The world of online dating has become literally, bonkers. People are becoming more and more picky when it comes to picking their future lover, whether they have to wear a uniform in the day or have a big dong. Yes, that's right, a big dong. I recently came across an advert for a new dating site specifically for people who like big dicks. You can find that website here (yes, it is called 7orBetter.com and I grant them 10 points for that name).
I never know how to feel about absolutely massive cocks or how anyone can have a fetish over it, especially if you're a gay bottom (I'M VERSITILE). Yes, I admit sometimes when I see one online (I'm not that lucky to experience the live show yet), I think to myself, 'Holy shit, that's beautiful.' Also, I don't know why but if I know someone has a big dick, I look at them as authoritative for some strange reason. I guess it's like dogs. You can't really call a chihuahua a dog, but you wouldn't fuck with a huge Rottweiler. On a purely visual level, looking at a big penis is like looking at the London's Gherkin, an absolutely beautiful landmark that makes you spew innuendo more than... well, I don't know the name of any other phallic landmark in the world that wouldn't scab your hole.
The question is, should the size of your chosen lover's penis be any different than having a preference over what colour eye's you prefer on your man or if you prefer Lady Gaga or Madonna? Due to the popular belief that 'bigger is better', you'd assume that people have every right to be picky with penises. But on the other hand, you can't change the size of your penis unless you get surgery and end up on a gone-wrong This Morning segment with Holly Willoughby uncontrollably laughing.
I think the answer to this not-so-important question is that it doesn't matter. It's what inside that matters. Dick size is only a tiny leaf on the oak tree of love.
ONLY KIDDING. WHERE'S THE BIG DICK AT?
On a serious note, life must be quite difficult if you have an insanely small penis. Especially if you're part of the gay community. A community that has welcomed me with open arms, but a community where appearance, confidence and semen are huge factors when it comes to love. All you have to do is visit douchebagsofgrindr.com to understand what it's like. I think people need to realise that whether they prefer a chopper or a chode, there is a human being attached to that penis they are scrutinising. What I'm trying to say is that I may prefer Lady Gaga, but I would never tell Madonna that.
Showing posts with label dates. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dates. Show all posts
Tuesday, 1 October 2013
Thursday, 28 February 2013
Love, dating and my sad, pathetic life.
For those who are new to this blog. Hello. I'm Jack. I'm 18 and I'm married to Shannen Doherty from the original Beverly Hills, 90210 with three kids. Well, this is not strictly true, although the essay I wrote when I was ten predicted I'd be married to a woman by 21, have a son at 24 and twin girls by the time I'm 30. Alas, I am a gay dude who's Facebook relationship status is single, and I have two years to find and marry Shannen Doherty.
Despite my desperation to find Zayn Malik, I've only ever had two gay relationships. One ended before coming to university last Summer, and the other with vodka (we're on a break, after what I can only describe as the worst hangover ever, sent from Hell) (I assume vodka is a boy, because it's so damn delicious). Because of my break-up with a boy I thought I'd be with for a long time ended, my bed has become my loving husband, and Netflix my harsh dominatrix of a mistress, demanding I devote all my time to watching The Hills and Jerseylicious (don't judge me).
The problem is I've not been a very good dater. The other night I decided to take someone out on a date. I was in charge of location, time, etc. and to be quite honest, it was lovely. We went for street food in Camden, followed by a cupcake accompanied walk to Primrose Hill, where we enjoyed hot chocolate and a chat, with the most amazing view of the London skyline. But now I don't know what to do or what to say.
I've spent nearly my entire teenage years in relationships with Troy Bolton, Justin Timberlake and Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell. My teenage years are almost over. I want to find someone that I can be myself around, have sexy times with, and do crosswords with whilst drinking a bottle of red. I really don't think I'll find this relationship in SoHo on a night out with my girls and gays. The only relationship you'll form from a night out in SoHo is with gonorrhea.
My problem is obvious. I'm not making the most of what I get. Cupid shoots the arrows and I go to surgically remove them. But I think this applies to all gay men. I've had two sexual experiences since coming to university. One of them included me bringing someone back to mine. It was just before Christmas and I really liked this person. I even cooked him oven chips for Christ's sake. If that doesn't scream true love, then I don't know what does. After getting the undercooked crumbs of the McCoys oven chips all over my sheets, we got a little frisky and had the best sleep ever resulting in a late for lecture fiasco with a quick digit exchange. After that, I didn't hear from him, and he didn't hear from me (if you're reading this, it's a bit fucking late now, and my apologies for not texting you). Maybe it's just my destiny to become a cat lady, which is fine and dandy with me because I spend 20% of my time youtubing cat videos, and another 20% looking for cat GIFS on tumblr. That's 40% guys. 40%.
This sad and pathetic blog posts calls for an intervention. I, Jack Rattenbury, am going to go on a second date this week. It's what Dame Lauren Conrad would want.
Despite my desperation to find Zayn Malik, I've only ever had two gay relationships. One ended before coming to university last Summer, and the other with vodka (we're on a break, after what I can only describe as the worst hangover ever, sent from Hell) (I assume vodka is a boy, because it's so damn delicious). Because of my break-up with a boy I thought I'd be with for a long time ended, my bed has become my loving husband, and Netflix my harsh dominatrix of a mistress, demanding I devote all my time to watching The Hills and Jerseylicious (don't judge me).
The problem is I've not been a very good dater. The other night I decided to take someone out on a date. I was in charge of location, time, etc. and to be quite honest, it was lovely. We went for street food in Camden, followed by a cupcake accompanied walk to Primrose Hill, where we enjoyed hot chocolate and a chat, with the most amazing view of the London skyline. But now I don't know what to do or what to say.
I've spent nearly my entire teenage years in relationships with Troy Bolton, Justin Timberlake and Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell. My teenage years are almost over. I want to find someone that I can be myself around, have sexy times with, and do crosswords with whilst drinking a bottle of red. I really don't think I'll find this relationship in SoHo on a night out with my girls and gays. The only relationship you'll form from a night out in SoHo is with gonorrhea.
My problem is obvious. I'm not making the most of what I get. Cupid shoots the arrows and I go to surgically remove them. But I think this applies to all gay men. I've had two sexual experiences since coming to university. One of them included me bringing someone back to mine. It was just before Christmas and I really liked this person. I even cooked him oven chips for Christ's sake. If that doesn't scream true love, then I don't know what does. After getting the undercooked crumbs of the McCoys oven chips all over my sheets, we got a little frisky and had the best sleep ever resulting in a late for lecture fiasco with a quick digit exchange. After that, I didn't hear from him, and he didn't hear from me (if you're reading this, it's a bit fucking late now, and my apologies for not texting you). Maybe it's just my destiny to become a cat lady, which is fine and dandy with me because I spend 20% of my time youtubing cat videos, and another 20% looking for cat GIFS on tumblr. That's 40% guys. 40%.
This sad and pathetic blog posts calls for an intervention. I, Jack Rattenbury, am going to go on a second date this week. It's what Dame Lauren Conrad would want.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)