The numbers game.

"You're a 7. On a good day." Earlier this evening, I was chatting with a stranger I've noticed a few times, trying to be witty and we got to talking about where we rate on the 1-10 numbers scale. I asked for absolute bluntness (as a stranger is more willing to be truthful than a good friend will in lieu of hurting one's feelings). Yet somehow I wasn't prepared for the pit-fall in my stomach when said stranger said that comment with no reservations.

Why does a single, subjective number seem to outweigh even the most important of factors?

And more importantly, how does that rate in redeemable qualities? I grew up knowing that I wasn't like the other boys, but somehow I grew into something that suited society's perception of physical attractiveness. Having always felt like I was slightly out of sync with the rest of the world, beauty comments resonated, as they do with anyone who has felt less than modelesque.

When you're told you're a 5, does that only make you halfway to beautiful?

The SMS Date Mess

Rather recently, a week ago, SP had been SMSing with JC. It appeared that the LOLing was going to turn to XOXOing, but as luck would have it: it all KOed.

How much are we date texting that we miss the actual context?

Most conversations amongst the 20something crowd now involve some form of text message. God forbid we actually use a phone call, since we're always at work, bars or toilets. We use 140 characters to fulfill the need to communicate, especially those we find sexy. Some take it to the point of sexting while in business meetings, others use it as a medium to plan dates. But when a textual conversation leads to standing someone up, one has to think:

Did the absence of actual conversation become the 140-character buzzkill?

SP got stood up, plain and simple. All it took was "It's going to be a hassle to get down to where you are. Plus I'm at dinner with my friends." And in retrospect, over vegan doughnuts, SP said that the hurt feelings stemmed not because it was a blow-off, but because it was through a text message. Methinks that in the age of tech, conversational grace should be taught.

The BIG thin.

Far too often our expectations do not stack up to what's in front of our faces (specifically our mouths). If you talk the talk, can you walk the walk...and fuck the fuck?

Our society has allowed men and women, but still-- mostly men, to create elaborate fairytales about how fantastic they are when they horizontal with someone else. It becomes an excuse to say "Yes, I have an 8 inch penis and I'm a porn star in bed" when in fact, they are hung like a mouse and lay still like a semi-warm fish seeped in milk for tenderizing.

When did it become okay to lie about our sexual resume?

I dated someone recently who, by the book and on paper, was supposed to be a sex god. I should have been laying exhausted every day, sometimes multiple times a day, spent. I was assured that I'd be more than pleasured from the get go. Yet in reality, I spent more time pouring my frustrations out on handily-accessible porn due to the lackluster sex I was getting.

When in these situations, those of us who want the experiences to go well try everything: new positions, role-playing, the drive-by-fucking, toys, even food.

But does even the best game-face still fall short when our lovers aren't making the touchdown?

I'm fairly certain it's rejection fear.
While it's conjecture at this point (no one outside of a therapist's office of a really boozy night will breath word one), the idea that being honest about flaws, or normality is terrifying to most people. Perfection is airbrushed and glossed over in the glossies, so it's only natural to assume that physically, we aren't up to measure.

But I can accept a bit of lea-way when it comes to enhancing the truth, much as Heidi Montag does in all inches of her skin. If you are a B-cup breast on the verge of a C and you like having larger breasts, there should be no fault in saying you are a C-cup. The same with having a 7.25" penis, and saying it's 7.5". Sometimes, we all need a half inch or cup size.

Getting Over by Getting Under, Not Even

Far too often do our friends mirror our own hopes and horrors, especially the pathos of relationships. Either we wistfully yearn for them and the storybook romances, or we wince and secretly thank ourselves for not headbutting our way into that sort of doom and gloom drama.

So at what point do our romances and bad romances just become fairytales?

Two friends of mine, R. and J., sat down with me before the New Year at an outdoor pub to discuss the ins and outs of their receeding relationships. R. had been in a relationship where both he and his partner living together since day one due to circumstantial events. Now, R.'s boyfriend wants long term space, meaning R. is stranded in limbo looking for a place to call home and a new lover. J., on the other hand, entered a very healthy relationship (whom I envied for a bit) that's now verging on the tailend of a break-up due to boredom, of all things.

While both have completely different sets of problems, they share a common theme: their significant others held all the power. R. allowed his lover to be house host instead of keeping independence, whereas J. let his relationship get stagnant. I, myself, was broken up with by a long-term potential who saw the expiration date much sooner than I did. Now that we were all forcibly single again, we had to come to terms that our happy endings were getting an edit.

Yet strangely, all three of us were determined that in order to get over our woes, we needs to get under someone new. Is sex with someone new post-breakup the new remedy to a broken heart?

Consistently I get advised that the best way to get over someone is always extended distraction. Eventually enough distance gets between you and the former to get friendly with the new guy/gal. Many people call this a rebound...I call it a refresher in what I've been missing. Why waste time on making sure your ex knows your wrath for having given up on you?

Being scarily angry all the time isn't good for the complexion, nor the social disposition.

J. and R. agree.

As traditional relationships go, one hears about the post-breakup limbo-- where showers aren't taken, beds become home, and mourning becomes a daily occurance until something magically happens and suddenly you're able to live again. As a 20something who enjoys his social life (and bathing), I'd rather keep myself "out there" and stay current.

It's such a shock to the ego when you are gone from the dating world for any extended period of time. New people arrive on the scene, as well as new rules and restaurants to be seen/heard at. You also start the damage control: everyone knew you were in a relationship, what happened?

