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You Suck at Sex, Bro: ‘The Smallest Dick I’ve Ever Seen Was on a 6’ 8” Basketball Player’

By / 03.14.13

Girls don't always chat about dick size. But every girl fears that dreadfully (un)fateful day where they'll face what will forever burn a stinging hole in their sexual memory; the day they encounter the smallest dick they've ever seen. Now guys, don't get all in a frenzy just yet; we probably aren't talking about you. Or at least you better hope. The kind of small we're talking when we look back on that painfully awkward sexual encounter is shockingly small; it sends a wave of confusion, regret, disappointment and fear down the spine of the unfortunate girl who ends up involving herself with it.

Despite how dreadful, it's an essentially inevitable encounter. From a girl's perspective it would be really nice to get a warning beforehand to avoid this situation, but from the other side of things, I understand that everybody's trying to get theirs. Even if God cursed them with a tiny dick. My personal experience occurred fairly early in my sexual career when I met an older basketball player from a school that I'll leave undisclosed for his sake. We met on vacation in a tropical location, when his 6'8″ physique sauntered my way to buy me a drink. He was a babe, and I was into it. I pretty much assumed that his height and shoe size were a clear indicator of what he'd be packing in the bedroom. So when it came time to test it out, we headed back to my hotel room. After some initial fooling around clothes came off, and I was totally unprepared for what I discovered–or should I say, didn't discover. When I got to his man quarters I did a double take; then a triple take, then took a step back. For the life of me I could barely even FIND his dick; and he continued on with the hookup as if everything were perfectly normal. When I finally excavated what he apparently considered to be his cock, there was nothing I could even do with it. He was still into the hookup, and there was no way I was continuing with it. My only options out of the situation were to be honest– which wasn't actually an option– fake a normal hookup, fake an emergency, or simply bounce the fuck out of there.

So I excused myself to the ladies and came back in a panic – barely explaining myself but using a friend-mergency as an excuse. Weak, but had to be done. He texted me repeatedly that night and throughout the next day, confused and wanting to “pick up where we left off.” That pick up never happened, as I spent the next day by the pool trying to erase the picture of the infant-scale dick that tried to fornicate with me the night before. So yes, the smallest dick I've ever seen was on a 6' 8″ basketball player. Talk about false advertising.

This next story comes from a regular BroBible contributor Stefanie Williams 

I like to write a lot of shit for BroBible because every now and then, I realize how much I hate women and how thankful I am that I am not a lesbian, simply because there is so much shit about women that is beyond brutal. I always like to pretend I am the antithesis of the majority of women I hate by avoiding being overly girly. I have my moments, and I’m certainly not, you know, going butch over here. But it’s moments like this that make me realize why I get along so much better with guys than girls.

Things had just ended with the guy I was seeing who I was really into. I wanted a rebound immediately. I was not going to lose on the “who fucks someone else first” ballot. So being the creeper I am, I found a dude I was friends with on Facebook from college who was really adorable. I think maybe we had like, a history class together. Or French? Whatever. Regardless, laid the flirt on pretty thick and discovered he was actually be up in New York visiting friends this weekend. PHENOMENAL, fates aligned, someone wants me to get over my ex!

Fuck dude, I can’t. To be fair, I was a little too in my head about shit. I had that kick in the gut of “eh, this isn’t bad” and I tried to play through it. I invited him in, invited him down, crawled on top. The noises that were made within the next four minutes freaked me out to a point of complete dryness. I mean, “Sesame Street” theme song would have been a more sexually appealing sound at that point. His facial expression was all kind of wimpy and looks like he was crying-ish. Over it.

It lasted maybe five before I rolled off. Ran my hands over my face as he was all “what, what’s wrong?”

“Look dude,” I said. “I’m kind of all in my head right now and I’m way drunk, this is not really a functional time.”

He was disappointed, and sure, he had a right to be I suppose. But I was way over it and if he thought I was gonna blow him, he was totally dreaming.

I rolled over on “my” side of the bed and prepped to pass out. I woke up 17 minutes, by the cable box, later to find myself entangled in a snare of arms and legs and one semi chub penis. I was up against the edge of the bed and sweating my tits off.

I push him away a bit. He comes back. He gets gropey.

“I really can’t, I’m so drunk,” I lie. He keeps grabbing my boobs and trying to finger me.

“Seriously, it hurts.”

I pass out again to wake up with him on top of me, like that scene in “He’s Just Not That Into You” (like your girlfriend didn’t make you watch it, don’t even lie) when Kevin Connolly is all up on Scarlett Johannson and she has her “the fuck did I just do?” face on.

I push him aside, he comes back. I push him again, he comes back. Arm over me, hand in my face. This isn’t like a cutesy play fight buddy, this is I want at least four hours of solid REM sleep and you are murdering those chances.

He starts to grope again.

“Seriously, I’m gonna throw up I don’t feel well” I say, thinking if I scare him with the potential of getting vomited on, he might inch over a bit to his side.

Two hours later, I am staring at my ceiling wondering what the appropriate time is to kick this guy out. Arm hits me in the face.

By 730 in the morning, my eyes are bloodshot. I push him aside, he comes back. I get up from my side, walk around my bed, and get on his side.

“You, stay there, and I’ll stay here,” I feel like I am explaining this to my dog.

He gets gropey again.

“Yeah, I don’t really do morning sex,” I said. No shame, not even trying to be polite about it. I rarely do morning sex with guys I’m into, I am not searching my soul for energy I don’t have to pity fuck this person. He ignores me and continues to try to put his hand between my legs that are adamantly crossed.

“Seriously, it’s like a biology thing, I just can’t get going in the morning and I feel like shit.”

Now we’re laying there and my back is to him and he starts giving me a message. Sounds nice, but all I want is sleep, genuine, non-gropey sleep. Then his hand gets to my butt.

“Hey listen, I’m gonna walk you out and head back to sleep for a couple hours.” I sat bolt upright, searching for my shirt. I hand him his boxers and jeans.

“You’re kicking me out?”

“Yeah just…Look I’m not gonna have sex with you and I’m wrecked and I feel like this is a waste of both our time.”

I have never felt like a bigger bitch, OR more liberated in my life.  It was a shit thing to say, and I felt bad for basically reducing this poor kid down to nothing but a bad fuck, but this was halfsies retribution for the times in my life a dude has sent me packing at 630 before he left for work or before his girlfriend came home. This was my “I’ll call you”.

I walked him upstairs (duplex) and stood at the door. He slowly tied his shoes. Come on buddy all I want to do is shower and go back to bed. Move it or lose it, Christ.

“What are you doing tonight?”

Is this kid for real? This is like role reversal, guy is just not getting it.

“Working,” I lied. “Do you know how to get back to your buddy’s place from here?”

“Um, kind of?” I think he was expecting e to either offer to let him stay a while or walk him to the subway. I reached my arm out of the doorway of my apartment.

“Lexington is to your right. Subway’s on 77th. Thanks again.”

The door was shut. I don’t think I’ve spoken to him since. You know it’s bad sex when I’m being the dude and you’re being the chick buddy. No girl really wants to be cuddled by a rebound, unless it’s Ryan Gosling. It’s all about understanding limits and what certain situations are. I made it clear to this kid I was on the rebound. His inability to adequately assess the situation made for bad sex for me/no sex for him. Tragic on all parts.

[Basketball player image via ShutterStock]


TAGSfailureshooking upSex
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