The 10 Stages Of Dating A Guy With Tiny Penis

I once spent several months dating a guy with a lot of big qualities—big truck, big ego, big commitment issues. However, there was one thing about him that was decidedly not so big: his tiny man parts.I embarked on this ill-fated pseudo-relationship not knowing what to expect, but now that I’ve been through it I can share the stages I went through with this guy.

  1. Anticipation This cute guy started messaging me via a dating app and was getting more than a little flirty. He said his favorite thing in the bedroom is going downtown on his lady companions. Did I actually find a dude who’s hot, smart, and psyched about using his mouth? I was intrigued and genuinely excited. Sign me up.
  2. Denial We’d already planned on meeting up, and who can resist a little naughty texting beforehand? The problem was, the “suggestive” Snapchat pic he sent me had, like, a REALLY unfortunate angle. I could barely see his junk. This dude’s pic game clearly was not great, and honestly, I thought it was kinda cute. He probably didn’t send a lot of dirty photos. Aww.
  3. Sweet ignorance For about an hour after our first meet-up, I lived in a state of unknowing bliss. He was cute despite being several inches shorter than me and had a bad boy edge that I liked. He told me I was pretty and he bought me french fries. I decided that I was going to sleep with him. Little did my sweet, gentle self realize what was in store.
  4. Confusion We went back to his place. We had a few drinks followed by the ubiquitous Netflix and chill, and things began to get hot and heavy. I started rubbing his crotch through his jeans, but something seemed like it was missing…? I was supremely effing confused but opted to just take his pants off and see what, if anything, was up.
  5. RealizationThis was the part where I learned that the snap wasn’t a bad angle after all. In fact, it was actually a good angle. I didn’t want to hurt this dude’s feelings and we were still totally vibing. Whatever, this was so not a big deal, I decided. I don’t discriminate based on the size of his man parts. This was just a new challenge. Climb every mountain, y’all.
  6. Adaptation It quickly became clear that my usual go-to moves weren’t going to work with this equipment. I had to improvise quickly. My normal method of hand-and-mouth combo was not working because, well, there just wasn’t enough to grab. I settled on making a weird pincer with my index finger and thumb and awkwardly attempted to give something best described as an enthusiastic finger job. This was quickly becoming unsexy.
  7. Complacency  The love-making itself proved to be surprisingly OK… as long as I remained on my back and he stayed upright, leaning back a little bit. I was pleasantly surprised, though still underwhelmed. I wasn’t going to get off so I just rolled with it, made the requisite sounds, and panted appropriately when it was over. He never asked if I came and I never addressed it either way.
  8. Acceptance I did enjoy this guy’s company, no matter how lacking I may have found his man parts to be. I liked the attention, however sporadic, and the fact that he lived out of town made his place seem like a vacation even if it was a shared dorm apartment with inconvenient parking. I could see past the tiny man parts because I liked the dude it was attached to. I was pleased with my acceptance of his parts and I felt wise and woke. Tiny man parts deserve love too.
  9. Frustration Over the next several months, as the relationship that he refused to define began to cool, so did my feelings toward his penis. Yes, he was enthusiastic and persistent, if not genetically gifted. His small junk became the unaddressed elephant in the room, looming surprisingly large for something so very small. There was no acknowledgment of it and no attempt to make up ground with toys, new positions, or anything else. I continued to tolerate mediocre love-making in exchange for decent company in the hopes that he might not actually be a toxic mess of a guy.
  10. LiberationHe was, indeed, a loser. The kind of loser who reassures you that he uses Tinder to make friends; the kind who once tried to throw away the underwear I accidentally left under his bed, I assume because he thought it belonged to someone else. I was totally willing to embrace the tiny man parts life if he had turned out to be the right guy. He didn’t and I’m so glad.
Whitney is a freelance writer from New England. She's a professional content creator, lifestyle blogger, and news junkie. Follow her on Twitter if you're not turned off by snark and political takes.