A Suggestion...
There's only one way to properly know the size of a man's willy - after checking that he does, in fact, truly fancy you, push him gently up against a wall, hold him tight and give him a thorough snogging. You can then potentially check out how he matches up once he has, ahem, 'responded'.

For Men : The same, except with less busoms, and a glimpse of chest hair, please.

I offer this advice Only In The Interests Of Science And Education.. although any offers made to confirm the theory experimentally will of course be considered.

PS I agree with legless - where's the rest of the story!!
(EssY, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 12:13, Reply)

absolutely, thatbloke.
If everything was in proportion, I'd have to be 6'5" instead of 5'10"...

Anyway a story, I'm not going to detail most of my own experiences as they're not that interesting, apart from the woman online who got waaay too interested and obsessed within a couple of hours then threw a fit when I said I was going to see another (attached, didn't fancy) woman just to say hi. Glad I never met up.. There's also the mad bondage woman that tries to MSN me at times.

An ex-friend's fiance is slightly mad, insecure, and a tad controlling. They were round at a friends; he was happily playing Xbox, she was chatting to his friend's wife. Next moment, he receives a text - it's from his fiance, 3 feet away, asking him to get on the couch and cuddle her..(!)

Then there was the forbidding him to see or phone a mutual, *married* female friend right before he decided to resort to the world of sad coupledom, only ever go out with other people if they were in couples (not even attached but on their own counted) and rarely socialise in pubs etc.

He's now almost married with a child, hopefully it won't explode messily in a couple of years and he really is happy.

As to busoms, well ideally larger can be fun, but having experienced A through to G cups in a variety of sizes I can honestly say that size really doesn't matter, it isn't necessarily any more fun in bed and it has no bearing on whether I truly fancy someone or not. Besides big ones get in the way, especially during sport.
(EssY, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 11:56, Reply)

making a grab for it
But then judging erect size from a flaccid member is invariably inaccurate as well, something a lot of girls don't seem to know, oddly. You'd think they would.

EDIT: that we're genital-obsessed? I don't know, I think that just makes us human. Fine, erogenous-zone-obsessed, then :P

EDIT 2: Much to my relief I've never had to touch another man's member, semi, hard or otherwise. My greatest fear is to find a cock in my trousers that isn't my own. Well, ok, not my greatest fear. My real greatest fears are moths and other flying insects.
( Kroney, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 11:36, Reply)

Misnomer: Men are built in proportion...
...spoken like a straight bloke, that's for sure :)

As an example, my BF is six inches taller than me (and I'm no shortarse), and a few inches wider as well but still, mine is almost twice as big as his. I remember one lad also who was shorter than me, but the contents of his shorts were FUCKING HUGE - sadly though, the dick on his head was even bigger.

In essence, the only way to really tell is to make a grab for it - this method carries the added bonus of confirming whether or not the grab-ee is up for it ;)

EDIT - Agreed, if it's asleep an accurate estimate is difficult - the least you need for a definitive assessment is a semi :D

ANOTHER EDIT: This QOTW has metamorphosed from 'Romantic involvement garnished with lunacy' into 'Breast/penis size and inherent perceived values of such - discuss' - what does that say about us? Hang on, breasts aren't genitals... are they?

YET ANOTHER EDIT: And for the record, size matters. Whilst skill is a prominent factor, it always comes second to mass. Anyone who says otherwise is either a) lying or b) hasn't handled a big one.
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 11:31, Reply)

Attractions
As for attractives, I personally don't really have anything specific that draws me to a lady.
Don't have a boob preference, I just like them.

