evil to flourish is for good men to remain silent.”
And that is where I come in.
It is a tough thing to admit you don’t have a big penis.
Not exactly something you shout from the rooftops.
Maybe some backstory is necessary here.
I tend to be cynical and somewhat sarcastically rude, always have been.
But every now and then, someone decides I am their best friend.
If its a woman, what this ultimately means is, we are not going to have sex.
The friend zone sucks.
Anyway, when I was about 18, I managed to pick up a new “friend”.
Lovely girl, just broke up with her boyfriend and was crying about it on the phone to me.
In my head, I think I was trying to figure how to parlay her heartache into a naked wrestling session.
I know, what a dick.
Anyway, in the middle of the phone call, my older brother, who happened to be celebrating something by having gotten hideously drunk, got on the extension.
This was back when people had house lines.
The conversation went something like this:
“I’m on the phone.”
“Oh, sorry, sorry, was just going to make a call.”
“Ok, then get off the line.”
“Who are you talking to?”
INSERT SOUND OF GIRL SOBBING INTO PHONE.
“Why is she crying?”
“She broke up with her boyfriend.”
“Shit, that sucks. Hey Honey? I can fix your problem here.”
“Get off the phone.”
“I’m trying to help here.”
“Honey, the best way to get over an old boyfriend is to get under a new one. You are talking to my little brother here, and he can solve all your problems. He’s the King Salami, a genuine horse for christ’s sake!”
“Get off the phone.”
He got off the line, and the conversation remained fairly miserable.
And it would have ended there.
But I made a tragic mistake.
I told someone about it.
Not claiming it was true, but just relating the whole story.
And it was their idea to spread the word.
And the rumor took on a life of its own.
It went viral before Youtube even existed.
And to my shame, I never corrected anyone.
It was an interesting form of celebrity that I had never experienced before.
I liked it.
And then the inevitable happened.
Someone called me on it.
Worse, a woman called me on it.
I have used the term size queen before on this blog and I need to use it again here.
I was asked out, bought dinner, taken back to her place, properly seduced, and then all hell broke loose.
Size queens, it seems, are easily disappointed.
This was not a fun experience, during or after.
What had been an incredibly hot, flirty evening became a glaring angry question and answer session with only one outcome.
So I let that be a lesson.
Don’t lie about shit you can’t fake, because someone, in this case a wildly hot woman in a peekaboo nightie, will call you on it.
And then you have another rumor going around about the size of your genitals.
And that rumor is not as much fun.
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