About a year ago I encountered my first small penis. After what was by far one of the best fucks of my life, I wrote a column to spread the word that it’s not about the size of the boat but about the motion of the ocean: how good sex is depends more on how the guy “moves” than on the size of his dick. I return to this subject, some time and couple of sexual partners later, with my views slightly shifted. I had reached the conclusion that motions trumps size but that big dicks are still more enjoyable. But then, along came a fellow who had both a sturdy boat and eloquent motion, and I realized I don’t like big boats.

Let me set the scene for you. Mid-June, humid Ithaca apartment, around 1 a.m. My roommates and I decide to throw a housewarming party to which we each invited whoever we knew staying in Ithaca over the summer. The result of course was our apartment overflowing with very horny drunk college boys. I found myself in deep conversation with a football player trying to convince me that Stephen Curry outperformed LeBron James in NBA finals, an argument we agreed to settle over Jell-O shots. As the night went on, I was increasingly attracted to the 6’3”, broad shouldered young man sitting across from me, looking deep into my eyes and laughing at my pathetic basketball jokes. I gave up trying to look away from his protruding shoulder muscles and pecs, and particularly from his back when he stood up to talk to his friends. I just sat back on the couch gawking at his muscles move against his tight-fitted t-shirt as he ran his hand through his hair. He turned and caught me staring so I just giggled and sipped on my drink, already mentally undressing him.

Fast forward through another boring half hour or so while his teammates and a bunch of other superfluous guests left… we’re lying in my bed now, our legs hanging off the side, watching the pattern my fairy lights make on my ceiling. He nears closer to me and hauls himself up, towering on top of me with a leg on either side of my body. He is huge above me as he rips his shirt off and lowers himself down to kiss me. He slides down my neck kissing my chest as he pulls my shirt over my head and starts making his way down. He sits back on his knees as he pulls down my pants and panties and pushes my legs apart. Smiling, he brings his mouth in, searching for my clit and begins to perfectly outline it with his tongue. I grab onto his hair, the blanket next to me, my legs, my nipples, my hair, writhing as he holds my legs apart with this firm grip. I’m breathing hard as he pulls away and stands to unbutton his pants. In one swift, effortless motion, he scoops me up and rotates me on the bed, climbing over me.

And then I saw it, erect in all it’s glory, easily the size of large pepper grinder — you know, the ones they bring around in fancy restaurants when they ask if you want your soup seasoned. I don’t do physics, lubrication, volumes, capacities etc. but with any common sense that I had, I could tell you that was not going to be a smooth entrance no matter how this kid maneuvered my body. I thought back to Brazilian waxing, dentist and IUD inserting breathing techniques as he positioned himself for battle. I arched my back and breathed in as I felt him press inside me. I could feel my body pushing back against the massive invasion but I also of course wanted him to keep fucking me. With every thrust I could feel my legs growing weaker trying to hold me up against him and there was no way I was going to have the energy to be on top. I thought practically so I switched it up to a blowjob but soon realized that unless I was willing to do deep throat for a good long while there was no way this kid was going to cum any time soon (maybe nerve endings aren’t long enough to cover such a huge surface area). So he did his thing, flipping me around this way and that, reverse upside-down cowgirl, positions 3, 45, 75, 34, 23, 56 of the Kama Sutra with variations and what not… and I just wasn’t feeling it. Of course I was literally feeling it, like a LOT, but I found myself desperately searching for any signs of an orgasm. Noticing new things during sex like that smudge on the top left corner of my ceiling I couldn’t remember if I included in my maintenance report when I moved in. After a couple more changes of position and faked orgasms, he was finally done too and we went our separate ways.

So what went wrong? In a situation where he knew how to move, how to fuck, how to hold me, how to flip me, was SO hot, where everything should have been perfect, why did I pretty much enjoy nothing? My conclusion was the constriction of movement that resulted from the massiveness of his dick. There was simply no way for him to maneuver himself in a way that he could fuck me hard enough while reaching all the intricately woven pleasure spots inside me.

So I’m going to be the outlier and advocate for smaller, more operable penises that I can suck and fuck while feeling comfortable that they can adequately explore all my openings smoothly without getting jammed at the entrances.

The Duchess is a student at Cornell. Comments may be sent to associate-editor@cornellsun.com. Between the Sheets appears alternating Thursdays this semester.