Big Wig

trumphair27n-6-webI peered into the large glass front restaurant and knew it was him. He stood there, posed, one leg up on the bottom rung of the bar stool, looking confidently toward the front door. Even from twenty yards away I could tell something was off. What was going on with his hair? I approached suspiciously. He caught my eye and immediately turned on his heels kissing me on both cheeks. He was very animated and his skin tight and bright – heathy eating or Dermabrasion, I wondered. As he chatted away asking what I’d like to drink my eyes went back to his hair – full and dark brown – not a gray hair in site and no variation in color, a thick helmet of hair. Surely it was a wig. Not just a wig but one of the worst wigs I’ve seen in my life. I was angry with myself for being disappointed. What if he had been ill? Surely, I could forgive a wig.toupees64002

As my date downed two ice teas and I sipped half a bottle of San Pellegrino I looked past the wig and focused instead on his crepe-y skin. It was not the skin of a man my age let alone someone a few years younger as he had mentioned. I immediately wondered if he had lied on his dating profile. Pink flag. Hair and age could not be vetted on the telephone. I told myself to see if I liked the guy and then worry about the wig and the fib about his age.

The most interesting part of the date was when he mentioned that he was working with a woman, I’ll call Sandra, I had met decades before. And a woman who I knew had been a high-priced call girl/madam for New York’s elite. These were women who wore only Chanel, Armani and Balenciaga. Their designer handbags only carried a lipstick and a hundred dollar bill which naturally they couldnever break. They dripped in jewelry and tended to travel by chauffered cars way before Uber, Gett and Lyft. Sandra was now a legitimate business owner and living at one of the most prestigious buildings in the city. When I asked how they had met, my date said he knew her a good twenty-five years after that he suddenly became very evasive. Another flag.toupee

Wig or not, I knew that my date wasn’t for me. I looked at my watch and said I had to run. My date seemed disappointed I was skipping out so soon. I kissed both his cheeks and was on my way.

Three days later while on my personal Facebook page a “Friend Suggestion” popped up. I examined the familiar photo. It was my date with the wig! The really surprising thing was his name appeared as Dominic Christiano not Dominic Black. I thought back to our initial phone conversation where he dropped his last name. Something about the way he fit it into the conversation didn’t feel natural. So when I hung up, I did something I normally would not do, I Googled him. I couldn’t find one person with his full name – and oh, yes. I spelled it every which way. In today’s world this was a dark pink flag.

bad_toupeeI left Facebook and googled Dominic Christiano and up popped an awful lot of information about my date! He was actually 17 years older than he had told me! Yes, 17. One – Seven! And they say women take off a year or two! Surely he had had a facelift! That was just the tip of the iceberg. There was also an $70 million-plus judgment against Bad Wig for falsely marketing and devising an “elaborate hoax” for hair-growth products! Initially, I found that extremely funny considering the awful toupee until  I began to realize how many people he had deceived. This guy had lived the life of Riley while hair challenged people had spent thousands of dollars hoping for some hair miracle.

Ladies, and gentlemen, trust your gut and do your research before you get involved. A pink flag will likely become a field of red flags. You surely don’t want to be dating a criminal with or without a wig.

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Robert Redford – Not

His profile pictures looked like Robert Redford. The younger Robert Redford we know and love. We had many interests in common and he had lved in Paris, my favorite city in the world.

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He was waiting for me in a nearby sushi place. From the empty plates on the small table it appeared that he had a few rolls and a sake, maybe two, while he waited for me. He sat low in the chair, his legs stretched out and resting on the window sill. I thought it was strange that he didn’t stand up when I entered the restaurant. I sat down. Although it was the first time we evere met in person, we chit chatted easily but he was a little squirrely. It became worse. He was moving around in his seat as he changed topics of conversation at lightening speed. Clearly he was smart but this guy had, as my mother would say, “ants in his pants”.

“It looks like you’ve had dinner already. Should we get out of here?”

“Lets hang here. I have to pick up a prescription around the corner.”

“Something for ADD?” I said it as a joke but I kind of meant it.

He was surprised at my question and made an awkward joke. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. After an uncomfortale silence I asked him about his dog. He was nuts about the imagesGolden Retriever puppy. He could saty focused and talk for hours about her.At 6:00 his phone pinged. The prescription was ready.

