What exactly is ‘Small Penis Etiquette’?
I came up with the term, during a recent discussion, when the topic of small penises came up in a private group I belong to. In this forum, we discuss a wide-variety of topics, with the freedom to be as candid in our responses as we so desire. The ladies of this group were asked to chime in and detail some of their not-so-pleasant experiences with the smallest penis they’d ever had.
After detailing my own experience, I half-jokingly made a hashtag as garnish to a reply I posted after outlining a situation with a man I dated. I didn’t think much of it until someone asked me to explain what SPE was.
Small Penis Etiquette is about transparency, compassion, understanding and acceptance. I’d also venture to say this addresses body-shaming—something that I hadn’t considered prior to a series of recent reflections.
A little background: I was in my twenties and had a less-than-favorable experience with a micropenis. I knew about small penises, but I thought micropenises were a myth. I was obviously ignorant. However, I soon learned.
We met at a mutual friend’s party. Nice guy, gainfully employed, job, car, lived alone, no children, never been to jail, good manners, well-groomed, and an overall gentleman. We lived about an hour away from one another. For me, that was a good thing. We spoke over the phone pretty regularly and eventually started dating. Things were progressing nicely. While I wasn’t yet ready to make a commitment, I liked where things were headed.
Naturally, as time went on, we were ready to take things to the next level. Admittedly, I was not about to make a decision on whether to continue with the man until I knew what the sex would be like.
The plan was for us to spend the weekend together. I handled all the particulars on my end that would prevent any distractions. Basically: if nobody was dying, don’t bother me. I arrived at his place that Friday night. We went out for dinner and a movie. We get back to his place, we do some small talk while watching television. At some point, we start kissing. Once the temperature got to the feverish point, he got up. He started blowing out the candles. He turned the television off, the light in the hallway—just—any light in the apartment—he turned off. I bumped into a few pieces of furniture as he was guiding me through his pitch-fucking black apartment.
Here’s where things get a little sketchy. We’re at the foreplay stage. Okay, cool. There’s lots of kissing, touching and such. I try my hand at checking out the goods, but he moves his lower body just out of my reach, teasingly–or maybe that was just my interpretation, but whatever. The foreplay is happening. At least, I thought that’s what it was until I noticed the switch in rhythm. He’s on top, gyrating, and sweaty. There was what felt like gallons of sweat—all his. Not a big deal except I thought this was foreplay until I realized that he was……finishing. I had no idea that the main event was actually going on because—well—I couldn’t feel anything, initially. It wasn’t until I put on my full concentration and squeezed my Kegels tight, that I could feel the slightest bit of friction, but by that time, it’s pretty much a wrap. Once the understanding of what actually happened became clear, he tells me he has a surprise for me. He then proceeds to give me some of the worst, lazy, but “neat” head I’d ever had. No exaggeration. It was terrible. I was outdone and not in a good way. He fell asleep. I went to the bathroom, finished myself off and thought about how I was going to make my early departure in the morning. There was no way in hell I was wasting the rest of my weekend with this guy and his underwhelming sex. Not up for negotiation.
Morning came and I was ready to make my escape, but I still hadn’t figured out how to get out of there without being too suspect. I mean, up until that point, I really liked the guy and wasn’t trying to offend him or hurt his ego. We were both awake, exchanging pleasantries and more small talk. I’m caught up in my head, mind racing with possible reasons that I could break camp. My phone rang. I don’t remember who it was on the other line, but that was my opportunity to fake an emergency and get the hell up outta there.
Long story short, I never spoke to him again. He called quite a few times, left messages on the cell phone, home phone, and even one cocky voice mail on my work phone. I just didn’t have it in me to have the talk with him and outline the reasons why I was no longer interested. I figured he’d eventually take the hint.
Even as I type this, I’m confronting the insensitivity that I once displayed towards another human being—and even co-signing the notion of someone “not being enough”. While I can justify how I handled the situation, I’m not proud of it. With that said, I think it’s important to note that SPE applies to all parties involved—not just the one with the penis.
One of the women that chimed in about SPE remarked that “it’s a coded language”, to which I agree. There are some men that will just come flat out and let you know the what’s what. I’ve learned, that those individuals are rare. While there’s a part of me that understands the apprehension, I still feel that open and honest conversations are imperative.
Once the online discussion was over, it had me thinking. I took the discussion topic to a few of my sister-friends and from those conversations Small Penis Etiquette became more than just some snarky, body-shaming terminology. It’s clear that the onus is on the part of the one that has all the pertinent info. However, potential partners and lovers alike could stand to be more compassionate in the overall handling of the situation.
In this case, honesty is going to have to be the best policy. You might just find out that the object of your erection affection, might respect that you are very much self-aware and accepting of who you are. Giving them the option to choose, rather than surprising them with a pop-quiz, so to speak, could quite possibly be an addition to the other outstanding qualities that you offer.
Hone your skills.
I cannot stress this enough. We know how the saying goes: “Hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard.” Don’t be fooled. Bigger is not always better. Trust me. It’s not size, but skill-level and mastery of skill that makes all the difference. Be creative and become a master of your partner’s satisfaction and size really won’t matter.
Accept your fate.
Everything ain’t for everybody. Maybe your honesty was met by someone who isn’t interested in what you have to offer. That’s life. There are no failures, only outcomes. Move on. Quality over quantity. If they don’t want you, you don’t need them. Plenty of fish and all that jazz.
Looking back on my personal experience, and I have a few times, I could have handled it better. While I still maintain that I was duped, it doesn’t negate that I lacked the maturity, compassion, tact, and education to properly handle this person. Yes, I was disappointed. Valid. I was also ill-prepared for what I learned way too late. Moving forward, this experience–and a few others—taught me some invaluable lessons:
- Do your own research; ignorance is NOT bliss
- Open communication can help save you time and frustration
- You might just face the music long after the dust settles
- Be open to learning, growing and evolving—and you will
- There is always more to learn; be flexible
- Own your shit
- Live with compassion so you won’t have to muster it
One of the major takeaways I’d like for people to understand is that a small (or even micro) penis doesn’t always equal bad sex, trust me.
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