Four years ago, I met the dick that would change me forever.

It took something like 100 dicks to get me to this moment in my pussy’s herstory “ maybe more, but let’s just say I’ve made multiple trips to life’s cock buffet. I had been a long-time proponent of the pleasure-at-every-size model of penis-picking. I’d had a smattering of enormo-schlongs, but the experiences hadn’t truly changed me. Having been a penetration-neutral girl for many, many years, I didn’t see what the big “whoop was about having a dick in me anyway.

And then I met Stavros. Well, his “real name wasn’t Stavros, but that’s what I called him for the duration of our three-month foray into the depths of all imaginable filth.

Stavros liked eating my ass. He liked licking my armpits. He liked feasting on my cunt. He liked when I peed on him. And he loved putting his dick in me. Stavros is what I refer to as a very unique man, a man who stands at the precipice of heterosexual decency and pisses on the doormat.

At first I wasn’t sure that I could handle all that he was packing. What was I going to do with all that extra dick? It became clear very quickly, however, that my vag was up for the challenge. A craving began to develop, and even after I realized that Stavros was sort of a Republican it was too late for me and my pussy. We simply didn’t care what we had to put up with before the sex! As long as we got our fix, we just didn’t fucking care about his retrograde views on women’s empowerment or his Dr. Pepper obsession.

When I tell other women that I love big dick, they ask me about my vagina: Is it unusually deep in there? No, I don’t have a Mary Poppins pussy. I would consider my vaginal canal average-sized (4-6 inches unaroused). So, I had no idea what she was truly capable of. I did a little reading and came to find out that vaginas can sort of grow (short-term, at least) to accommodate bigger objects if you just keep at it. Additionally, the more aroused I am, the further back my cervix (the end of the tunnel, if you will) goes.

Becoming a size queen didn’t come without its challenges. The applicant pool narrows considerably and with my new-found criterion, it was somewhat awkward to have the conversation at first: What’s my minimum? Do I have a maximum? Where do I tell him to measure from? When exactly should the question be brought up?

I quickly got over the awkwardness. I came to discover that, in fact, this was my primary concern. I didn’t want to become invested unless I knew: “Yeah, you seem like a really smart guy, but before we get into details like your name and your views on choice, I’d really like to make sure that you have a big cock. I discovered that once I was assured that it was 7+ inches that my list of concerns would quickly fade, that inches were inversely proportional with deal-breakers. I found that men were quite amenable to my frank requests.

I talked with other dick lovers about this. They too seemed to have some kind of mathematical tool by which they made similar assessments. It took some time before I realized I needed a standardized tool, something appropriate for our era of internet-inundation and time-saving techniques. After some prompting from a close girlfriend I decided to commit it to e-paper, to remain in the electronic annals of size queen history.

So, here’s mine. I e-mail it to prospective partners. What’s great is that I can also add this as an image to an OkCupid profile or CraigsList ad.