Sex Negative is the Cut’s series on the messy, clumsy, unromantic reality of boning.
An open-mic night is not necessarily where I’d recommend anyone find men to take home, but when you’re a bartender, at least it provides an opportunity to confirm a guy has a talent beyond ordering beers for several hours while making conversation. When I was in my 20s, the bar I worked at hosted an open mic for musicians, and Matt was one of our regulars. He was tall, broad, unfailingly polite and he sang Tom Waits covers. That was a super-hot combination and one night when I got off my shift a little early, we had some drinks and I took him home. He gave me no warning of what I was about to find.
I’m fairly petite and he was a big guy, and as we started making out, he picked me up to carry me over to the bed, which is when I realized there was something exceptional going on. I wrapped my legs around his waist and found myself perched on top of his boner like a tree branch. I could feel it solidly under one of my ass cheeks. It reached fully under my butt and to the back of my body. I started to worry. Was it really THAT big?
When I took off his pants and got a clear view of his dick, I was not reassured. This was a full-on porn cock. It must have been a foot long. I tried to be open-minded — after all, I had slept with men with big dicks before. And all might have been fine, except not only was he endowed like a porn star, but he fucked like one, too. It was a giant dick blitz, and before I knew it, I was suspended in the air, upside down, and somehow also having sex. This was not going well.
I asked him to put me down and he did, and while I collected myself, he admitted that the size of his dick had indeed been a problem with women before. Somehow, I resisted the urge to be like, well, obviously. He offered to try again, but I was ready to give up for the night and he didn’t belabor the point.
Over the next couple weeks, though, I began to reconsider my decision. He was so hot, and I felt bad rejecting someone for a body part whose size they can’t control. Also, I began to wonder if the problem might have been how I approached the giant dick. Maybe if I could find the perfect angle, I’d unlock some sort of mind-blowing orgasm power. So one night, when he was back in the bar again, I told my colleague that I had to cut out early to go see a man about his very large dick. It was my Mount Everest, and I intended to climb it.
Before we fucked that time, I laid down some ground rules: We were going to have totally vanilla, average sex. I was going to be on top and control both the depth and speed. There would be no Cirque du Soleil shit. He agreed and I got on top, doing my best deep breathing exercises from yoga. And it worked, sort of. We finished without injury, at least, even if the process wasn’t exactly pleasurable. And that’s okay, because people don’t climb Everest because it’s a fun, relaxing time. I never went back for more, and based on how he acted when I saw him at the bar afterward, I’m guessing I wasn’t the first one to bail out after checking him off their bucket list.