shredded4summer
dnr busy slaying
- Joined
- Jul 8, 2023
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I've always struggled with my cock size. It’s not the kind of struggle people imagine.
Most assume it’s a blessing, something to boast about, but they don’t understand the burden. The loneliness. The rejection. It started in high school. Locker room jokes turned into whispers, then rumors. Girls looked, giggled, but never got close. The few who did left quickly—scared, intimidated, some even embarrassed. “I can’t,” one of them had whispered after a few minutes of fumbling in the backseat of my car. “It’s too much.” The words haunted me. I tried everything. Restraint. Silence. Even lying. “I’m normal,” I’d say, but sooner or later, the truth came out. And with it, disappointment.
Love was a dream. Relationships? Impossible. Some women were curious, but none stayed. It was either fear or worse, fetishization. The ones who lingered saw me as a challenge, not a person. A novelty. And I was always left emptier than before. Doctors gave me no solutions. "Surgery?" I asked once, desperation in my voice. They laughed. "People would kill to have your problem." But would they? Would they really? I sat alone most nights, scrolling through messages that started with excitement and ended in polite rejection.
In a world obsessed with size, I learned the cruelest irony of all: too much of anything will only drive people away.
The most brutal story of this was when I was in the bathroom and a girl walked in. It wasn’t just any girl it was Emma. The one girl who had made me believe, for a fleeting moment, that I was more than just a freak of nature. She laughed at my jokes, touched my arm when we talked, and once even told me, “You’re different, but in a good way.” I had started to hope. That night, at a house party, I had gone to the upstairs bathroom to get a moment of peace. The door didn’t lock properly, and before I could react, Emma walked in. Her eyes dropped immediately. She froze. I’ll never forget the way her expression changed. First, shock. Then curiosity. And finally, horror. “OH MY GOD ITS MASSIVE.” I scrambled to cover myself, stammering something—anything—to break the silence, but she was already backing away, shaking her head like she had seen a monster. Like I had deceived her. She turned and ran. For the rest of the night, I heard the whispers. The giggles. By the time I came back downstairs, the rumor had spread. Emma told everyone. And just like that, whatever hope I had was gone. That was the night I truly understood. I wasn’t a man to them. I was a spectacle. A joke. Something to be gawked at but never loved. And no matter what I did, I would always be alone.
It started as a joke in the group chat. Someone, probably one of Emma’s friends—typed it out after the party.
"Bro's packing a 2L Pepsi bottle
."
At first, I laughed it off. What else could I do? But then it spread. Hallways. Lockers. Even teachers smirked when they heard it.
"Yo, 2L! How do you even walk?"
"Bet you pass out when you get hard, bro."
Every joke chipped away at me. They didn’t see the weight of it. The silent rejection. The loneliness. The shame. I stopped wearing sweatpants. Stopped changing in the locker room. Stopped hoping for anything real. Because at the end of the day, I wasn’t a person to them. Just a punchline.
Just “2L Pepsi.”
Most assume it’s a blessing, something to boast about, but they don’t understand the burden. The loneliness. The rejection. It started in high school. Locker room jokes turned into whispers, then rumors. Girls looked, giggled, but never got close. The few who did left quickly—scared, intimidated, some even embarrassed. “I can’t,” one of them had whispered after a few minutes of fumbling in the backseat of my car. “It’s too much.” The words haunted me. I tried everything. Restraint. Silence. Even lying. “I’m normal,” I’d say, but sooner or later, the truth came out. And with it, disappointment.
Love was a dream. Relationships? Impossible. Some women were curious, but none stayed. It was either fear or worse, fetishization. The ones who lingered saw me as a challenge, not a person. A novelty. And I was always left emptier than before. Doctors gave me no solutions. "Surgery?" I asked once, desperation in my voice. They laughed. "People would kill to have your problem." But would they? Would they really? I sat alone most nights, scrolling through messages that started with excitement and ended in polite rejection.
In a world obsessed with size, I learned the cruelest irony of all: too much of anything will only drive people away.
The most brutal story of this was when I was in the bathroom and a girl walked in. It wasn’t just any girl it was Emma. The one girl who had made me believe, for a fleeting moment, that I was more than just a freak of nature. She laughed at my jokes, touched my arm when we talked, and once even told me, “You’re different, but in a good way.” I had started to hope. That night, at a house party, I had gone to the upstairs bathroom to get a moment of peace. The door didn’t lock properly, and before I could react, Emma walked in. Her eyes dropped immediately. She froze. I’ll never forget the way her expression changed. First, shock. Then curiosity. And finally, horror. “OH MY GOD ITS MASSIVE.” I scrambled to cover myself, stammering something—anything—to break the silence, but she was already backing away, shaking her head like she had seen a monster. Like I had deceived her. She turned and ran. For the rest of the night, I heard the whispers. The giggles. By the time I came back downstairs, the rumor had spread. Emma told everyone. And just like that, whatever hope I had was gone. That was the night I truly understood. I wasn’t a man to them. I was a spectacle. A joke. Something to be gawked at but never loved. And no matter what I did, I would always be alone.
It started as a joke in the group chat. Someone, probably one of Emma’s friends—typed it out after the party.
"Bro's packing a 2L Pepsi bottle
." At first, I laughed it off. What else could I do? But then it spread. Hallways. Lockers. Even teachers smirked when they heard it.
"Yo, 2L! How do you even walk?"
"Bet you pass out when you get hard, bro."
Every joke chipped away at me. They didn’t see the weight of it. The silent rejection. The loneliness. The shame. I stopped wearing sweatpants. Stopped changing in the locker room. Stopped hoping for anything real. Because at the end of the day, I wasn’t a person to them. Just a punchline.
Just “2L Pepsi.”
