Like a penis, only smaller

The trips home are turning into a predictable routine.

Every time I go home, I do the same things, with the same people. Dinner with the Girls From Work (the chickies I worked with 20 years ago...), drinks with Lovely colleagues, a day with the Nephew and Niece, Mother ever-present and hovering in the background.

So this time I decided to spice it up a bit.

There's a guy who I met a while ago in Brum, in a club, and we've kept in touch ever since - albeit in a very loose, surface, vague interest kind of way. He had recently asked if I wanted to do something when I was next over, so I said sure, why not.

As he launched into his third beer and his fifteenth non-anecdote I realised that this was a mistake. He was possibly the dullest person I'd met in a long time. And he should have been so interesting. On paper he's a really fascinating person - he's lived in Tokyo, in Cairo and in Tel Aviv and has spent much of his adult life travelling.

Alas, the paper was more interesting than the flesh and blood. It was dullsville. Truly dull.

Anyone who has spent any time with me will know that I have an anecdote for all occasions. A tale for every situation. I appreciate that this can be a bit much. But this guy - the stories were neither funny, nor interesting.

So, we drank a few beers and then he asked me if I wanted to 'do something'. Now, dearest reader, the guy is boring, but he is hot. Physically, he ticks every box, and then some that I never thought needed ticking.

He is tall, strong, muscled. He has a hairy chest, a short beard and a twinkle in his eye.

How could I say no. We skipped off back to his place in a fancy city-centre loft.

However - and this is where I need to issue a 'too much information' alert - it turns out that he wasn't as well proportioned as I'd hoped.

There were two things wrong.

Firstly, he had the smallest tackle I've ever seen. I mean, this was small. It was like a teeny tiny acorn sat in a birds nest of pubic hair.

He was neither a shower nor a grower. He was underdeveloped.

It's not like I'm a big size queen, but I knew as the shorts were dropped that this wouldn't end well.

And as awful as this was (truly, at one point he was walking towards me naked and I thought he'd tucked it between his legs) it was nothing compared to the other physical disaster.

"What could be worse than a non-dick?" I hear you ask.

Well, the thing is, he had unfeasibly long legs. I mean long. He was probably six foot four, and most of that was leg.

This, combined with a refusal to just lie on his back (I told you this was too much information, sorry) made for, erm, 'difficult' lovemaking.

It was like a shetland pony trying to shag a clydesdale.

It was almost physically impossible. Note that I say almost.

As I tried my hardest to make the most of a bad situation, as my dignity ebbed slowly away and as my desire for the evening to reach a happy ending slipped out of view over the horizon, who do you think was forefront in my mind?

Yes, dear reader, it was you.

And there's the moral of the story. No matter how undignified, boring, awkward or nasty a situation is, it is ALWAYS good for the blog.

My discomfort is your pleasure. My pain, your gain.

His small penis, your big laugh.

At least, I hope you are laughing....