Recumbent Exercise Bicycle

Penises. Since high school, I’d been a firm believer that the size of a man’s penis didn’t matter. After all, they had only to think dirty thoughts and they’d become twice or thrice the size. A little rubbing here and there and poof! Small penis problem solved.
That was until my friend Lori started in on her new man. Jessie was a bodybuilder and she swore up and down that his penis was the size of her pinky finger. I said NUH-UH. She wanted to get him drunk so she could show me. “Not only is he hung like a hamster, but it’s a godawful dark purple color like it needs air or something,” she said.
Being 17 years old and a virgin, I declined her offer to see the goods. She dumped him when she learned he was a huge ‘roid user. That, and she complained that half the time he couldn’t get it up.
I remember hoping to God that my first boyfriend wouldn’t have a large penis. I had heard horrible stories about behemoth penises that took on their own monstrous forms and knew no mercy.
My first time happened so fast that it’s hard for me to remember all the details. One of the things that sticks out in my mind is the fact that I had to ask, “Are you in me yet?” because I honestly could not tell. Now, I knew exactly what Lori was talking about, and I realized she hadn’t been exaggerating.
I started wondering what big ones would be like. A few average Joes later, and I met Jake. He had a speed bike, a new sports car and his own house at age 21. He walked like a man bigger than his 5-foot-8 frame and cussed a lot, and wore an Italian horn although he was only half-Italian. A few dates later and I realized that all of the money or toys in the world would not compensate for such a lack. No wonder he was an angry little man. All that time I thought there was something wrong with me.
Then I had an epiphany when I met Alan. Six foot three–and proportionate. That night I was a changed woman. Motion of the ocean, my butt…but it didn’t last long, which summed up his duration as well.
“Get off already!” I said, annoyed that he drank too much one evening. What good was being proportionate without the stamina?
“I’m sorry…it’s just that it’s been a while. If you have a vibrator, I can, you know…”
“No. I don’t.” And I rolled over, disappointed.
Then along came Mike. I had predetermined that I wasn’t going to sleep with him. Nothing about him said “Do me, now!”
But he was warm, witty and charmed me with his sense of humor, not to mention he was a good kisser. My wandering hand ended up you know where and–voila!–my clothes magically came off. He had Alan beat–and I didn’t think that was possible.
If I was ever going to be dick-whipped in all my life, it was for the sheer rarity of stroking such a mammoth! I couldn’t wait to try it out. Then I could boast to all my girlfriends that it was true that big ones are best. But lo! What is this? After 10 minutes of going at it, I felt as if my insides were about to fall out. I do believe he was tickling my tonsils, but it hurt! Ow! Maybe I jumped the gun in eager anticipation. I waddled a little bit the next day and it was painful to sit down.
I didn’t want to be a quitter, and Mike was such a good catch that I thought we should at least give it another try. But every time we tried to get intimate, my legs instinctively clamped shut. I couldn’t imagine a life of penis phobia, so I had to cut him loose. No amount of penis in the world, in whatever shape or size, was worth putting myself through such agony.
Now when my friends ask me if I think penis size is important, I only comment, “If a man accepts you for the size (or lack thereof) of your boobs and your ass, then whatever size he has is fine if it can be accommodated physically, and as long as he isn’t hung like a hamster.”