One thing I will say though, I do have a weakness for redheads, like deep auburn red....mmmmm
(The Cosmic Fool Became aware that the bird is indeed the word on, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 11:23, Reply)

A few years ago
I was with this girl, Aisha. Lovely girl, cute, sexy and short. An absolute nutter.
She would sleep with her eyes open AND talk in her sleep...
One night she woke me up begging me to make her tea in return for sexual favours, so I agree and make the tea at supid o'clock in the morning imagining what she would be thinking about doing for me.
finished making tea, go upstairs and .... oh bless, she has fallen asleep again, so, like an idiot I proceed to wake her telling her that I made her tea.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAKING ME UP AT THIS TIME FOR!!!!!"
Imagine my suprise and shock when she then hurls the mug at me, luckily she misses and breaks her lamp which only anger her more.
She then rolls over and mutters "are we going to screw then or what?"

this happened a few time.
and as for too large breasts, I like large but I love personality, my current better half is wearing DDs and is the most intelligent being I know!
(theyerack, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 10:52, Reply)

When I first set eyes on her….

…she had a pair of underpants on her head, a pencil stuck in each nostril, she was wearing a tee-shirt saying ‘You don’t have to be mad to be me, but it helps’ and she was saying “Wibble”. I don’t know how I didn’t notice that she was as cracked as Humpty-Dumpty after a five storey dive onto a crazy-paved patio. She even showed me her passport, which had her occupation down as ‘Das Fruiten-Loop’.

OK, so maybe none of the above was true in the strict meaning of the word, but Ursula WAS German, and pretty damn gorgeous. I hadn’t actually taken any notice of her at first, but my mate Joe had. This was when I was working the beaches in Nice, and I’d met Joe at the hostel we were staying at – not an official Youth Hostel, but a ‘Relais pour les jeunes’ or something. So Joe had noticed Ursula and had invited her along to an impromptu party on the beach that night. This was a few of us international guys passing round bottles of very cheap red wine one way and home-made cigarettes with a certain Moroccan flavouring the other.

Anyway, we were all lying on the beach [quick background note: the beach at Nice is pebbles, like Brighton, it is also way below the promenade, and accessed via regular sets of steps set into the roughly 20’ high wall] in a circle, facing the centre. Joe had positioned himself next to Ursula and I was roughly opposite her. Now what I didn’t realise was that she was besotted with ME!! I have to admit that I was at the peak of my attractiveness at that time, age 21, lean and tanned from bumming around with a backpack for months. Ursula was lovely – almost white blonde hair cut in a bob, amazing clear brown eyes – very unusual – fair of face, spectacular body…18 years old.

The first inkling I had that she fancied me was when (with Joe’s arm draped across her back) she leaned towards me and asked me if I could speak any German. So, being the wily old fox that I was, I leaned in a bit and said huskily: “Ich leibe dich”. Well, rarely can a declaration of love have been so rapidly rewarded! She said to me “I love your voice, it reminds me of an English DJ that is on the radio in Germany, you sound just like him” then she leaned even closer and proceeded to give me a snog that rated 6.1 on the Richter scale.

Bear in mind, we are now in the middle of a circle of people, chatting, smoking and drinking around us and yet we were also alone in that special place that couples go when they are concentrating on each other to the exclusion of all else. Somehow, she’d manoeuvred round and had reached down inside my jeans. My months on the road had lost me three or four inches around the waist, and I was also going commando – less washing – so it wasn’t hard for her to locate ‘little Che’ who was actually not so very little at that moment. It was all I could do to un-glue her from my mouth, re-do-up my button fly and drag her to a more secluded spot.

We went a couple of hundred feet along the beach until I could contain her no more, then we sank down in the area of shade under the over-hang from the promenade. She pushed me down on my back, ripped my kecks down and hers and was on me in a flash. It was great and even better, at the end, there was a spontaneous round of applause. A small group had gathered on the promenade above us and showed their appreciation in the time honoured way.

What followed was a night of passion to file away in the memory for those times in years to come when you need to cheer yourself up. I hope and pray that each and every one of you have (or have had) a night like that. As I said, I was staying in a hostel, as a favoured long-timer who was also working, I was sleeping on the floor of one of the big dormitories in my sleeping bag. Ursula as part of a school group was upstairs in a small room with her classmates. We went ‘back to mine’ and as soon as the lights went out we went for the reprise…we only stopped when the sun was coming up and it was getting light again. At times like that you count…it was seven times – including the one on the beach, in a full dormitory with about twenty people in it, I don’t think poor old Joe got much sleep either that night.

