I asked if he had a big dick, and her answer was “Yours is longer.”
I’m sure she meant it as honest reassurance. And the sentiment really was appreciated. But her specific choice of words revealed what she was trying not to say: he was thicker.
Years ago, when we were first going out, probably during an intoxicated Truth or Dare, she told me length didn’t really matter to her. The really important part of a cock was it’s girth.
When she commented recently that I would like her ex, I didn’t hesitate to suggest we meet. I didn’t see the guy as a threat. And he really did seem like a nice person. Maybe we could all be friends. That’d feel so mature. So she invited him over to watch the new Game of Thrones.
I was happy to see he was a good six inches shorter than me, he had more grey in his beard than I did, and while his handshake was masculine enough, he did have a bit of an effeminate way about him. And he had a girl’s name. All night I subconsciously kept noticing the things that kept him firmly in the “not a threat” category. But yes, I did also notice the bulge in his shorts. How could I not? Especially with her glancing there whenever she was talking to him.