{santa’s little helper, or the mad stalking elf who couldn’t measure up}

back in the days of odd french drunk dials, I was asked if “quality or quantity” mattered more in regards to that frisky thing called sex. my instinctive and immediate response to this fella with an awful drunken stupor was that quality is far more superior than quantity. Contrary to the idea that “size doesn’t matter,” if men actually lacked any skill at providing a most awesome and memorable experience in the sack, “quantity” – the length and girth of a man’s equipment – absolutely matters.

in a logical equation, this concept would amount to:

                QL = quality
                QT = quantity

                QL > QT

                ¬ QL → QT
                however, if there is no “quality,” then there must be “quantity.”

               ¬ QL  ∩  ¬ QT → :0(
therefore if there is neither “quality” nor “quantity,” then the end result is an awful sexual episode that no one hopes to experience or remember.

earplug penis!
this brings me to first hand proof that length and girth does matter when there is a lack of any sexual technique or skill. my poor friend – let’s call her lady pobrecita – met up with an man who advertised his height a whole two inches taller than his actual height on an online dating website. lady pobrecita has been having a pretty damn steamy sext exchange with this fella. he basically told her that he wanted a friends-with-benefit (fwb) type of sitch. normally ms. friend of mine would want to get to know a guy after a couple of dates prior to any frisky business; however, she is recovering from a hell of a man who’s now in search of owls in the woods (no joke) – so it is warranted for her to disregard her personal protocol just this once.

the steamy sexting has got this gal all hot and bothered and she definitely was curious about meeting this guy – so she met him, talked to him to make sure he wasn’t crazy, and then did the awful deed. It was the most anticlimactic bedding ever. It is one thing to be able to talk up a storm via text, but it is entirely another thing if the fella wasn’t able to walk the walk. not only was he not able to walk that walk, but he also turned out to be a short little elf would couldn’t measure up. if he had any sexual technique, the sitch for lady pobrecita would’ve been a little less awkward and little more pleasant; but he had no technique whatsoever. his man-knob was exceptionally small, and he didn’t seem to be aware of this. the poor girl had to bare the whole shouty business of “you want more of this?!” of course, she wanted more – a whole lot more than you can give her, buddy.

enter, doorknob

this goes to say that even though this sexperience was good for the tiny little elf, lady pobrecita had a very good reason to have a few well-deserved drinks with me the following night. poor thing received two consecutive texts of “hi” followed by a longer “hey” from this stalking little elf during our girls’ night out. be careful, lady p. let the oblivious dude down gently – you never know if santa’s little helper is a closeted scary pygmy. he’s not Hedwig, but he certainly has an angry inch.

- hugs 'n strongbow cider for lady pobrecita -
{ lady sassica }