“Come with me and I’ll walk you home.”

“Sure.”

He wrapped his grey plaid scarf around his neck. It was an older scarf, and a little scraggily – wahed too many times. He put his Parker jacket on. It had a bedraggled fake fur trim. Suddenly Robert Redford wasn’t quite as hot. He certainly was not the 5′-11″ he promised in his profile. Now, generally speaking I have no problem with men shorter than myself. In this particular case I am ashamed to say I had this man, based on his photo, profile and pedigree, on a pedestal.

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Outside the pharmacy, he leaned me against the cold granite wall and kissed me. The kiss was warm and wet and tasted like sake and ginger. He was a good kisser. Taken by surprise, I was immediately turned on. He slipped his hands under my coat and began to feel for my waist. He continued to kiss me. The wall was icy and his hands were cold. The combination sent a shiver up my spine.

“Let’s go to your place?” he whispered. I thought I had misunderstood him for a moment. I had known this guy for all of 45 minutes. “Is anyone there? At your place?”

“My housekeeper.”

“Tell her to go home. You don’t need her.”

“I can’t do that! I do in fact need her. It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow and she’s scrubbing everything so the place shines ”

“Do you have a back door? Sneak me in.”

He kissed me again. This time roughly pushing me against the wall hard, jamming his hands down my pants. I was wearing boots with heels and realized how much taller I was then him. I could see the top of his head. He was getting rough. Too rough. My head hit the granite wall and I could feel his nails in my lower back pushing down into my jeans towards my ass.

“Excuse me.” a woman pushing a stroller with a couple of kids ssai. We were now blocking the entrance to the pharmacy. He dropped his arms to his side and stepped away. She smiled at me as if I was lucky to be with such a passionate man.

“I have to go,” I blurted out wipping my mouth and closing up my coat.

“No wait, I’ll come with you. I’m really having a good time. Aren’t you?”

Part 2 to follow.

 

Quebec Hook-Up

I don’t know anyone in Quebec.canada I know people all over the world but no one in Canada. Normally quite adventurous I was feeling down at the thought of being away for nearly a week, in a hotel room, and not knowing a single soul. I asked friends for contacts. I posted on Facebook asking for introductions. Nothing. I did get a list of clubs, restaurants and cafes, shopping districts, sights to see but no personal contacts. That’s when I came up with the idea of connecting with people on Match.com. If I were lucky, I could have a date and a tour guide wrapped into one!

I searched match.com and found a small number of men in the vicinity I would be visiting. I immediately noticed that the men in Quebec didn’t post attractive photos or they just weren’t attractive like the men in NYC or LA. Bummer. I continued to hunt for a suitable date. Some profiles were in French, others in English, and some in a combo of the two languages, My French was good enough to decipher the profiles. My vocabulary wasn’t terrible but my conversation is. I was leaning toward an English speaker. I contacted three of the more attractive men. I heard back from two who seemed excited at the idea of meeting an American tourist. One offered to be my tour guide if I promised to speak only French and he would only speak English. I thought that sounded fun and fair.

The other gentleman was more attractive and younger, had a more playful profile, and said he would love to “hook up”. Two dates in one week while I was away would be perfect! I was so pleased. And then I wondered if “hook up” in Quebec was the same as in the states. I panicked. Was he expecting a sexual liaison or was it simply a general phase for meeting up?

Well, worry not. The “hook up” dude had to run up to the Laurentians (the mountains nearby. From what I heard many people left the city on weekends and went to the country homes there – kInd of like going to the Hamptons for the weekend.) He invited me to join him. I politely declined. Being in another country (although only Canada not Afghanistan) meeting a stranger and going to his cabin in the mountains seemed like the beginning of a horror movie where the naive woman winds up as dinner for the fit, rugged, charming outdoorsy guy with an accent.

So instead I made plans with Old MontrealOlivier. He would pick me up at me at my hotel (maybe this wasn’t such a wise move). I got ready and looked at his profile one more time to make sure I would recognize him when we met. This time when I looked I noticed three photos I either missed the first time (I find that hard to believe) or he had recently  uploaded new additional photos. They are below. Draw your own conclusions:

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If these photos had been on the profile page from the “hook up” guy who invited me to the mountains it would have made much more sense. And the movie I had been imagining would now be a psycho-sexual horror blockbuster – a 50 Shades of Grey meets Cape Fear.

