Joe Average has always been, well, average. He got straight B’s in school, played in Jazz Band and had a Honda. His best friend on the other hand, got D’s, drunk on the weekends, and eventually was shipped off to Iraq. Joe’s best friend can get any girl he wants, anytime, anywhere. Recently, Joe learned why…his best friend has a 14-inch cock. Here Joe opens up to us about how his average-sized cock has defined his life while questioning the ramifications of a monster dick and postulating how size may run the world after all.
My best friend just told me that he has a 14-inch cock! I mean, come on, I could understand 10, or even 12 inches but 14? I can’t compete with that, and yes, it is a competition. When you’re inside a woman and you can’t touch her the same way as he can, yes, it is a competition.
14 inches. That’s got to be erect, right? Is that even possible? I don’t know much about cock-lore, I guess that I have just never been very interested in it. But this, this is worth learning about. 14 inches. I mean that’s a fucking foot plus. You could kill a bitch with that.
What would that be like, to have a 14-inch cock? Would people see me differently? Would I walk differently? Not from comfort, I mean strictly from ego. Maybe I would wear short shorts just so that it could accidentally pop out the leg. Whoops, sorry, it’s just so big when it’s hard.
When I was a Freshman, rumor was that Senior David Whatshisname had a cock so long that he had to tape it to his leg when he played basketball. I used to hold my boxers over my waist in shame when my soccer team streaked. I didn’t believe the rumors then, but if my best friend has a 14-incher, where does it end? Metaphorically I mean: if it is 14 inches, it ends after 14 inches. But if his is 14 inches, David’s must has been 15. Or 18! Good lord, it could have been 20! No, that is almost two feet long; that must be impossible.
No matter how big it is, it is bigger than mine. And you can go on about the size of the boat and the motion of the ocean, all that crap, but come on, who wouldn’t rather have a yacht than a dingy? Especially if that yacht can make you orgasm in less than 3 minutes.
3 minutes. Hell I can’t remember 3 times I’ve made a girl come. I wonder if a 14-inch unit would help. 14 inches. That’s the size of a goddamn MagLite.
Let’s consider for a moment that this is the way society actually functioned: we get all the boys in a room, have them drop their pants, and measure them. Then we tell the one with the biggest member that he’s the boss, and everyone else to do what he says. Isn’t that kind of the way it is anyway? Why not drop the pretense?
I’ve got a normal-sized cock, or so I’m told. I would do the research, but honestly I haven’t been able to find willing participants. So I go with what I’m told. With my average-sized cock I would be right in the middle of society. A desk jockey or something like that. Maybe, if I’m lucky and I use it right, I could make it up to manager. Manager Medium-Cock. I wouldn’t have to worry about disciplining my subordinates; they would all feel inferior anyway. And forget promotion: I could never measure up against 14 inches. I would look like 3. Like a mid-level, medium-cock manager next to a CEO, a rock star, a god. Yes, sir, here is your coffee. Oh, you wanted whiskey?
If world leaders were chosen by cock size, the biggest cocks would run the world.
I asked his ex-girlfriends. They confirmed it. “Huge.” “The size of my arm.” “I was scared the first time I saw it, but I couldn’t stay away. I was drawn to it.” I asked them to confirm 14 inches. Couldn’t do it; never measured it. Just knew it was gigantic.
And it must be because they kept going back for more. Even after he dumped them, cheated on them and dumped them again. In alleys, cars, bathrooms. They sent him naked pictures, presents, marriage proposals. How can it not be 14 inches? I mean he’s not a great-looking dude.
I just can’t figure out why they all run back to him. I’m the one with a steady job, intelligent, handsome and funny. I am actually nice to women. Shit man, I’m the whole package. Only thing is, I have a regular ole cock. Our history is criss-crossed with a few of the same girls, and when all the cards are on the table, they all prefer him and his monster. Screw personality.
I once asked my ex-girlfriend what she thought about my size. “Honestly, most girls don’t like them too big; it hurts. Besides, I like you the way you are: you’re sensitive. Most guys with big cocks are jackasses.” I asked her if her last boyfriend’s was big. “Yes.” I asked her if he was a jackass. “Not really. Just a slacker. Are you really worried about how big you are?” I told her that all guys worried about it and asked her again, though I already knew the answer. “It’s alright,” she said. Three months later she broke up with me. I don’t know if her new boyfriend had a bigger dick, but “It’s alright,” was pretty much a measure of our relationship, and any I’ve ever had. They probably all heard about my best friend and wanted to measure themselves against him.
Maybe it goes deeper than pleasure. Perhaps women recognize, on a primal level, that a larger unit equates to more testosterone, thus more food, more babies. Power. Maybe if I spoke with a deeper voice and grew more hair on my chest I could fool them. Or maybe I could grow wings and fly. LOVE ME!
I suppose it would change me, having a giant member. I would think differently, act differently. I would take girls in alleyways and later the same night take my girlfriend. I would take, take, take. Just like if I had the most money, the loudest guns, or the burliest dad. Yea, well my cock could beat up your cock.
Then something strikes me. Thankfully not what you are thinking. None of the top ten most powerful nations on Earth (U.S.A, China, France, U.K., Germany, Russia, Japan, Italy, Canada, Spain, according to the National Power Index) are renowned for their impressive cock size. Other than Russia, Germany and maybe Spain, most are actually renowned for their lack of sexual posterity. Maybe it’s cock-compensation that is actually running the world. There is not a single African nation on any top-ten list that I could find. Are they too happy screwing around with those legendary units of theirs to concern themselves with global affairs? Or clean water?
One day in high school, after soccer practice, I was showering when David Whathisname came in and unwrapped his towel. I had to check; I mean I had to. It was big, but not legendary; he certainly didn’t have to tape it to his leg. He caught me peeking and smiled and his eyes darted downwards. “Hey,” he said, “lookin’ good.” I blushed. I mean I actually fucking blushed in a shower with another naked man looking at my cock. “Let me give you some advice,” David said. “You worry too much about how big you are, it’s gonna drive you apeshit. Everybody is the same size with his pants on.” But what concerned me was when the pants were off. “It all comes down to girls,” he continued. “If they like you enough to get your pants off, it does not make a difference how big you are. And if it does, fuck ‘em. And there ain’t nothin’ else that matters.”
I finally realize that David was right. My best friend may be 14 inches, or he may not be. If he is, I’m ok with it. But does 14 inches equate to power? Yes. In my first-world society, it does.
I thought about measuring myself. I can’t bring myself to do it though; I dread what I could find. If it turned out to be bigger than I thought, I wouldn’t want to turn into my best friend. And if it turned out to be smaller, well that would be even worse. And I’ve come to learn that I no longer covet power. For now I am happy right here in the middle, between penis-envy and penis-power.