If you met me on the street, you probably wouldn’t think twice about me: I’m an average-looking girl with a clear complexion, a few freckles, and I have hair like a lot of girls’ hair (brown). Basically, I don’t stand out but I’m not bland. The one thing you wouldn’t think when looking at me is that I’m a monster who keeps breaking guy’s dicks.
But that’s me. I’m the one your guy friends warned you about: “Stay away from Emily; she’s the one who broke Gerald’s dick.”
“Emily’s a really sweet girl, but watch out: she’s a dick breaker.”
Do you realize how much it hurts to have that stigma? More importantly, do you know how harrowing it is to be in bed with a guy, having a good time, knowing all the while that inevitably, you’ll hear what sounds like the crack of a baseball bat, followed by the seemingly unending screams of a humiliated, frightened man?
I’ve gotten really good at dealing with this—I have 911 on speed dial, and I’ve found that putting a broken dick on ice will, at the very least, get a guy through the car ride into Emergency Care. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.
I never intended to break guy’s dicks. And I never made it my goal to learn how to break guy’s dicks—most men are actually really nice to me. So I feel really, really bad when a man comes into my bedroom and makes me feel like a beautiful, sensuous woman, only to watch them leave feeling like a hysterical, grieving child.
I’ve broken guy’s dicks routinely since I first became sexually active. In fact, in college I earned the nickname, “Emily, The Cast Iron Vice”. That wasn’t very nice. But I suppose having your dick broken in college is more than a little irritating.
The thing is: I don’t know what I’m doing wrong! Is it my bone structure? Am I too rough? Am I too constricting? I’ve tried adjusting everything to get it right—do you think I like it when boners explode in my bed? So you know how horrifying an exploding boner is for all parties involved? Do you understand how many sets of sheets I go through?
My girlfriends tell me to stay positive, that sooner or later I’ll meet a man whose dick was built strong enough to endure my super-strong vagina.
This is my version of Cinderella’s glass shoe. But while I search for the one, I just want guys to be forgiving. Of all the dicks I’ve broken, honestly only a handful of them actually deserved it.
And I’ve grown up. I no longer lend my ability out to friends seeking revenge on their former lovers. And I no longer crack walnuts with my vagina as a party trick. I was immature, and I’m sorry.
I understand my reputation in the community, and I know there’s really nothing I can do about it—men shouldn’t expect to have their dick broken when they sleep with someone; that’s their right. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, let alone two-to-three-hundred ex-sex partners.
But I would also be doing a disservice to myself as a woman if I stopped having sex just because I broke a couple hundred dicks. It’s just, I’m about to turn 35 soon, and there’s no getting around it. Time is running out. So if anything what I need to do now is step up my game even more—I need to find the one man whose dick won’t break off in my vagina.
I couldn’t be more apologetic to those whose dicks I broke and will break in the future. But I also need to live my life. Everything happens for a reason and if you end up getting your dick broke, I promise that special reason will one day appear to you, suddenly and joyously, much like a visit from the ghost of your old, unbroken dick. This, I swear.