But alas it was Olivier’s profile. And he would be at my hotel momentarily. I reminded myself to relax. I was a grown up. I went down to the hotel lobby and met Olivier. He was sweet and more attractive than his profile photos.  We walked to a busy street filled with high-end shops and a multitude of bars, cafes, and restaurants. We went to a well know one where we shared stories of love, loss and the ever-changing game of dating: Plenty of Fish, a Quebec only dating site, and match.com. “I’m a Parisienne in a city of mostly Canadians. It’s hard sometimes. The mentality is different.”

The sightseeing that I was hoping to do never happened. Olivier had had a long night – the Paris terror attacks had happened the night before. He explained, “It was a short night. I had the news on, and I was checking in on friends in Paris” I understood completely. I had been in New York City on 9/11 and watched the towers burn down in person and over and over again on television.

12208865_10208062884155719_315191322326278932_nI told him about being in Paris not long after 9/11. I was looking for the Picasso Museum or a place for breakfast, I can’t remember. I do remember coming across a tribute to 9/11 – a mural in red,white and blue. I stood frozen at the wall when a Parisienne spoke to me. He saw I was moved. When he learned I was from New York he was so empathetic, so kind. I could see his eyes swell up as did mine. He reached out and embraced me – this random stranger. We hugged for what seemed like forever. I wish I could hug all of Paris today. 

Olivier’s Match.com photos didn’t matter any longer. We had bonded on a much more important level. I didn’t care if he had a foot fetish or was into some kind of masked fantasies a la 50 Shades of Grey.

As we parted Olivier said, “Thank you for helping me forget life for a few hours.” We hugged. It wasn’t a standard match.com hug but something far bigger.

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The lovely Hotel Omni Mont-Royal is located at 1050 Rue Sherbrooke O, Montréal, QC H3A 2R6, Canada

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The D Word

images-1I went to the gynecologist soon after my failed attempt at re-popping my cherry.

“Since you’re not big on medication I’d say the way to go is lubrication (here we go again) and get yourself a dildo.”

I stood there in the ritzy office with my Harvard educated gynecologist and he just said the “D” word. I nearly died.

“Is that really the only option? Isn’t there something else? Physical therapy? Acupuncture? A specialist you could refer me to?”

“That’s really it, unless you want to try medication.”

I shook my head no.

“So a dildo it is.”

I nodded with a tiny, awkward smile about the size of my shrinking (yes, they really do shrink) vagina.

I walked home with my head down. I had to do this. I had to stretch things out and get back in the game. Sex was always an important part of my life. If I didn’t do anything now it would only get harder or worse, I might never be able to have sex ever again if my vagina continued to shrink and atrophy. What a horrible thought!

I went straight to my laptop and did a Google search. I have to tell you as I sat there researching I felt sick to my stomach. I was upset with myself for letting this happen. Who hasn’t heard the phrase, if you don’t use it you lose it. I never thought it would happen to me! I was angry with my body for letting me down. It also made me realize that I was alone. Single. Unattached. I would have to handle this on my own. I wondered if I had a husband, a boyfriend, or a lover would they be willing to help me sort out the mess I was in. Why wasn’t I in a relationship? My thought ran wildly in the wrong direction. Focus. Let’s figure this out!

I typed in dildos for menopausal woman and hit the return key and there it was, “sex toys for the menopausal woman”.  http://www.bloomenjoyyourself.com/sex101/sex-toys-for-menopausal-women-starter-guide

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I cringed. I normally like shopping. Even online shopping… this wasn’t fun! I read the text:

“If you are post-menopausal, approaching menopause, or just over 50, you have come to the right place. Our sexologists have outlined a few tips to keep in mind when you are picking out sex toys after 50. Your body is changing (or has changed) in a way that is different from when you were 20 and that can influence your choice of toys.

1. Start with Lubricant

After 50 our bodies starts producing a little less moisture than before, and that includes our vaginas and vulva.  Lubrication makes everything that much more supple and pleasurable.

