"Sex is like snow...

"...you never know how many inches you're gonna get or how long it will last."

In light of this being the holidays and all, I would like to express my gratitude for something that often goes unappreciated: the average penis.

Recently, I found myself naked, excited, on my back and begging for it, only to reach out for what appeared to be, quite possibly, a thumb...? Surely not. I leaned up to address my very aroused partner and where a throbbing and somewhat normal-sized member should have been, there was...an acorn shaped stump of a penis!

Now, as we all know, I've seen every kind of penis from every country--giant, tiny, yellow, purple, crooked, uncut, etc., but this experience thrust me back into a brief and drunken encounter in college. A friend and I had hooked up with these two guys during a football game; they were in town as alumni of the opposing team. We took them back to her place and proceeded to divide and conquer. Although I was drunk, I know a penis when I see it, and I'm quite sure that what I saw was the finger of an infant. Surprisingly, this virile young man proceeded to have no fewer than four intense fluid-filled orgasms over the next 30-40 minutes, all the while telling me about the girlfriend he was in love with but not quite sure if he was ready to marry. I assured him that if they enjoyed sex with each other (especially she with him), he should absolutely marry this woman. I knew that no other woman in her right, devirginized mind would ever give him a second thought.

In the years since this encounter, I have gone back and forth as to whether or not he should even be counted in my "number" since, technically, I think I was fingered, not fucked. But, if it comes down to technicality, then I guess it should count. What's even funnier, was that the next morning after the boys left, my friend emerged from her room and expressed her great disappointment in her lover's equipment. "I'm not any kind of size queen, but, Jesus, that was a poor excuse for a man dick if I ever saw one." I could only chuckle and regale her with my own story; perhaps they hung out together so they could feel good about themselves? I was most confounded that my partner had zero performance anxiety at all! Had no one ever guffawed at the sight of his naked body? Asked him when he was gonna put it in after he had finished? I do feel badly for these men who have been dealt an unfair and unfortunate hand, but of all the tiny penises I've seen, not one has been attached to a man with any shame about it! That, to me, is the true phenomenon.

So, in the spirit of the season, and my recent tryst with an infantile penis, I would like to express my gratitude for all the men on the small scale of normal who have had shame or performance anxiety about the size of their member. I assure you, you are above average and much appreciated.

Happy Holidays,
JN

All Eggs in No Baskets...

I've been having some fantastic dreams lately, mostly involving my first female love and fantasies that never materialized but seem incredibly tangible and true. It's not rare for me to have intense sexual dreams where I can almost climax in my sleep; I usually wake up and don't remember them, but something later in the day or the week will cause me to recall it with fierce clarity. The colors and the smells and the scenery from my false reality will come flooding into my conciousness, and I catch my breath and smile...a quiet, appreciative smirk.

Dreams like these remind me of the realities I've encountered: the beautiful, the risky, the adventurous, the painful, the discontented, the exhilarating, the sad. The older I get, the less interested and willing I am to engage in illicit affairs. I've dug to the roots of my willingness and need for such private validation, being someone's secret makes you feel special and set apart. A belonging that creates a bubble around your partner and yourself, a private secret world. Unless you have had an affair with someone you admire and respect, I really cannot describe the rush you get from being their "Chosen One". It's such a supreme validation, yet, in its own way, it's also the ultimate insult. You're good enough to fuck, to visit with and date privately, but not good enough to risk it all, out loud, to be chosen for the world to see, all eggs in one basket. As it is, you're their other basket (or possibly one of several); at some point, they had put all their eggs in the wife basket, but now, they're feeling neglected or adventurous (or you've grabbed their facination and boosted their ego), and they're willing to divide their basket, little by little, cautiously at first. Something that I find facinating about this exercise is how frequently men are betrayed by their mistresses, in the public eye, yet, they choose to risk it all and trust you when you tell them you will keep their secrets as you embark on this very private adventure together.

I'm facinated by all of the (recent) buzz and sensation surrounding illicit affairs and the great lengths that seemingly reasonable, rational men have gone to in order to juggle all the versions of themselves and their lives and the intense compartmentalization that must take place for it all to co-exist so seamlessly for any length of time. What I find most humorous, that amidst all of this, they call us, females, the dramatic ones. Seems to me that they thrive on that drama like fuel for their psychological engines. I will always prefer to be the one on the outside looking in, the third party, but not again from the inside looking out. Each experience, though, each person's reality treats you to a new spectacle, a new mirror to hold up to yourself and a viewpoint you might never have stumbled on if you were always the one in control.

In the words of a seasoned philanderer I know, "Valentine's is the day most all cheaters get busted. They get busted because it's the only day they are required to show love to all their women, and when there are several, they are guaranteed to get themselves in trouble."

Just a little enticement on this Valentine's Day...