Size matters

As a single woman  who dates, I have occasion to think about anatomy. Lately its been on my mind, but more from annoyance than appreciation.
My orthodontist is recommending further treatment as my jaw seems to have slipped out of alignment and my TMJ has never been worse. My excuse – I yawned too hard. The reality – I was in a relationship with a ‘big’ guy. Yes. $4500, jaw breaking, wiring and 4 years of braces… all ruined by my A type desire to ‘knock it out of the park’. Which I was attacking with gusto, just as we heard the loud crack of something moving in my jaw that shouldn’t have. 

So I wanted to put it out there. Size does matter. Just not how you’d expect.

It’s the American way – bigger is better. Super size it. Large and in charge. Big deal.
But size comes with problems.

Control: The Titanic was huge. Nothing as big before or since. And everyone wanted to be on it. But evidence of the size problem- anything that big, going that fast, lacks control- wasn’t apparent until “Oops didn’t see that iceberg”. Ditto the ‘big’ guys. I’ve been poked in the leg, the hip, the butt, the eyeball. Suffocated, bruised and almost broke my nose. Once, I had to check my head for internal fractures. Too big, too fast, no control. Which means that while he’s riding the peaks of desire, you’re more likely to wind up in ER.

Fit: I’ve suffered complaints that I’m too small, but then the Titantic never had to fit through the water park slide. And if it tried, I’m thinking lube could only go so far. Big guys seem to think that its all good if you’re wincing with pain. Something’s just weren’t meant to fit and no matter the desire, it ain’t going in there.

Appreciation: Since the dawn of time, or at least since high school, women have been advised to praise size (regardless of reality). The problem emerges that unlike the other 95% of the population, the big guys really seem to require a constant verbal soundtrack to accompany every performance. Not a reminder but an ongoing opera of shock and awe.

‘You’ve ruined me for all other men’
‘I’ve never been with anyone so big’
‘I’m not sure that will fit’
‘You’re ripping me apart’
‘Wow’‘Oh My God’ ‘Is that REAL?’

What I find strange is that the guys who you would think need the reassurance, never ask for it. They’re too busy being grateful and making up for deficiencies every other which way.

Mechanics: I was always a coordinated kid. Good at tennis, basketball, baseball…you name it, I could work it out. Until I was confronted with a big guy.
If swallowing a Coke can while providing verbal ‘shock and awe’ is your idea of a good time, I’d advise you to make the most of your proclivities and become a ventriloquist. You’ll make some cash and you can practice with your hand up his ass until you can afford the puppet. But for me, what should be fun becomes hard work. I guess that’s why they call it a job.

So today I offer praise to Mr. Medium. Big may be beautiful, but Medium rarely results in the need for a night guard.

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