02 January 2012

I am a size 10 . . . and A HALF

I am training - again - for the NYC Half-Marathon.

Last year, I got up to my ninth week in my 12-week training program and aggravated a tiny stress-fracture that had me laid-up for a good 6 weeks. The most devastating time of my life. I was the gimp that no one wanted (Pulp Fiction reference). In any case, an ambiguously gay man measured me at the running store so that I could get the perfect fit for the insole of my sneaker. I say ambiguous because customer service can be really tricky; they are paid to be nice, and if the person doling it out has bought into it, then you have an overly flirtatious guy who is just doing his job. In any case, he measures my foot with the mechanical contraption I haven't seen since I was 5. He asks what size do I normally wear to which I replied "10? Why?" He said I am actually a 10.5 and it may be part of the reason for my poor stride. At which point, he gave me a wink and smile as he was looking up at me kneeling at my feet. [Ding! Ding! Ding!]

The size of a man's feet or hands has always been synonymous with their penis size, to me at least. But what is the fascination with a huge, beer can cock anyhow? Other than it feels great trying to cram it in your mouth or pretend that it is gut-wrenchingly painful when you actually have room for a couple more and that bottle of cheap wine you got at the last Holiday gift exchange. For me, I think it's the idea that something that huge can be accepted by something so small, speaking poetically of course. Mind you, I do have a sphincter, but after that initial glass scrapping thrust - the kind when you make the guy pull out that damned sword so you can assume the fetal position for a few moments - I can take a watermelon up there. Ok. Maybe not a watermelon, but you get my drift.

I joke about the extra half-inch meaning much. I don't have a monster cock, nor do I have a quarter-inch killer. I am pretty confident with my size. Whatever the case, I think as long as you know how to use it in your role, then who the fuck cares. Bigger dicks, when a requirement for hooking up, is only a fantasy. Things change when you get past the second date.

Point of the conversation: Size doesn't matter when it comes to matters of the heart.

- DeeCue

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