Penis Guy.

So, like, feminists get sprung a lot of weird questions, which to me have the same kind of inexplicable logic of 'if man evolved from monkeys why are there still monkeys?'

and the one that pops up - a lot - is 'does size matter?'

Firstly, since when do feminists do sex a special way, or that all feminists do sex the same way?

Secondly. Heteronormative bullshit.

Thirdly, since when does the admission that one is a feminist make it permissible suddenly spring an out of context sexual question.

Fourthly, I know this is a trap. If I say 'no', guys always think I'm lying, and if I say 'yes', they cry misandry. YOU ASKED MY OPINION DON'T GET UPSET AT THE ANSWER.

But because I get asked it a lot, I've had to think about it a lot, and I feel like this is a good teaching point. So bear with me.

Society dictates what is and isn't attractive for men and women. I know that no matter what people say to me the media says that women should look a certain way and I certainly don't tick all boxes. I also assume that men have enough brain power and life experience to gather that literally nobody looks like the models on billboards, including the models themselves, and that there is a difference between fantasy and reality.

The lack of body diversity in popular culture also gives the impression that there is one way to be attractive, which is totally not true. I've met some women who are attracted to men who I personally think are not attractive, and not all my girlfriends approve of my taste in men, and that's okay. It's not like I'm an 8 and you're a 5 and that will never change and dictate your life forever. You might think I'm a 10; you might think I'm a 2. Attraction is weird.

The answer to this question, for most people, is aesthetically, I have my preferences. They are influenced by the media, and also my own personal taste. But it's not very important, and doesn't really matter. Physical attraction and chemistry is important to me and I'm not going to pretend otherwise, but I will turn down Ryan Gosling if I have to if he's being a dick. A pretty dick only gets you so far if you are an actual dick.

My friends and I also agree that, if a guy is really nice/kind/cool/considerate/etc., nobody's going to bring up any...physical shortcomings. The guys for whom this topic becomes fair game are normally shitheads who have fucked up. Girls will bitch about anything and we will literally go for the low hanging fruit if we can.

I will say one thing - what they say is true. It really is what you do with it. And the rest of you. A lot of best selling luxury sex toys are much smaller than the average penis, just saying.

Also, penises are not a first impression thing - unless you are the kind to try and whip it out in a public place to prove a point, which has happened to me, believe it or not (keep reading for the Delightful Tales of Penis Guy). Penises are not like breasts; you can't really see them, unless you have terrible taste in trousers, until you get down to it; and if you get to that point with someone you'd hope that you have good enough taste not to sleep with a judgemental weirdo. So, girls do not turn you down at the first pick-up line because your dick is small.

A little while ago, at a party, the whole boy meets girl thing happened, and I swear to God, this guy was obsessed with his penis. I literally found out nothing about him that wasn't about his penis; I still don't know his name. All he would talk about was The Penis, and all I was allowed to say was Praise for The Penis. He was not interested in me having fun; hell, he wasn't even interested in himself having fun, it was just constant penis validation. When I got disinterested at the prospect of hours of Penis Talk and tried to go away, the first thing he said was 'you think it's small, don't you?'

I don't know what kind of insecurity and entitlement you have to have for this to happen, but I took off pretty quickly, and he physically tried to stop me; and let me tell you, karate chopping your way away from Penis Guy is not fun. I don't know anything about him, I don't remember what he looks like, all I know is that this guy was obsessed with his penis so no matter how well endowed he was (WE WERE FULLY CLOTHED IN A CLUB I DON'T HAVE MUCH OPINION ON PENISES BASED ON DESCRIPTION ALONE), I obviously don't have a very high opinion of him.

The size question seems to be, to me, a way of asking if you are good in bed, which is an incredibly subjective, personal, intimate question that random girls you meet on sweaty dance floors can't answer. But what I can tell you is that Penis Guy is absolutely, 300%, guaranteed, terrible in bed, and I would not sleep with him for a million dollars. So how do I know that? Someone who doesn't care about you, doesn't care about what you want, doesn't respect that you are a person with needs and wants and opinions, an doesn't care about himself enough to introduce any part of himself aside from his penis, would be absolutely terrible in bed. Any kind of interaction involves communication and respect, and someone like that is incapable of either.

So what I'm trying to say is, stop worrying about your penis. I can't say with complete honestly that size absolutely does not matter ever under any circumstances, because the truth resists simplicity and women (and men - you can fuck those too, you know) are complicated as fuck. I'm telling you to stop worrying so that you  don't become that guy. Whatever you do, do not become Penis Guy. That is a bad way for a woman to remember you.

Soiree on the Moon

I feel like a balloon on the ceiling
Privy to, but not part of

And I am not free
Not free to rendezvous in the clouds
Or to burst into the heavens

Are you afraid
That the sun will catch my eye?

I an not a planet in orbit
You are not the centre of any universe
And certainly not mine

There is a soiree on the moon tonight
Let me be there

I am tired of smoke and spilled drinks
Tired of noise and broken vows

Let me fly away from here

This is Not a Love Letter

I don’t particularly want to wax lyrical
Over a boy who grows mould in his sink
But I should elucidate, I think

The great affection I have for you.

I have not yet had the time, or the words, to tell you
My friend;
How grateful I am for your constancy; how

Despite time and distance
Come hell or high water
Your sincerity never fades or falters

I know you will not slander my good name, or yours
By misunderstanding my intentions
My affection for you exists on a purer plane
Than the rabble can imagine

And the things in my heart that I explain to you once
I never have to say again.

(There are too many people, my dear
Who see Cupid lurking in every shadow;
I cannot tell you how glad I am that you don’t)

I wanted to say, old friend
That I am thankful for your solidarity
And your smile

It is a hard world to not have big arms around you
And I am glad of yours, when you are mine.

for Brady. 

Here's to the Sun Streaming Through Your Second-Floor Window

I remember, tangled on the dance floor
Meeting a rather confident boy

And I remember, tangled in the bed sheets
You made me swear to be your friend

Well, my dear
I am still here.

I must confess, my friend
There is a lot I object to
About you

But your easy generosity
And your deadly smile

Is not a thing any woman can resist

Believe me when I say
I cannot love you

And believe me when I say
I always will.