I’m just going to put this out there – I like sex…a lot. Frequent toe-curling, dehydration-inducing trysts are a necessity for this girl to be a functioning member of society. And when those are in short order, then batteries replace the Gatorade. As part of my love affair with pursuits of the flesh, I am a willing purveyor of all things titillating, particularly pornography and erotic literature. Stories that recount in delicious detail a character giving in to his or her most base desires are masturbatory gold. Add some gritty, homemade porn or voyeuristic webcam feeds and I struggle to leave my house some days (and people wonder why I’m always late).
Given my predilection for partaking in the prurient (how ’bout THAT alliteration!), not only am I not offended by, but I actually quite enjoy, looking at the male appendage in all its splendor. (It’s OK, I’ll wait while you re-read that last sentence to make sure it says what you think it does). From that, one could deduce that I’ve seen a lot of penis; and I have, in all shapes, sizes and colors. A veritable dick rainbow if you will. One might also assume that since I like looking at them so much, I would welcome as many pictures of them in my inbox as it can fit (wink, wink). But this, my friends, is where assuming gets us into trouble, and what brought me to write this silly little post.
Enter Johnson. (Yes, that is in fact his name). Johnson is a follower on Instagram who recently tried to persuade me to “hang out sometime” via private message. It went something like this:
J: Can I ask you a question?
K: Sure. What’s up?
J: Where are you from!? You hella beautiful and attractive (replete with emojis of course).
K: Ha thanks 🙂 Philly
J: That’s not far at all from me! We should definitely hang out sometime!
Ten minutes passed and Johnson could tell I read the message (thanks, IG):
J: Guessing that’s a no (scary sad face emoji)
Fast forward to the next day:
K: It wasn’t a no. It wasn’t a yes either lol. I read it and got distracted and forgot to respond. I typically don’t just meet people I don’t know from IG. I prefer to know who I’m dealing with before doing so.
J: I feel it I mean you wanna get to know each other?
At this point, with no real intention of ever meeting him, I head over to Johnson’s profile anyway, and notice there’s a link to some sports clips in his bio. I click the link and am not surprised to learn that Johnson is barely 18. This is where it gets entertaining.
K: How old are you?
K: I mean I’m not a mathematician, but being a high school senior in 2016 suggests otherwise
J: I started school late and was held back in elementary school I just turned 21
Seeing as I’m a parent of two children who are actually IN elementary school, I appreciate how unusual it is to get held back for even one year in these “Millennial” days.
K: Well, I’m almost 45. Probably better having a drink with your dad. Thanks but you’re WAY too young.
This is where Johnson should have bowed out gracefully. Instead, he pressed on, becoming the unwitting impetus for this blog entry.
J: Don’t be like that I’m attracted to older beautiful women and I think your a very beautiful woman don’t mind the age.
Annoyed, both at his complete disregard for my answer and his horrendous grammar, I retort:
K: That’s great for you. I am not attracted to boys I could have given birth to. Age matters to me. A lot.
Once again, instead of waving a white flag from the safety of a dinghy while his ship sank, Johnson keeps at it (much like he did the third grade, I suppose). I’d call him cocky, but that joke is just too easy.
J: And I think your sexually attractive and I promise I can do things no man has ever done or made you feel. Your telling me you can’t give it a try?
K: Trust me, darl’n, you have no idea who you’re dealing with here. I said no thank you. You’re too young.
So you’re thinking OK, Johnson definitely got the hint this time, right? Nope. The hubris of this dolt was off the charts.
J: What you mean I have no idea who i’m dealing with?
J: ?I’d love to know what you mean lol
K: I’m saying you’d show me nothing new. I said I wasn’t interested. I’m not.
By now, you’re probably wondering why I haven’t just blocked him. If my experience with social media has taught me anything, it’s that these exchanges typically produce lots of unintended comedic fodder.
J: You don’t know that at all I know I’d make u fall in love with it trust me
Let’s read that again – fall in love with “it.” And like a proud little peacock, he fired off an artsy, black and white photo of his “plumage.” I won’t give him the satisfaction of sharing it, but the subject matter was definitely not horrible – it checked all the visual boxes in the male genitalia department. In fact, had I stumbled across that visual on my own, I might have had to take a second (or fifth) look. But dangling it in front of me like catnip tied to a stick was not going to get me to pounce. At least, not in the way he was hoping:
K: Honey, I’m a lawyer. And you can’t even spell. Trust me, no such thing would happen. Please leave me alone now.
I’m thinking the “lawyer” part actually scared him, since he gave up and thankfully stopped messaging after that. I wish I could tell you this was an isolated incident. However, the amount of unsolicited pictures of c*ck that ends up in my inbox could warrant its own hashtag on Smutty.com (#randomdickpic).
So I want to know, as I’m sure many women (and a lot of men who don’t send these pictures) do. What part of your brain told you sending unsolicited pictures of your junk to women you don’t know is not only acceptable adult human behavior, but that it may get one of those women to lustfully drop her panties for you? Is it arrogance? Inexperience with real-life women (because naming your Real Doll doesn’t make her real, guys)? Is it a vestige of some evolutionary mating ritual — the human equivalent of the Giant Tortoise endowed with the longest neck scoring the female while its short-necked brethren are left to hump rocks or each other? As progressive and open-minded as I am in the sex department (which by now should be abundantly clear), I have never looked at a guy’s social media profile and thought “Gee, I should snap a topless picture and send it to this guy I don’t know at all in the hopes he’ll bang me one day.” (Mostly because it would probably work).
So while I think gender certainly plays a role in this “thought” process, I don’t think it’s solely an XX versus XY issue. I know plenty of men who won’t take, let alone share, pictures like that unless asked directly, with some prodding (or maybe sometimes, begging). I haven’t analyzed the statistics, but on the whole it seems more prevalent amongst the younger chaps. That, of course, could just be because there are more young people on social media, or that they just know their way around a smartphone. And as one would expect, those who do send them tend to be on the larger size (even though there’s an entire porn genre dedicated to the less well-endowed variety which I now know thanks to a trip down the rabbit hole known as Porn Hub). One other constant is the arrogance of these dudes. Does having a big D make you so overly confident that you think the rest doesn’t matter to the person to whom you’re trying to give the D? Take it from me, a guy who thinks that night stick in his Calvins automatically makes him fantastic in bed is either an idiot or isn’t being told the truth. (Cue the diner scene in When Harry Met Sally and I think you catch my drift). Don’t get me wrong, size matters (at both ends of the spectrum), but a 9-incher does not a guaranteed orgasm-giver make.
Whether it’s arrogance, inexperience or sheer stupidity, the fact remains: even a woman with the sexual maturity of a hormonally-charged 16 year old boy doesn’t want to randomly receive pictures of your junk. So just stop.
And to any of you who may be so “inspired” by this frank discussion of sexuality to foolishly flood my inbox with pictures, that #randomdickpic hashtag submission is only a click away…