The last 48 hours have been … interesting … and have resulted in ♫ My Boy Lollipop ♫ becoming a rather aggressive earworm. First, I bumped into this post about the merits of [not] being open about your … um … shoe size. Thank you Bobby. Then I bumped into this tweet questioning the evolutionary potential of teeny weeny wieners. Finally, my princess bought me a lollipop and two sticks and gum. It was a bribe … because she’d gone to buy six eggs and had come back with a loaf of bread and 20 bob worth of candy.

I’m not a fan of lollipops. The last time I had one was in 1998. We were at KCITI and I was happily enjoying my Chupa Chups when some voices from the drama hall asked if I was practising. I was 16 at the time, ridiculously gutsy, and having a conversation with a high barred window. I couldn’t see the boys on the other side, and I erroneously assumed that they couldn’t see me either.

Anyway, the conversation implied that they should come out and give me something … else … to practice on. I want to think I was just mouthing off – pun completely unintended – and that I was too young an innocent to know just what they meant. After all, we were throwing around terms like BJ and toothpick, and my classmates were staring like I was speaking French.

But when I heard seats roughly shuffling, indicating that the boys were coming out, I was smart enough not to stand there and wait to find out. I took off and made sure that for the rest of Music Fests, I was surrounded by a bevy of girls … just in case.

Back to today, this lollipop is going to take a while to finish, because it’s way too large to rest in my cheekbones, and as the latest Ex Mr 3CB commented, I don’t like having things put in my mouth. I keep popping the lollipop in and out, and by the time my princess gets home, she’ll probably wash what’s left of it under the tap and finish it herself. It’s strawberry flavoured, by the way.

Now, up to this point, I was talking about actual lollipops. You know, with sugar and sticks and no body parts attached? So if your mind was chilling in the gutter, I can’t help you. However, from this point on, feel free to wallow in whatever gutter you please.

[Incidentally, while looking up the correct spelling for lollipop in the dictionary, I discovered that lollop means ‘to walk or run with long awkward steps.’ As in The dog came lolloping towards them. Who knew? However, Googling *cartoon dog lolloping* prompted Google to ask, ‘Do you mean cartoon dog lollipop?’ SMHW]

Back to the … um … point. I must be the only girl in the world that doesn’t care for size. According to Biology For Life, all appendages are capable of performing, and she can’t whine if she can’t see it, right? Besides, I have had a few … experiences … with overlarge … appendages … and they made it hard to breathe in a most unexciting way.

Every piece is built to function properly. Regradless of how long [or short] you are, all penises grow to about 6 inches when fully erect. True story. Google it. Besides, it’s not like they’re meant to be looked at. Otherwise you’d have an extra pair of eyes down there, yes? I personally don’t think wieners are particularly pretty, but if you are the type that likes to look, picture this. A guy that’s 7 inches gets stiff, and that’s it. A guy that’s two inches checks you out and tre[m]bles while you watch. Three times his regular size, and you stand and see it rise. Three times! I give you three guesses to which one seems more like a compliment.

[And by the way, to all Pberians who spent a considerable part of Form 1 trying to pry open page 80 and 81  – or maybe it 180 through 185 – I finally found them out.  The nuns apparently didn’t approve, so they firmly glued together those pages in every textbook on the premises. We spent ages wondering what they were trying to hide, and they used some seriously tough glue, so a lot of books were damaged trying to see the contraband. Years later, I found a copy of the textbook at a bookstore and went straight to those pages. They contained and approved descriptions of masturbation and gay sex.]

My take? Screw length, pun unintended. I focus less on how it hangs more on what he does with it. Still, perhaps I’m not the best person to talk about things like this. After all, I can’t even handle a good 69. In the past, I have been challenged with the do-me-I-do-you scenario, and as a result, had yet to discover the joys of cunnilingus. But I recently found a nice boy who was willing to introduce me to the art at no charge. It was … interesting … but it does make one itchy for days afterwards … and it made me seriously consider waxing *shudder* so I think I’ll skip that part next time, thank you. I’ll stick with the mortise-and-tenon variety of copulation.

But these are tangents – simply tangents. The point of the post on Single Black Male was to ask if it’s a good idea to advertise beforehand. Should a guy say in advance that he’s a little … you know … little?

Here’s my take on the matter. I value honesty, so I would have no issues with a guy saying he’s a few inches short. From experience, most guys who brag of awesome skills fall short anyway. Not sizewise, but really, the boy who says he’ll take you all night long very rarely does. Usually it’s the quiet ones with esteem issues that do well. I think it’s because they’re desperate to prove themselves, so they pay extra attention to pleasing. Or maybe they know enough to over-promise and under-deliver. Wait, that’s not right. But the point is that most guys who brag are relying on size.

I do realize that I’m not an average girl. The average girl will peep at your … peeper, decide she’s on her periods, and run bragging to her friends. She might even take a picture. So if you’re dating an average girl, mum’s the word. Don’t say a thing about size, don’t take off your pants till very late in the game – you know – like when you’re up to six inches? She’ll probably think you’re patient, gentlemanly, and excellent at foreplay. She’ll also think you have good restraint, which she will assume is proportional to your staying power. Then, keep the lights off and use candles – shadows add length.

Last bit of advice … why on earth are you sitting there talking about size? If you’re at a point where you can discuss dimensions, you really should be doing a lot more than sitting on the sofa chatting, shouldn’t you?

Addendum: Oooh oooh oooh – new fact. It isn’t just the guys that expand. We start out at just three inches [which means any guy can fill it up completely, teenie weeni or no teenie weenie.] But we can stretch to fit 8-inchers if they rub it the right way. But they have to do it reeeaaaaally slooowwwwly. Even I didn’t know that one. God I love Google *cheeky grin*