We’ve all been there. You’re at brunch with your friends, and they ask you about last night’s escapades. “How was it?” “Are you going to see him again?” “Was his dick amazing or terrible?” Each question is an adventure, a treasure trove of further discussion and speculation… most of the time. But last Sunday was completely different.
Last Sunday I found myself without tale, left stranded in a sea of wordlessness, when my friends asked the dreaded question: “What was his dick like?”
His dick was just … regular.
That’s right, folks. Not big, not small. Not bad, no weird balls or birthmarks. Just regular. Without incident. Just a classic, totally normal dick.
After an already uneventful night with an uneventful penis, I now had to face follow-up questions from my well-meaning but frankly way too insistent friends. Maybe I should take it as a compliment that they couldn’t believe I would take home such an dull dick?
“Wait, so did it curve or anything?” they prodded. No, girls. It was straight as an arrow. Not overly straight or anything like that. Just a standard-issue, regulation-shaped arrow.
Would a curve really have made it better? Would I be calling him in a couple of days if he had a wonky dick? (Honestly maybe. I need better stories.)
“Was he circumcised?” they asked, a classic question. “Yes,” I replied, a classically boring answer.
He’s not even Jewish, just a boring dude.
“An unusual freckle? Anything?” they wondered. “No. I searched but couldn’t find one,” I offered.
“So nothing noteworthy?” they concluded. No, ladies. Nothing to write home about (Not like that guy Brian, whose dick I actually did email my mom about).
And so it was, a regular dick, a lackluster brunch topic. No one even asked if I wanted to see him again. The conversation changed quickly, devolving into a discussion of Sarah’s new boyfriend and his “spectacular” calves, and we were all worse for it.