2. Use Supple Toys

Find toys that bend with you.  Aging tissues tends to become thinner and less elastic.  This change can be challenging, especially when a slight bump that used to go unnoticed or may even have been arousing before menopause, might now cause a jolt of pain or discomfort.  Toys made with silicone are an excellent choice as they are both body safe (no phthalates) and pliable.  And yet they are firm enough to give the toy structure without being too hard.  Make sure to choose toys with smooth edges.

3. Use a Dildo (at least now and then):

The vagina needs a work out too — being massaged, squeezed and contracted.  This stimulation will keep vaginal walls active and will ward against thinning and drying by bringing rich and nourishing blood flow to feed the tissue. If you are not having intercourse with a partner, a dildo is an ideal option. Or if your partner’s erection is not always there, a dildo is an idea choice.

4. Strong Vibrations:

As tissue wanes and blood flow decreases, so can our ability to feel sensation as we did before menopause. We may need more stimulation to get the same nerve endings to fire.  Vibrators ramp up the sensation, increasing the intensity of stimulation needed to achieve orgasm without tiring a hand (or tongue).keep-calm-and-buy-sex-toys-6

Keep in mind menopause is a time of change, which means what you are experiencing now may change again tomorrow or next year.  Adopt an attitude of “go with the flow.”

What a friendly and informative site! I felt way better than I did when I left my doctor’s office. I was not a freak. And I was not alone after all. So I did it! I ordered a lubricant and a dildo. I’ve got this. Update to follow. Soon?

 

 

I Have a Boyfriend 2

9878211724_3ccc592f66_mMore from Amy…

One day I was walking home from Target, when a man approached me on the street. I was struggling with a shelving unit I’d bought that was about the same size as me, when he offered to help me carry it. I turned him down for an entire block, because I didn’t want this to turn into a pick up line. But, by the time I got to the third cross walk, I knew I needed the assistance.

He helped me carry the shelf back to my building, and then left with a thank you. Awesome, right? Someone did an honest good deed, so where am I going with this story? Well, obviously, this isn’t the end of my tale.

I ran into him about a week later on the street in front of my building. He said “I’ve been thinking about you all week, and I was just wondering if I could have your number.”

I said “I’m sorry. I have a boyfriend, and I don’t think he’d appreciate you calling. It’s nothing personal, I just don’t give my number out to strangers. It’s disrespectful to my relationship.”

He said “So, we can’t even be friends? I think we could be friends.”

And I said “no, I’m sorry. I have had a lot of bad experiences with friends and I just don’t give out my number anymore. Thank you for your help the other day. But, I’m good.”

Now, at the time, I was texting a friend. So, my phone was right there in my hand. He proceeded to grab it and call himself, stating “here, now you can say you had no choice” as if that was somehow a good thing.

Before any of you act like this is some shocking thing that never happens, I want you to know that this has in fact happened to me multiple times. It sounds crazy if you’ve never seen it. But, I assure you, there are many men out there who think this move just shows “confidence” and isn’t creepy at all.

He texted me later that night. I didn’t answer. He called me later that night. I didn’t answer. He did the same thing the next day and, again, I did not answer.

Finally, on my birthday, I got a call from an unknown number. When I clicked the message, this is what I heard; “Bitch, I don’t know why you have my man’s number or why he’s over here blowing up your spot. But, I want you to know that he’s married. He has a child. And not only that, HE HAS AIDS. Did he tell you that? Did he tell you he gave it to me? Because he did. So, leave him alone before he gives you that dirty ass dick of his. Or if you already fucked him, then enjoy having HIV.”

I texted this strange new number and said “your husband took my phone and called himself. I have a boyfriend and have zero interest in being with him. Thanks for the info, I will continue to ignore his calls.”

Later that night, he called and left a crazy voicemail that said “my ex is just jealous. She’s stalking me. Maybe we could meet up for coffee sometime and talk this over? I’m free on Thursday if you want to go out.” Needless to say, I did not call him back.

😱😱😱😱😱 ‪#‎SAYWHAT‬ “You’re just another bitch”

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I met this guy at a bar. I will be honest, I don’t really remember what we talked about or why I gave him my number. But, apparently, I did because he started calling me everyday after that night out.

I was honestly too busy to answer the phone the first couple times. But, when he started sending me texts three times a day that said “hey, you alive? You can’t answer your phone? What? Are you that busy?” I decided it was probably best that I continue to ignore him.

