Return of the Crude and Rude

Fellow sex fiends, it’s been awhile since I have graced audiences with my crudity. It is with my biggest displeasure to announce that my column in Goucher College's newspaper, "The Quindecim" is banned after my last article on small penises (below) caused quite the stir. My apologies were not enough to prevent more attempted suicides from Goucher's male population, so the newspaper staff had to let me go. I do, however, get this awesome online column instead. Great, my audience will consist of me, myself and I, and my occasional stalkers.
Although I should have kept my opinion of the petty things in life within the knitting circle, Goucher's reaction to the column in general didn’t create the hard-on effect I had anticipated. That leads me to believe that a) we're just a bunch of prudes or b) I really pissed some people off.
I recently found out that that both of my assumptions are correct after receiving an angry letter from some parent, who was more than “shocked” to read such “pornography.” The person continued saying “I do realize that students engage in sexual activity; however, it need not be encouraged! In this day and age, when Baltimore city has the second highest rate of HIV/AIDs in the United States…it is appalling to read such an endorsement of promiscuity.” That’s right Mom, I’m sure the needle littered streets of downtown Baltimore scattered with cracked out heroine addicts have nothing to do with that statistic. Strapping on chastity belts will only lead to a nation agonized by blue balls and increased dildo use. Hope for the sex toy industry!
I haven’t even gotten to my favorite part of the letter: “The person who so proudly penned this article should have their name and picture next to it. I’m sure their parents would be very proud!” Actually, my parents are “very proud” although they would have preferred not to find out about my column by reading it on my travel blog, where I mistakenly posted it (that’s a whole other story…).
“Just please take it down before your grandparents see it,” my dad said.
My mom wasn’t so concerned. “You know, speaking of penises,” she said, “I once had a problem with the guy’s being too big!” she said laughing hysterically over the phone. I haven’t quite decided if this is an over-share or if I want to know more about my mother’s sexual past. It’s not like my family sits around the dinner table discussing the Karma Sutra, but sex and dating has never been discouraged.
“Congratulations!” my mom had said hugging me when I told her I lost my virginity a couple years ago. “How was it? Did you use condoms?”
My intent for writing about sex is not to encourage unsafe or careless promiscuity. The writer of the letter wrote that he/she was not interested in reading about “the sexual activities of a confused and misguided individual.” However, all of us who are “sexually active” (whatever that means) are ‘confused’ and ‘misguided’; that’s why we think of sex like seven times an hour or laugh whenever we hear the word “blow” “suck” or “eating out,” even when it’s not in context of a porn movie. If we ever figure out the mysteries and phenomena that go along with sex, than what else will occupy our minds?
Therefore, the purpose of this column is not to piss people off, it’s to provide a forum for all the other ‘confused’ and ‘misguided’ individuals out there who like to read and talk about sex. So I went a little too far last time, so I’ll tone things down a bit from triple-X level to R-rated. For those that still think that sex is about skipping in poppy fields with birds and bees, this column is not for you.

"It's not you, it's my penis complex."

I discriminate against small penises. My hands are up and I confess: I am a discriminatory sexpot. I hold a strict “no entry” policy for the entire race of Junior Johnsons. You know what I’m talking about – Gherkin-sized genitalia. Shrimpy shafts. Mini willies. Puny Peters.
However, about a week ago I did something I’ve never done before: I disobeyed my own rules.
It all started when I was out one night, having one of those lustful encounters with a guy at the bar. It was obvious from the first sexy eye-contact thing that there was going to be bedroom-after-bar action.
At the one-on-one after party in my bedroom, Bar Guy and I were totally immersed in a racy, aerobatic spit-swapping and frisky foreplay. We were, you know, doing the whole body-part-groping thing, the ripping-off-of-clothes, the hair-pulling, and the neck-biting. It was almost too hot for me to handle. Until, that is, my hand grazed his…. little rosebud.
ZAP!
That’s what it sounds like to me when the horny flame abandons my libido.
ZAP! is what happens when I see small penises.
ZAP!
Like being electrocuted, then going numb. Totally turned off. I was thinking, don’t put your pinky sized prick in my pussy.
As I was being zapped after my disappointing discovery and starting to consider putting out, I had a change in heart. If I was so attracted to Bar Guy initially, than why put such an irresistible attraction and a handsome man to waste? So I gave him the benefit of the doubt. It’s all about quality, not quantity. Right?
Wrong.
By the time we started going at it, I was completely zapped. My mind had wandered far from sex. I couldn’t even revive the tingling feeling in my stomach I felt during foreplay. Instead, I was thinking about how I had forgotten about my laundry in the dryer, how I should have vacuumed the carpet that afternoon, and how nice my room would look with a cream colored linen curtains.
It wasn’t like Bar Guy was bad or anything. He was doing all the right moves, all the things of “good sex.” He was all rough-and-tumble: lifting me up on my dresser, pinning me against the wall, rolling me around on my (un-vacuumed) carpet, busting out Karma Sutra moves. The guy had skills, and I’ll give him credit for that.
I was disappointed with myself. I had liked Bar Guy. I wanted to still be attracted to him. It was too late, though. My zing was zapped.
That’s when I realized: maybe I just have a Penis Complex, a crippling psychosexual disorder that’s incapacitated me from reaching my full sexual potential. I can’t help it. There’s just something about a stunted shaft that leads me to the compelling desire to avoid it. I can handle hairy asses, beer-bellies, and goatees, but small penises just plain turn me off. Sometimes they make me feel like a pervert, like I’m about to screw a five year old or something.
I’ve tried to overcome my problem, but I just can’t do it. So I’m back to my original policy. No bulge, no boning.
I’ll just have to live with having a limited sex life and in constant pursuit of 8’’ dicks.
I apologize in advance to all males with small penises I will encounter. If I put out, it’s not you. It’s my Penis Complex.