Tits and Ask: Big Penis, Big Problem

scroitch

Dear K&A: I’m male in my late 20s and I’ve been cursed. I’ve always known that my little guy wasn’t exactly little. In fact, statistically speaking, it is far above average (over 10″). Every other time in my life I’ve taken a certain amount of pleasure in knowing that when it comes to the bedroom, I can bring the right tool to the job. That is, until I started dating my recent girlfriend. It seems that every time we do the horizontal mambo, she is out of commission for a few days. I can’t even get her to fool around because the after effects of our lovemaking completely turn her off and make her feel “gross.” need less to say, it’s putting a strain on our relationship. Any advice?

Ariel Says: Ariel Says: So what you’re saying is that all those emails in my SPAM box fail to mention the darker side of “XXXLPENIS ENLARGEMNT-MAKEhERCUmALLNiTE”?

I must admit I do recall having a frightening experience similar to your girlfriend’s, in which my boyfriend’s johnson would come out to greet me five blocks before he did. What did I do? Well, it was like having an exclusive designer purse that went with absolutely none of my outfits. I knew I had something very special and unique, that other women would kill to have, and yet… I had no idea what to do with it.

Needless to say, the relationship went south. But not just because of the “Long Island Lizard” (his pet name). It was the fact that he couldn’t string more than five words together without a beer and cigarette break. Your honey needn’t change her relationship status on Facebook just yet. I would strongly suggest she seek professional medical advice from her gynecologist (i.e., NOT this silly column.) There could be ways to work with it, work up to it, or hell, work around it. Stay strong; God didn’t give you that designer purse for nothing!

Ken Says: First things first: “the right tool for the job”? The “horizontal mambo”? Are we being punk’d by Steven Tyler?

As an Irish guy, I have almost no fucking idea what you’re going through. In fact, a great deal of my experience with women revolves around trying to divert attention away from my schlong. And trust me, I’ve used everything from elaborately-staged lighting techniques to chloroform to keep my secret shame from becoming a massive deal breaker whenever I’m lucky enough to talk a woman back to my place.

But if I was hung like a porn star, you can bet your ass I wouldn’t be hanging around these parts, slumming with the locals. Get your ass to Hollywood where there’s money to be made with that sort of shit. Christ, have we learned nothing from Boogie Nights?

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