Now if only she’d been leaving the next day, things might have been different – one night of passion and then gone. But no, next day, there was a big fuss; her teacher had been alerted to the fact that she had not been in her room all night, she was effectively put out of circulation and then she started crying. Each time I saw her, she was surrounded by disapproving looking German girls and boys and teachers, she would burst into tears and start really quite embarrassing stuff like calling to me and pleading.

I honestly can’t remember how long this went on, but we were kept apart and yet so near for what seemed like ages. On their final night, we managed to get five minutes to talk, and she wrote me a message in my little address book, which I still have, and would really like to have translated. It reads – the best I can make out (capital B used for the double s thing):

“Ich glaube daB Du Dein Leben total genicBt. Ich finde das super. Fur mich ist das auch der beste Weg mein Lebern zu genieBen. Ich liebe verruchte Menshchen, so we Dich Das ist wondervoll Ich glaube das vericht. Okay, Ursula”

Well, maybe not so bonkers, but I’ve not had time to tell you what happened when I visited her at home a couple of months later! Maybe next time, or if we get a question ‘have you ever really been in the shit?’
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 10:52, Reply)

There was this lass
Who went to Uni with some mates of mine and had all the lads salivating. She had a curious ethnic makeup, being a mix of Danish, Indian and West Indian, but this added up to a gorgeous dusky package. She however was convinced she had a big wide West Indian nose, so she used to wear a clothes peg on it to make it thinner. Her nose was a actually small and cute, but...
The lunacy ensued when she started going out with guys. She accused my dad of letching at her (he probably was), then later started a huge fist fight with me at the Fridge in Brixton. Another lad had a hairdryer broken over his head for touching her (after she had slept with him.)It was all a cry for attention and finally she locked herself in a toilet and left empty bottle of asprin around the place. Dutiful friends called an ambulance and she got the whole stomach pump works. Nothing there but biscuits apparently.
I learnt later that she never finished her degree but ended up in a Loony Bin.
Sad really, as she really was very fit, but so weird. Never took her knickers off for sex, which was a bit of a nuisance. Still miss her though.
(Mr Steve is jobless and fancyfree!, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 10:27, Reply)

maybe that's a cue for QOTW
crap towns and why!

ok so the top spot has already gone to uxbridge, but what about hull, shirley, cardiff and stockport??
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 10:17, Reply)

And this is probably why I'm still single...
A while back I had a drunken one night stand with a friend of a friend. I though I was being terribly sensible and grown up about the whole thing by going for a coffee the next day and doing the "well, that was fun, but it was a one off, right?" chat.

Six months later a letter pops onto my doormat which reads "Rakky, I'm sorry to tell you that I don't think I can carry on this relationship any longer. It's been nice but I'm looking for true love and I know in my heart of hearts that it's not meant to be. I've experienced the joy of finding that special someone once, and I know that, as much as I care for you, I know we can only ever be friends..."

So basically, I was dumped by a nutter that I WASN'T EVEN GOING OUT WITH...

His next "girlfriend" apparently went on to become a nun.
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 9:58, Reply)

I hope he hangs
Not me but a close friend.
Married a man 20 years her senior. An ex-alcoholic but he seemed nice enough. Some years later he lost his job, and couldn't find another. So he becomes a house-husband looking after house and children while his wife goes to work.
Faced with social isolation and a young and pretty wife who spends long hours at work, he becomes jealous, possesive and starts drinking again. Forbids her to leave the house unless its to go to work, phones her at random times to check that she is at work. At starts "over discipling" the children.
Eventually, she's had enough and asks for a divorce. So, "allegedly", he straps the children into the back of the car and drives off the quay into a container port (its sub judice). "Allegedly", he has second thoughts, unstraps himself and escapes, the two children drown.
His case is due to come to court next year (this isnt in the UK). It makes me sick to think I actually used to shake his hand.
(anat0010, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 9:57, Reply)

For the t/j
If girls like blokes that are hung like a donkey, go for a tall lad. Men are built in proportion, generally speaking.

