As he revealed his micropenis, I blurted a four-word ‘Barbie slur’… but that wasn’t even his biggest issue, by SCOUT BOXWOOD

In the ungodly hours of a January night in 2017, I went home with a gentleman I met at a bar.

I use the term ‘home’ loosely because his apartment, in suburban New Jersey, looked more like a Marriott Extended Stay for newly divorced Dads, complete with a pleather standard-issue sofa and laundry piled high atop a long-forgotten chair.

He and I had hit it off reasonably well at the bar. We both had family in Florida, we both found mayonnaise repellent, we both went to college at big Southern schools, and neither of us bought that the dinosaurs at museums are assembled correctly.

Tall, with beefy, muscular arms, dark hair, and prominent brows, one dimple on the left side of his mouth, he looked as though he had just stepped out of an LL Bean catalog, having just lowered the kayak off his shoulder. Right out of frame, a golden retriever puppy was bounding up to him.

He suggested a nightcap at his place soon after paying the bill. And so our dalliance progressed. Picture any romantic comedy in which the main characters stumble, wrapped around one another, over the threshold and into the bedroom.

A large, ornately carved bed took up most of the space. When I say large, I mean large. Go and Google ‘the Lincoln bedroom’. (Feel free to insert your own joke here about compensating for something.)

The bed covers were pulled back, clothing was removed. Then his pants fell to the floor revealing a noticeable absence.

‘Like a Ken doll,’ I breathed, then hoped against hope that the sound of the radiator drowned me out.

I had never seen a micropenis before.

No friend’s big sister or cool babysitter had warned me. None of the Judy Blume canon or American Girl adolescent guidebooks we grew up on included descriptions, diagrams, or helpful FAQs. I had heard stories told in whispers between women at brunch or in bathrooms, often in tones dripping with sadness for the man in question.

I would have loved to have known what to say because my choice of words was suboptimal at best and hurtful at worst. But he seemed fine, brushing it off by saying, ‘Yeah, it’s just how it’s always been.’

And with that, I – and I think he – decided we would work around it.

Perhaps he was used to women rushing out in a huff instead of stoically accepting what was in front of them and proceeding as if everything was going off without a hitch. Because he did not, in fact, know how to work around it.

I can’t be certain, but even though he must have been around 30 years old, I may have been his first close encounter with female anatomy. I felt as if I were a couch cushion he was trying to fish loose change out of.

Uncomfortable, I squirmed away and excused myself to get a glass of water.

The evening had been derailed so thoroughly – both by my comment and his hands-on-approach – I texted a friend: ‘Please call me right now and make up an emergency that gets me the hell out of here.’

Three minutes later, I learned that a roommate had added too much soap to the washing machine. The machine was now overflowing with water and bubbles, creating a distressing yet comical scene in our living room. I simply had to leave.

‘I’ll text you,’ I lied, with one foot out the door.

Since this rendezvous, I have learned that my experience was rare. None of my friends have encountered a micropenis. And the stats back this up.

Only a tiny half a percent of the global population has one and only 1.5 in 10,000 American newborns.

For any men scrambling for a tape measure, a micropenis is typically defined as having a stretched length (measured from the base of a slightly stretched but flaccid penis to the tip) of 3.67 inches or less. By comparison, the average stretched penile length (SPL) for adult males is 5.25 inches.

And yes there are things you can do to rectify it. Although testosterone therapy, which is effective, won’t work after puberty, plastic surgeons are increasingly reporting a rise in the number of men approaching them for filler in their penis.

Failing that, a cursory glance at the Reddit Ask Me Anything pieces entitled ‘I have a micropenis, and I’m proud’ and it’s clear men hone other bedroom skills to make up for their shortcomings.

Because it needn’t be a life sentence to bad sex.

The idiom ‘there’s a lid for every pot’ exists for a reason. Every woman is unique, with unique nerve endings, anatomy and preferences.

The elusive female orgasm is far less dependent on penetrative sex, further underscoring that a large penis is much like a working fireplace in a handsome Southern home – nice, adds market value, but it doesn’t impact the structural integrity of the establishment.

In the same way an above-average penis size is not necessary for fulfilling sex, neither is very small penis. But it does require the man to approach the non-penetrative aspects with as much enthusiasm and willingness to learn as he does crypto or online sports betting.

The micropenis I met was attached to a man who had not gone that extra mile. In fact, like many men, I suspect a large portion of my date’s sexual education came from free porn sites, where rougher, borderline violent content gets the most engagement.

I think I would have stayed if he’d had other – better – skills to offer.

I wouldn’t have stood huddled under the light above his stove texting my friend. I wouldn’t have been fixating on the fact that my bed was so close yet so far, and resenting him for keeping us apart. And I wouldn’t have been gearing up to spill the details to all of my friends as soon as the cab door shut. 

Scout Boxwood is a pseudonym