Being Big

The worst thing

about having

oversized genitalia

is never knowing

if she loves you

for you.

I didn’t ask for it

to be this way,

and I sure as hell didn’t have it

surgically enhanced:

it’s just the way

God made me.

The one good thing

about being

Big

is the look of surprise

when they first see it,

sometimes in shadows

sometimes in light,

but they are always

dumbstruck.

After that wears off

they’ll straddle me

like a mechanical bull,

hang off me like a

stripper pole

and indulge themselves

with me as their

flesh-and-blood vibrator.

I’ve even had a few

get scared and try to demur;

but I’m always able to

convince them

because I’m gentle,

and then they give in,

and this is where

we both get fooled:

we both think

we’re in love.

Sometimes sooner,

sometimes later,

our differences

scrape up against one another

and the relationship

degenerates into

marathon sessions of

sweaty, visceral intercourse,

multiple orgasms,

and awkward silences.

Before each

first time,

I am so insistent

on practicing abstinence,

because I know

once we cross that line,

all we’ll ever do is have sex.

So,

I remain steadfast

that I will find the right woman

who will love me

for me,

who will walk with me

in the rain,

curl up and watch movies

all weekend,

will massage my scalp

every now and then.

Until then,

I’ll faithfully

continue the search

and I’ll keep erasing

all those

tempting

late night voice mails

that my loneliness

fights to convince me

are more than just

booty calls.