After about a week of not returning his calls, he left me a voicemail that said “you know, I thought we had a real connection. But, obviously you’re just another whore trying to get a free drink. I hope bitches like you burn in hell for what you do to men. You aren’t even that cute. I’ve fucked cuter. You’re just another bitch.”

And this, ladies and gentleman, is why I never allow random men at the bar to buy me drinks anymore. 😐😐😐 ‪#‎ICanBuyMyOwn‬

So, anyway, I hope that sheds some light on why women don’t hand their number out like candy. ‪#‎TheMoreYouKnow‬

I Have a Boyfriend

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Here is another great piece by my dear friend @AmyDetRiotGirl . Gotta love the honesty!

Sometimes men ask me why women are so scared to give our numbers out. I would think that the answer to this would be obvious, but since there still seem to be people out there who think that women are just being uppity or cold by not wanting to share the digits, I thought I’d share a few of my worst stories on this topic.

• “I have a boyfriend”

A friend of mine and I were waiting for a transfer one night out at Broadway Junction. He fell asleep on me, while I stayed up and played games on my cell phone. As I sat there minding my own business, a man approached me and said “hey baby girl, how’s you night?”

I said “it’s fine. I’m trying to beat this level.”

He said “oh well, if you want to stop for a minute, I’d really like to say hi and maybe get your number.”

I said “I’m in the middle of this level. I’m sorry, but I’m trying to concentrate right now.”

He said “girl, that’s just a game. I’m offering you something better.”

I said “no, really. I want to finish this level. And, anyway, I have a boyfriend.” as I pointed to my friend, who helpfully started snoring as he rolled over on my shoulder.

And, here it comes, the most dumbfounding response ever… “But, baby… HE’S ASLEEP.”

😳😳😳😳 ‪#‎AreYouSerious‬

Dating Daddy

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I was meeting a friend for dinner at a swanky Beverly Hills restaurant. I was on time but my friend, new to the area, was lost. I cannot stand to wait alone for anyone in a restaurant or bar. Although, I’m a very friendly person and quite confident in most areas, I feel incredibly uncomfortable and vulnerable in that environment. (I think it dates back to immediately after my separation when a girlfriend invited me to meet her at a bar. I got there and she was nowhere in sight. I had no idea at the time that I was in a well-known pick up bar on a Saturday night. Many men assumed I was there for the sole reason of hooking up. Apparently everyone in Los Angeles knew this but me and that’s precisely why they went there. It may have been my worst night as a newly single woman).

I was beyond thrilled that evening when the hostess allowed me to sit down at a table as long as I ordered something. I sat at the table and promptly ordered an 18 dollar glass of Sancerre and the bruschetta appetizer. I figured I could nibble slowly until my friend arrived. As soon as I sat down the older gentleman at the table to my right smiled. As time went by, and my date still had nor arrived, I am sure he and his buddy thought I was stood up. The gentlemen invited me to share their appetizers and I in turn invited them to try mine. Nearly an hour later my date arrived. It became dinner for four. By desert we all knew each other and had exchanged business cards.

A few days later one of the men called and invited me to an art opening. At dinner that evening he mentioned he had to attend a business meeting at a hotel property that he was a partner in. He would be flying down on the company jet. I’m not sure exactly how it happened but I was invited to come along. I said I would love to go as long as I could bring my friend (the same friend he had met at dinner). I called my friend from the bathroom at Mr. Chow and told him to get packing!

To make a long story short we took the helicopter to the private airport to the private plane. Before I knew it we were landing on a beautiful tropical island. It was paradise until I learned I was bunking with the old man while my friend was in his own suite down at the other end of the property. I guessed we were dating not just pals…

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The first night we were exhausted from getting up so early. We crashed into the sumptuous king size bed without incident. Al was off to a meeting the next morning while my friend and I were given comp cards to purchase anything we wanted at the shop. The rest of the day was spent relaxing by our private pool with our own staff serving fresh seafood and colorful cocktails. I was trying to get used to the fact that I was dating an older man. Was there anything wrong with it? Was it weird? Maybe it would be a good thing. He certainly was showing me a nice side of life and was extremely generous to my friend and I

images-4That night we want to a local place for dinner.  I looked my date over from head to toe. He was attractive for his age, well-groomed, and was dressed in well fit white linen trousers and the palest of green linen shirt with a cashmere cable knit sweater the same exact color slung over his shoulders. After a festive dinner the three of us we went to see the straw market. This was al’s idea, he thought it would be fun and wanted us to see the other side of the island. We shopped for souvenirs at one stand. The proprietor was lovely and oozed local charm. She insisted that she take our photos in front of a fountain. “Here love, stand next to Daddy and your brother over her on the other side of Daddy.” I almost sit out my teeth. There it was! That’s’ what the world would think of me dating this older gentleman.

