The summer of 2002. A year after I’d come out to my parents with no fanfare. It was also the year when Sex and the City only had EIGHT episodes in that year’s season. Devastated. All because Sarah Jessica Parker was pregnant. So selfish.
I’d just fallen in love with a guy. It was the first time I’d been in love. Although with the benefit of hindsight, I don’t think I was truly in love. But it made my heart feel good all the same.
His name was Darren. I remember thinking he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. He had the most glorious mop of blonde hair and my god, he was sodding tall.
And that was the moment I had my education in the tall guy, huge cock lesson of life. It was so wide, I could barely get my mouth round it. And for those who know me personally, know how big my gob is. Say no more.
But I digress here. I wasn’t supposed to get to the tale of his penis yet. But thinking about it again after all these years, got me all excited. And I just couldn’t wait to tell you all.
Darren was the year above me at college. An older man. I was only 17 and he was 18. I felt so sophisticated bagging myself a bloke who was a whole year older than me.
To add to the sophistication and class of the situation, I got my gay best friend from college, Khan, to test the waters for me. I was far too shy to ask him out myself. I hadn’t quite grown into my SAMANTHA confidence stakes yet.
Getting the green light from Khan, I found myself on the most romantic date of my life. In case that doesn’t translate from the page, that was sarcasm. He took me for lunch at GREGGS.
To this day, I’m still partial to a Greggs. I can never have just one item either. It always has to be a chicken tikka baguette, a pizza slice and an apple Danish. Fat fuck, I know. But I’ve never been obsessed with having a Muscle Mary body.
Although it took me a few years after Darren, before I could step inside a Greggs store without a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye. Melodramatic I know, but I was a teenage boy, in love for the first time. Forgive me.
In the afternoon after ‘THAT’ date, I found myself in a massive cliché. We ended up behind the bike sheds and before you could say ‘steak bake’, he had his tongue down my throat.
Whoever coined the phrase, ‘you have to kiss a few frogs before you meet your prince’, was right on the money. For this bike shed fumble was exactly what I imagined kissing a frog would be like.
He clearly hadn’t had enough to eat at Greggs, as he seemed to make the decision to eat half my face. His lips engulfed my lips. AND my nose. AND my cheekbones.
I surfaced from the kiss with a redraw face. It had been sucked to within an inch of its life. I thought he was about to take my face and stick it in the back of a car window. And with the amount of saliva I appeared to have on my face, even a hacksaw wouldn’t have prised me off that window.
I was dating a face sucker. But I decided I could train him to keep his mouth on my lips ONLY. And besides, I idolised him.
We had a few more lunch dates in Greggs. What can I say? I’m a cheap date. And then he started inviting me round to his house when his parents went out for the night. Very illicit and teenage-esque.
And this is when I came face to face with the tree trunk. AKA, his penis. I must say, for a few years after Darren had left my life, many men were a disappointment to me in the trouser department. Until I came to the realisation that Darren was an exception to most men. He had an exceptionally large manhood.
My new found love was all going swimmingly. I was planning the house we would live in, how many kids we would have and what our wedding would be like. Before anyone judges me, remember I was a 17 year old teenager, experiencing my first taste of love.
And then it all came crashing down around me. Khan had bumped into Darren on a night out.
Darren grabbed Khan’s face and tried to kiss him. Khan pulled away.
“I love you. Not Mark”, the bastard declared. Sorry, I mean Darren.
Khan walked away from Darren and decided he should do the decent thing and inform me immediately. He phoned me and told me he needed to see me. I went to pick him up in my Toby Talbot.
He told me of the night’s events and I melodramatically exited the car, a la Sex and the City style. And I cried in the street. My heart broke and as tears streamed down my face, I wondered if my heart would ever mend.
Mark David Woollard graduated from Brunel University, West London in 2009 with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Creative Writing and Journalism. Since then, he has written for many publications as a freelance writer. He has been ‘The Undateable Gay’ for The Gay UK magazine since 2015 where he documents his unsuccessful dating life. He wrote an opinion column for the national Student Times, discussing LGBT issues.
He also writes educational pieces for ‘Massage World’ magazine, giving advice to Reflexologists about treating certain ailments. He authored a novella in 2013 entitled ‘The Fun and Frolics of FIFI a L’Orange’, the crazy adventures of a drag queen.
And is currently working on a series of LGBT books for children and a collection of flash fiction.
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