Why I Don’t Like Massive Penises: A Cautionary Tale
The first time I met Sonic (he had tragically spikey hair) was my 21st birthday party. One of my favorite boys in the whole wide world (though he has since fucked off to Australia and abandoned me and our mojito nights) brought him along to the house party. Thanks, G, I really owe you an aids burger for that one.
To be honest, I have very little memory of the night – quelle suprise. But from what I’ve been told, we really hit it off. So much so that we ended up in my room together. I have no memory of this but he later told me that nothing happened. Apparently I talked about all my teddy bears and then showed him my underwear. I know what you’re thinking. But, no. Not the underwear I was wearing. The underwear in my drawer. Which he then rated out of 10. He added me on Facebook the next day.
Fast forward four months to me in da club, fucked off my face. Now, I wasn’t with my usual group this night. I was with people who had no idea who he was and how weird he is, i.e. people who didn’t know they should stop me from getting with him. So I did. A lot. And then we went home together. Sonic was on it. Super giving and surprisingly talented.
And then his pants came off.
It was the biggest thing I had ever seen, and still is. But, alas, we had no condoms (what a recurring theme in my life) and he said I was too drunk to have sex with. What a gentleman. Anyway, the news of our tryst spread through our friends like wildfire. Bloody gossips. We didn’t get with each other for another two months.
Skip to the end of term and we are getting with each other and sleeping over every chance we get. I’m set to graduate and he still has another year. He drunkenly brings up that it’s a shame we didn’t have more time together and that he’ll miss me. Err, it’s your fault and I only live two hours away, bellend. But that’s neither here nor there, I’m still unsure of my feelings at this point. And we still haven’t had sex.
It’s the last Wednesday night of the year and my house hosts pre-drinks for our now merged group of friends. Sonic is there telling everyone I’m so bruised because I ‘said no’. He thinks he’s funny. People were actually starting to wonder if he was beating me, but, really, drinking too much and being the clumsiest person alive just doesn’t mix.
Anyway, we go out, we’re all having a great time, everyone’s fucked off their face. Then things get hazy. The next thing I know, Sonic and I are walking towards his house and yelling at each other. I have no idea what about. At his house, we’re still yelling. He later told me he threw couscous at me and made me touch his housemate’s penis. Brilliant. I remember more yelling. I remember trying to leave, being stopped and made to sit on the sofa. The next thing I remember is being in bed, spooning, still angry at each other.
I move his hand downwards from my chest and it’s on. Seduction is so easy for a girl. Now, as I previously mentioned, Sonic has a massive cock. Like Fassbender massive. I don’t really want to give away too much about me, but let’s just say our genitals were not compatible. It hurt SO much. Kind of like what I imagine to be reverse childbirth. I was in so much pain and my face and screams said it all. So he stopped, thankfully. Then, he notices that there’s blood on his hands. He moves off of me and we see red everywhere. All over his cock and balls, my thighs, the sheets, the curtains(!), our clothes. And not just faint little smudges like finger prints here and there – it was a fucking blood bath.
Obviously, the next logical step was to get in the actual bath. Nothing has ever been so sobering. We were both so freaked out and unaware of what was going on. I wasn’t on my period. We didn’t know what else it could be. Clearly too drunk to realize that he’d torn the shit out of me. Talk about ruining someone, eh? So we get in the shower and wash off the blood. I’m still so drunk that I fall in the tub. There is nothing more unattractive than a chubby, wet, 5’8″ girl with long, flailing, chubby limbs falling over in a bath tub. If I was a crier, I would have been sobbing at this point. I fell spot on the ever growing bruise pictured above, banged up my legs and head, and to top it all off, my vagina hurt like crazy. I couldn’t get up. I sat there, in the tub, under the running shower – brilliant, I’d have shit hair in the morning, too – looking like the most pathetic and broken person of life.
And then he sat down in front of me. We talked about everything and nothing. I have never been so exposed, in every sense, and so comfortable in front of someone. Despite everything, sitting in that tub is my favorite memory of him. We eventually got out, he wrapped me in a towel, dried me, and we got back into the blood soaked bed. Obviously still too drunk to think to change the sheets. He held me, told me it wasn’t my fault, that he wouldn’t tell anyone, and that it was our secret. Which was a fucking lie, by the way.
When we woke up on the bloody bed the next morning, it was weird. There was still tension from having spent half the night yelling at each other, we were both freaked out by what had happened, and there were still residual effects from being in the tub and realizing, for the first time, that we actually cared for one another. So I left.
But, being us, we quickly got to the point where we could joke about it. He ended up being quite pleased at the thought of having ruined me for other men. He had to flip his mattress over because it was so stained. I couldn’t pee for a month without wanting to cry. Pretty even deal, don’t you think? 