On the way home in the chauffeur driven car “Daddy” fell asleep. I knew it was over before it began. images-6

Meet Rip Van Dinkle, Smallest Penis Contestant

 

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It’s that time of year again! The Smallest Penis in Brooklyn Pageant is scheduled for Saturday, June 13th at 2:30 p.m. at the Kings County Saloon in Bushwick, Brooklyn. We had the opportunity to speak with one of the previous contestants, Rip Van Dinkle, from the very first contest back in 2013. He was very candid. Keep in mind that this event most likely will be full house with lines down the block like past years. Get there early! If you can’t make it, also on June 13th, The Man with No Penis airs at 10PM on Discovery Life Channel. Turns out June 13th is a big night for the PENIS!

When did you realize you had a small penis?

I think probably about the same time most boys with little ones realize it: in the junior high school locker-room, where you can compare sizes to other boys your age.

Is your penis technically a micro penis?

No, I don’t believe so. I am just under two inches limp, just under three inches in girth. I’m no expert, but from what I’ve read the true micro penis is smaller than that.

Have you seen a doctor about this condition?

I have not really seen the need to see a doctor. A small penis can be embarrassing, but I don’t really think of it as a physical disability. Besides, plenty of doctors have seen me naked, and none of them (male and female) have suggested any sort of remedy.

Did women ever mention your small penis?

Not to my face. When I was getting divorced, there were some heated arguments with my ex, Amy, during which she accused me of being “unimaginative” or “unadventurous” or something like that, in bed, and I believe she implied that she’d had lovers with bigger penises than mine. I sometimes wonder if she thinks my participating in this small-penis pageant is “imaginative” or “adventurous.”

What did they say?

After the first pageant in 2013, there was a great deal of discussion about it in chat rooms and on message boards. I was startled to stumble on a site called “café moms” or “moms’ café,” something like that, in which my genitals became the subject of a lengthy discussion. One “mom” had posted a close-up picture of my groin (taken at the pageant), and left this comment: “Where are his balls?!?!” There followed a lengthy back-and-forth between women on the site, including medical discussion of the tendency of testicles to ascend and descend up and down between the scrotum and the pelvic cavity. Each time a woman would comment, that giant close-up of my balls would appear. The women all seemed to agree that my nuts were lacking (I can’t argue). Many of the women seemed to be having a good time, at poor “Rip van Dinkle’s” expense. But it was a surreal, bizarre experience to visit this bulletin board. I can’t imagine any of those women making those comments to my face.

To the best of my knowledge, I’ve never had a woman ask me, “Is it in yet?” Maybe they were just being polite. On the other hand, my penis is small enough that I’ve had it fall out of the vagina during intercourse, at which point the woman usually reaches down and inserts my penis with her hand. A more appropriate question at that point might be, “Is it still in?”

Did boys in the locker room at school/camp notice your small penis?

I’m sure they did, but I can’t honestly recall any insults (that was a long time ago for me). I do recall teasing of the boys with BIG penises.

Did they call you names?

If they did, I can no longer recall.

How did you hear about the smallest penis contest?

I read about it in The Huffington Post back in the spring of 2013. I thought, “I have a small penis, and this sounds like a hilarious blast. I should enter.” And so I contacted Aimee Arciuolo, the Kings County Bar manager who created the event, and she urged me to enter.

Are you local to the Brooklyn area?

No, I am from Minnesota. I fly in for the pageant. You don’t have to be from Brooklyn to participate. Last year’s winner is from India.

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Is this a fun event?

Extremely fun. If you want a better idea of the pageant, just Google it and you’ll find dozens of stories with pictures. Or you could check out my Tumblr page, but beware because I’ve included not-safe-for-work pictures there.

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Is it more about humiliation?