So it's a rather lovely blessing to bump into someone accidentally that you know you'll be able to bump into behind closed doors. Isn't that what dating is all about?

Case of the (s)ex

How much of an immediate turn-off is hearing that the person you might be mildly interested in is going to visit with their ex?

Far too often, our almost-significant others make plans with those that they no longer say "Love" to and (hopefully) aren't continuing to fuck. While the idea of staying in conversational relationships with our exes is considered healthy, one can't help but wonder how often that wondering turns to worrying.

Why does the idea of the ex always include some sex?

While women intrinsically are prone to substantiate platonic yet deep relationships, men tend to be able to dick and ditch; cutting ties before, during and after any kind of sexual activity with another person. While not every man is a slave to his willie, going to visit someone that made that willie feel great is not a happy thought.

In the thought of sex with the ex, when does coming around to friendship actually involve a lack of coming?

I'm from the school of thought that the ex is NOT part of my life, at least for the first couple years post-breakup. If we didn't work out, you need to not exist until I've gotten over you by getting under someone else. If I'm to believe you're 100% interested in me and only my ass (and other choice body parts), then any rumination on that other person who used to be in your life should be either complete ambivalence or a "wow...that was a mistake from the past".

Many, many times have I found a total lack of interest in someone I'm just starting to date as soon as I even hear the word "ex". Rules that aren't made to be broken, break and I'd rather not chance that.

However, there's also the school of thought that a shared interest in the ex could lead to better times in bed, a la Britney Spears' latest dance floor mantra "3". Why just you and me when there can be three? Or four?

Tale of a Tease

After a games night with friends that lasted until 4AM, I had a coffee conversation with the newly-crowned Twister winner, D., regarding the power of a tease.

We've both been successfully bothered by individuals time and again that have this ability to twist our interests yet give no substantial evidence of having expressed anything other than comradery to begin with.

Why get us hot and bothered but leave us cooling our heels at the last moment?

Maybe it stems from the notion of pleasure delay. When something feels so good that you don't want it to stop, you delay the climax, if you will, to prolongate the pleasure. And if you happen to be the one controlling the amount of pleasure, that's an infinite amount of power and pain you can inflict upon someone else.

Are relationships so boring that psychological warfare are the new plays for affection?

Look at the need to please. You honestly want that other person to want you. Your role is make that other person feel good. But teasing is the whole "look but don't touch" mentality, which throws the art of affection into affliction.

When did Edith Wharton's novels of social manners explode inside of a strip club?

Questions I keep asking myself as I tiptoe through the minefields of prospective dates. I start to show an interest in someone and the flirtatious behavior runs from hot to disinterest in the matter of an hour. Granted, it transforms into a challenge, which everyone knows I love, but what's the motivation behind wanting the person who you don't know wants you?

I wonder if it fulfills the need to feel satisfied, i.e. you want what you can't have and you get rewarded when you do get it.

Trouser Snake Hunt

Sitting down to a nice vodka tonic last weekend, a friend of mine, G., casually remarked that another friend of ours seems accidentally single. Obviously playing into the conversation, I asked G. why he thought said friend wasn't. His reply struck as something I've been having difficulty with the past few years.

"His relationships never run long. Maybe he doesn't have a big you-know-what."

Really? Because I was under the assumption that a relationship was about the trust and value you place in the the person you've decided to exclusively share orgasms with.

And yet there's a grain of truth, sociologically, to G.'s off-colour reason.

Everyone's heard of size queens. These are straight women and gay men who exclusively search for that trouser snake/annaconda, that mythological member that can conquer kingdoms, countries and cunts (sorry for the poor choice of vaginal wording). They get a sense of fulfillment (no puns intended...okay...maybe a little) from having this extra lump of genitalia at their disposal.

But have we become so supersized in life that even what a man's packing has to be biggie-sized?

Maybe it has to do with the confidence a well-endowed male has, that a not-so-muched guy has less of. It definitely helps your interpersonal dynamic in the relationship if you have the confidence that doesn't constantly seek validation from the other. I know many a man without such generous a package that say it IS a concern when they approach other women or men sexually.

The average penis erect is 5 3/4" long. I remember the days when 7" was considered big. Now, far too many ladies and gents do not bat an eye at 8.5" or 9". As far as I know, there aren't that many bigger than 7". My fair shair of seeing the one-eyed eel in its various habitats and moods only advocates my stance.

When is love (of the less-than-8" pecker) not enough?

I was always happy with an above-average manhood. I even like his siblings, testicle 1 and 2. But it makes me not feel as virile if I'm constantly being bombarded by sources (like an Aussie Bum underwear ad) that say the really attractive man is going to get laid not just for his pretty mug but for his plug.

I certainly don't see WOMEN compairing their clitorises (clitori?). For them, it's less of a non-issue who has a bigger one. Even my lesbians tell me that they laugh when a man is boastful of a foul-looking organ that happens to be the same length as my foot ( I wear an 11 US). And it IS laughable that a successful male, with a beautiful face and worked out body, a healthy and long-lived life ahead of him, can get reduced to disinteresting based on an average penis.

Personally, I think it would be more impressive to have a CLEAN, disease-free and AVERAGE penis than one 10" long and around with boils and far-too-prominent pores. But again, this is coming from me. I wouldn't want a small mini-sized one either.