The Measure of a Man

First of all, I have a new book out! My publisher snuck it in, so please snap it up while it's hot!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0728FVSDK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1495384186&sr=8-1&keywords=Harem+of+Vanity

So I'm thinking about measurement this morning. It's fascinating to me that one of the reasons I'm often considered to be less of an erotic author and more of a pornographer is that my stories tend to inform specific measurements. One of the first rules people giving advice about erotica tend to follow is that you should never state specific measurements.

I've never entirely understood this. I mean, I get how it wouldn't be classy is you were supposedly telling a true story and were using it as an opportunity to brag about your huge tits or huge cock, but when you know it's fiction from the get-go, why does it matter?

And here's the thing; This advice wouldn't exist if it weren't something a lot of people were trying to do in their work to begin with. In other words, it's either our instinct or it sexually excites us to get into the nitty gritty details of just how big that thing was. I find it so funny that we try to stifle our impulses when we write this way.

I also find that trying to gauge size is really difficult when it comes to cock. Not only do the damned things change size, but every different angle or perspective gives a whole different sense of the dimensions. From the right angle, a monster can look miniscule and a flattering picture can make a mouse look massive. All but the biggest and smallest of men I've known all seem to think they're smaller than they really are.

So erase the taboo of the ruler. Whip 'em out and measure 'em, boys, you might be pleased by what you learn.