I think there are two kinds of people who attend the event: people who are anti-body shaming, who are there to celebrate us and have a good time; and people who enjoy seeing men with little peckers get publicly humiliated. The second group will no doubt enjoy this year’s pageant, in which judges are expected to measure our “manhoods” on stage and then announce the sizes. I don’t really have a problem with either group. It seems to me that women have been exploited in topless bars, wet T-shirt contests, etc. for many years, so if some women see this as “payback” in which we males are exploited, that seems fair to me.

If you visit some Facebook or Twitter pages in which the contest is being discussed, you’ll see that quite a few women say they plan to attend the pageant to “laugh at little dicks,” and to take pictures that they can share with friends. I did a podcast with a woman, Rachel Khona, who admits on her blog that she would never consider sleeping with a small-dicked man, and that she and her friend went to last year’s pageant just to giggle at little cocks and the men who have them. Again, this doesn’t really bother me.

I also have nieces and female co-workers, past and present, who could read about this and see the pictures of me. I suppose if any of them ever mention it to me, that could be an awkward conversation.

Did anything good come out of your participation in the event?

I took second place, so there was no money, and I immediately flew home to Minnesota, so there were no dates or media events for me. But I’m doing it again this year simply because it was so much fun. If you can deal with the after-pageant mockery in some Internet chat rooms, and countless pictures of your nudity on the Web, I highly recommend it.

Have you gotten any dates because of your small penis?

Lol, not really. I don’t think anyone here in the Midwest knows that I was in the pageant, and unless they have x-ray vision, they have no idea how small my penis is.

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I hear you are participating again this year. I guess you had fun last year!

Actually, I was in the pageant two years ago, the inaugural event. But yes, it was a blast.

What is the biggest struggle you have?

I have the same struggles that most people have, but I don’t believe that any of them are related to my penis size. For example: I’ve been trying to get a date with “Tiny” from this blog, but haven’t had any luck.

What’s the best part of having a small penis? And the worst?

If I’m being honest, I can’t deny that I would prefer to have a bigger penis. A lot of women say that small penises don’t bother them, but it can bother the man himself, psychologically. But it does get better as you get older. Twenty years ago I wouldn’t have dreamed of entering a contest like this one in Brooklyn. Now, I actually enjoy it.

If I have any penis-related issues, they have more to do with age than with size. It’s true, for example, that a guy my age has more trouble getting it up, maintaining an erection, smaller semen production, etc.

Name: John Haakenson (Rip van Dinkle in the pageant). Age: 57. Live in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Divorced, no kids. Freelance writer and editor.

Twitter –  @RipvanDinkle1

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/ripvandinkle

Tumblr – http://ripvandinkle.tumblr.com/

First Date Advice for Men

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I’ve had some really lame first dates even though I try to be really thorough screening potential suitors. Some people are great on the phone and via text. I’ve found you never really know if you did a good job until you spend an evening together. So here are some of my very random DOs and DON’Ts.

Never order venison on a first date. I do not wish to watch you eat Bambi.  (If you do, I promise there will be no second date/ Unless of course youa re Anthony Bourdain and then I would watch you drink kitten blood while you scarfed down foie gras.)

Do not talk about your ex-wife. I do not care. I may not even care about you by dessert.

Do not wear a dirty sweater. If you want to wear an ugly sweater that is your business. Dirty is unacceptable.

Just to let you in on a fashion tip, pleated pants have gone out of style.

Cut your nails before a date. Yes, even your pinky nail! A single long nail is not cool. It was never cool.

Brush your teeth. Remove any toothpaste residue.

Check your zipper before I arrive.

Do not wear sneakers if you are over the age of 12 and it is an evening date. Before 6pm is acceptable.

Do not schedule a date at 5:40 when you only have a block of 20 minutes between appointments.

Do not plan an “active” date ie. Samba dancing, golf, or a walk (anywhere) without mentioning it in advance. Quite often women wear high heels or have no interest in the activities your therapist has recommended to help ease your anxiety.

Do not talk about your ex wife. I don’t care.

I think it’s great you have kids. I actually love kids. Today I want to learn about you and see if I would like to have a second date.

Leave your phone in your pocket. Or if you cannot do that even for the duration of our date, mention you are expecting an important call or you need to be available in case your kids might call. I’ll feel better about it.

Do not compare me to anyone. You do not know anything about me yet.

