Is that a pebble in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?
So many sexperts in the straight world say that size doesn’t matter. As a minimally endowed gay man, I can tell you that, in the queer world, size counts. A lot.
I compensate for my lack of size with creativity and compassion. But it’s still embarrassing especially when I first become intimate with a suitor.
I’m happy with who I am, I just wish I could find another guy who could love the whole package. What can I do?
First of all, the straight community is replete with size queens. I know a particularly loud and proud woman who insists that anything smaller than a baseball bat is beneath her. She also finds herself alone a lot. And dating a lot of jerks. And no doubt very sore.
But even she has confessed that she’d forgo the Hummer for the minivan in a heartbeat for the right guy.
I do sympathize with you, and I salute your self-confidence and creativity. But just like all the fabulous people out there with fat butts, saggy breasts and every other socially unacceptable body trait, I urge you to love your weenie as much as you love yourself. If you don’t, you’re contributing to the lie that all bodies must look a certain way or be banished from the land of desire.
Who decided what was “desirable” anyway? And why does everyone believe it?
I’ll tell you why: Because people are lemmings. Which means if you act like it’s sexy, they’ll act like it’s sexy. If you act embarrassed, so will they. Yes, there will be those too caught up in the hype to appreciate you, but no one cares about those idiots.
At the end of the day, you want someone who’s concerned with the size of your love and your filthy mind. Not with your ability to knock over 10 adults in a crowded room should you accidentally become aroused.
So get acquainted with your partner: Walk, don’t run, to Nakedville. And love every inch of your fine self.
Straight meat: It’s what’s for dinner
I’m attracted to this straight girl at the gym who acts really nervous around me. I’m androgynous, lean, muscular and obviously a lesbian.
If we make eye contact, which is often, she becomes skittish and switches her gaze away. I’m not certain if she’s interested or homophobic, but the energy between us is intense.
We’ve never spoken. But at the gym, we’re both painfully aware of each other’s whereabouts at all times. Recognize that I’m a big introvert and a tough read. And she probably thinks I hate her since I obviously avoid her.
I want to put a note on her Stairmaster that says “Truce.” I feel like I’m in fifth grade again.
Any idea on how to approach her to find out if she’s interested?
It’s a thin line between love and homophobia, and a blurry one between mature and juvenile. You nailed it when you mentioned fifth grade.
What is it about sexual attraction an allegedly “adult” experience that sends us screaming back to the playground?
The problem is, you’re not in fifth grade anymore, which means you don’t have the next three years to ignore her, flick boogers at her or hang her by her undies in the locker room in hopes that when the big day comes, she’ll go to the prom with you.
Guessing what someone else is thinking is high on my Big Fat Waste of Time list.
Get on with it, woman. Introvert shmintrovert. How often do you meet someone who makes you sweat before you get on the Stairmaster?
If the elephant in the room is as large as you say it is, she won’t find it strange if you go up and introduce yourself.
Perhaps you’ll laugh about the intense non-back-and-forths. Perhaps it’ll be the most awkward five seconds of your life, and you’ll turn to the heavens with fists in the air and scream, “Damn you, Jen Sincero!” Perhaps she’ll recoil in terror, covering her eyes and holding her breath, so as not to get any of your scary lesbian cooties on her.
If you do get up the cojones to break the ice regardless of what happens you will have conquered a fear, which is always cause for celebration. And you will have made a new friend, acquaintance, lover, enemy or whatever.
At least you’ll know where you stand, which means you can begin focusing energy in the right direction, rather than wasting it by treading water in the kiddie pool.
Jen Sincero lives in the Silverlake area of Los Angeles. She’s a syndicated columnist and the author of “Don’t Sleep with Your Drummer” (MTV Books) and “The Straight Girls Guide to Sleeping with Chicks” (Fireside). www.jensin
This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition, April 21, 2006.
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