Circus Penis

Is that a Coors light in your pants...

The ever popular debate over whether size matters continues to dominate bar room conversations, Cosmo articles and dating advice columns everywhere. The short answer is… of course it does. I’ve recently been faced with the issue in a way that I was certainly not prepared for. Let’s start by stating the obvious. I’m in my late 30’s and single, so I’ve had the opportunity to see a few packages in my day. I’ve been more impressed by some than others, but had yet to be alarmed by the unleashing of a unit…. Until now.

The events are worth mentioning because my approach and line of questioning while dealing with Cockzilla is exactly what every woman in this situation wants to ask, but doesn’t have the nerve. This guy is a friend of a friend and we hit it off almost immediately. He’s attractive, well spoken and laughs at all my jokes, which is critical. I wasn’t really looking for any type of torrid liaison because I’ve been on a disastrous streak with men lately and had sworn off them for Lent. That part was a complete coincidence, but that’s how it panned out so I might as well get some Jesus cred. Once we started to hang out, the natural progression of events led me to witness the most massive piece of equipment I’ve ever laid eyes on. I said, “Oh my god. What the hell am I supposed to do with THAT?” I immediately started analyzing the situation and wondered out loud if he needed to use a Giant Eagle bag as a condom and if that would count as recycling.

I began referring to him as ‘$5 Footlong’ because in theory it sounds like a great deal, but does anyone ever really need the extra inches? I’m pretty sure half of that will go virtually untouched. I asked about prior casualties and wouldn’t be surprised if some women were maimed along the way. I expressed my concern that if we did have sex, I would be ruined for all other prospects until the end of time. My only dating options going forward would be: 1) Black guy and 2) Rhinoceros. For any ‘normal’ guy it would be like banging a 50 gallon trash can. I’d become a virtual black hole. The last time something that large was inside me, it gasped for air and cried on the way out. I’ve heard the term ‘baby penis’ on a few occasions, but in this case, it’s the size of an actual baby… and not a preemie.

I confided in a few girlfriends and asked for advice. One told me to run and the other asked if he had a brother or a friend… as if these circus penis freaks travel in packs. The Monsters of Cock world tour, if you will. At this point, I don’t know where to go with it. I’ve spent some time Googling ‘How to have sex with a guy with an enormous penis and live to tell about it.’ You’d be surprised how many entries came back in the search results. He was kind enough to let me know that if we did consummate the relationship with a hearty bang, all I’d need to do was ‘tap out’ if it got to be too much. I think I read that exact sentiment in a Hallmark card once. I guess I should be fair to Cockasaurus and let myself learn to hate him for an entirely different set of circumstances. He probably says “anywho” or does something else that drives me bat-shit crazy. It’s not his fault he’s smuggling something that looks like a Coors light tall boy in his jeans.


2 Responses to “Circus Penis”

  1. 1 where's my beer coozie?
    April 26, 2011 at 8:53 pm

    Question when you decide to give in and become the next girl Jared spokeswoman for subway will you be concerned that your treasure island will look more like a hallway then a cute little walkin closet?

  2. 2 Dennis
    October 28, 2011 at 9:34 pm

    I did not give you permission to write about me. Don’t I need to sign some kind of waiver first?
    It’s not a doors light, it’s a fosters.

    Love ya,


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About the Broad

A humorous look at dating in your mid-thirties and the other hilarious things that happen around us on a daily basis.

April 2011
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