Do not tell me a story about your ex bother-in-laws sister’s housekeeper’s foster daughter’s son who I will never meet. I DO NOT care.

Do not ask me about what I did after I graduated from college, It was decades ago. I have been at least five other women since then.

If it’s raining, snowing, hailing, or below 12 degrees do not offer to walk me home. I will be taking a cab and you will not be in it.

Please do not push me up against a cold granite wall, shove your tongue in my mouth and your hands down my pants. I am not bringing you home. We’ll maybe I would if it was the third date and I was really into you.

Naturally, don’t ever be rude.

When the check arrives. Do not throw the small leather holder with credit card in it to the waiter and yell, “Catch” at a Mario Batali restaurant. This might be approriate at a sports bar.

Don’t try to hold my hand.

Do not refer to your children as stupid.

Do not use the word cunt. Ever.

Sharing food is one thing. Eating off my plate is another. DO NOT put your fork, spoon, or chopsticks on my plate. I will pass you a taste in a sanitary fashion. (If I am sleeping with you, this is a different story.)

Do not try to get a peek at my breasts or my ass. I see you looking. Trust me, I have both and they’re damn nice. Let’s be honest, did you ever meet an ass or a pair of breasts that you didn’t like?

Do not tell me about your sexual exploits. It makes me ill. Well, maybe how you lost your virginity would be entertaining as long as it wasn’t last month.

Please wax your hands before date if they resemble a gorilla.

Do not talk about your ex-wife. (this is not a typo)

Thank you.

Dating Peter Pan

Wendy_saved copyright Disney  I had a first date on Sunday. The guy initially seemed really great; supposedly successful career, amicable divorce, son in college, and he had a dog. I like dogs. Although I wasn’t physically attracted to him (bald, glasses, pasty white skin and a terrible dresser) he seemingly had so many good qualities that I was hoping his appearance would grow on me.

Our late morning date consisted of a walk in a local park and a single drink (even though everyone ese was having brunch) at a well-known restaurant. It may or may not be important to mention that I think he only had tap water – he went up to the bar and brought the drinks back to our table so it’s merely an eduated guess. I should have realized thing were about to go south…

My date offered to walk me home. Having enjoyed the park and our easy conversation, I agreed. We went back to his place for a second to pick up his dog, Becky. I very comfortably followed him inside the vestibule.

“You’re coming in?” He sounded surprised.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just following you. I can wait here. I didn’t mean to be so intrusive.” Normally, I would never step foot into a man’s home unless I was prepared to have sex. This was different. It was a Sunday afternoon, I had only had a Perrier at the bar, I felt extremely comfortable, and I wasn’t feeling any sexual vibes whatsoever. I thought the dog would come running to the front door and we’d turn around and leave. That’s not what happened. My date invited me in.

There were no windows aside from the sliding door to the backyard. The room had plain, bright white walls. There were two pillow-less, worn couches, one blue and one cranberry, and a pair of non-matching distressed (from use not for style) cocktail tables. Everything seemed to be askew and didn’t coordinate in any such way. West Elm and Ikea were high-end compared to this stuff. Mind you, I have nothing against IKEA, I even have some pieces, but this apartment was so barren and boring and just plain weird. Yeah, I get that he’s a guy and most guys don’t have good taste but there were no books, no photos, nothing hanging on the walls. It was as though he just moved in – or a college student had just moved in. I found it weird that a 49-year-old who had resided somewhere for the last 17 years lived like this. Red flags were popping up all over. I wished they had been matching red throw pillows, a Rothko print, and a carpet instead of flags.

While my date got Becky’s leash I peered out the ancient, cracked, and broken sliding glass door to the saddest backyard I’ve ever seen. No trees, grass, plants or even a table or chair. It was a vacant lot for the dog to use as a toilet. I felt sorry for the dog. images-5

My date and his trusty pooch walked me to my corner. I knew we’d never see each other again. All the while I thought about the sneakers and baseball cap he was wearing, no offer for a meal, that horrible backyard, and his home. I wondered if I was an awful snob, impossibly ridiculous on finding a mate, and that was why I was still single. And then in that moment I decided I would not beat myself up. We were just not a match and that was that. Back to the drawing board. And then he went in for a wet kiss right on my lips. Heal, boy, heal.