It’s Never Good To Chunder On A Girl You’ve Just Undressed.

I’ve been dating.

Shocking as this may seem, a girl actually lowered her standards enough to go out with me.

Awesome.

She’s cute, smart, challenges me, gets on well with my friends, and strangely enough – really seems to like me. I certainly shouldn’t complain.

This weekend was a bit of an unfortunate turning point in my life however. We’d been seeing each other for about two weeks, and being the gentleman that I am, managed to not try get her kit off in the first 5 minutes. I waited, made sure it was a mutual decision, and then leapt into bed like a fat kid after a Mars Bar.

Things were progressing nicely - clothes were flying across the bedroom, breaths were getting breathless, hands were exploring parts that hands like to explore… In my mind I pretty much kept going ‘Wooooo.’

Now.

A boy never really knows exactly what to expect when he slides his hand sensually up a girl’s thigh, right to the top bit. Will it be a crinkly, curly adventure through the undergrowth? Will it be a slick, sliding adventure into parts waxed and unknown? Perhaps even a slightly stubbly experience, a moment of discovery mixed ever so slightly with the semi-sweet emotions of ‘Hmm, she could have at least freshened up.’

What a boy definitely doesn’t expect is to discover, amongst the slickly waxed split-mounds, is a slightly throbbing, fleshy extrusion; roughly about the length of your index finger.

To slide your hands in between a girls legs, up into that dampened area, open her up like a delicate flower, and have a fucking Mopani worm poke it’s head out.

Not. Cool.

Now I’m not a total sexual illiterate. I understand that when girls get fired up and excited, a certain bit of her fills with blood and engorges slightly.

But sweet Jesus’ing Buggery Fuck – ‘slightly’ is the operative word.

With the bile rising and my manhood deflating faster than a really fast deflating thing, I stopped. Double checked. Hoped to everything good and pure, and checked again. Nope. Still there…

Shiiiiiiiiiiit.

Not only do I have a sinking suspicion that this awesome-fantastic new girl in my life suffers from a serious case of clitaromegaly*, but it appears there’s an even more depressing problem on the horizon…

I think hers is bigger than mine.


Sad face.
- crayola dude.

*I googled it. ‘It’ has a name. :(