(says the 6 footer ¬_¬)
( Kroney, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 9:48, Reply)

Heard this song...
...and couldn't help thinking how well it fit this QOTW.

I'm seeing this girl and she just might be out of her mind

Well she's got baggage and it's all the emotional kind

She talks about closure and that validation bit

I don't mean to be insensitive, but I really hate that shit



Oh man she's got issues

And I'm gonna pay

She thinks she's the victim

Yeah



Now I know she'll feel abandoned

If I don't stay over late

And I know she's afraid to commit

But it's only our second date



Oh man she's got issues

And I'm gonna pay

She thinks she's the victim

But she takes it all out on me



I don't know why you're messed up

I don't know why your whole life is a chore

Just do me a favor

And check your baggage at the door



Now she talks about her ex nonstop, but I don't mind

But when she calls out his name in bed

That's where I draw the line

You told me a hundred times how your father left and he's
gone

But I wish you wouldn't call me daddy

When we're gettin' it on



Oh man she's got issues

And I'm gonna pay

She's playing the victim

And taking it all out on me

My god she's got issues

And I'm gonna pay



If you think I'm controlling

Then why do you follow me around

If you're not co-dependent

Then why do you let others drag you down



I don't know why you're messed up

I don't know why your whole life is a chore

Just do me a favor

And check your baggage at the door


Yes, the Offspring feels your pain.
No apologies for length. After all, I wouldn't want to chop the 'chorus' out, now, would I?
(satellite blows, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 9:29, Reply)

Waited too long to post.
Just about every major woman in my life has had or does have problems.
My first real g/f Trina was her name, we went out for a while, I'd been after her for a long time, went to stay with her sister in Birmingham for like three weeks, called me every day in tears for how much she missed the Weapon's sweet lovin', was elated when it was finally time to come home, I had flowers delivered as a welcome home, arranged a romantic dinner, followed by a movie and when she got back she dumped me, cold as ice, as though I were suddenly something she had stepped in. Oh, and she was allergic to flowers now.
Wendy, claimed she was raped when she was younger, which is why she wouldn't do it doggie style? I suspect she simply didn't care for it and didn't like to say. Also she claimed her flat had a poltergeist, which was proved by her shreiking, me coming into her room to find her clothes rack had been pushed over and pinned her to the ground, despite the fact that in the window's reflection I saw her do it herself....Then there's Mrs X. Whenever she gets drunk she hates me, I'm accused of being distrusting and controlling, I never let her do anything she wants and my family is rotten. I'm responsible for every bad thing that's happened since we married. Keep in mind this is all while drunk. When she sobers up the next morning, she remembers little of it, but it's still my fault, because of the way I treat her when drunk, sort of a self fulfilling prophecy, I expect her to behave badly so subconciously I make it happen. So I end up apologising. Luckily she drinks rarely, but Christmas is just around the corner, a time most people look forward to with joy and cheer, I approach with a sense of dread and foreboding. One year on Boxing day she punched me and busted my lip, when I pushed her away to avoid further assault, the police were called by my own family (twunts) and I was told ro leave the house. Spent the night on my friends couch.
(The Cosmic Fool Became aware that the bird is indeed the word on, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 8:28, Reply)

threadjack jumping
I've dated arseholes rather than lunatics, so can't contribute to the main question except to say that if you expect free whoring you deserve all you get.

To contribute to the threadjack though, the great majority of my blokes have been hung like donkeys. The ones that weren't were... well, one took great pride in being able to fold his penis back into his scrotum.

My breasts keep my feet very warm, thank you.
(Emily Bruce-Dickinson http://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 8:19, Reply)