I’m going to confess. I’m dating this guy because of his size. I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but when it comes to love and relationships, everyone has their reasons.

He was brought to the hospital where I was the nurse in charge. That was when I saw it. It was limp and flaccid, but it still had the presence of something much bigger. He was asleep, so I feasted my eyes on it for as long as I could and wondered why God would give such grace to one person.

He became my favourite patient. Because of him, I came to work early and left late. I asked how he was feeling and whether I could get him anything. He called me kind and smiled a lot whenever he saw me. He took my number so he could call me when I was home and tell me what he was going through.

He called me “Madam Nurse,” even after I’d given him my name. He spent a week in the hospital. When he was discharged, he thanked me profusely and said he would come to the hospital again because of me. But he didn’t need to come back because, a week after he was discharged, we met outside the hospital.

At that point, it was obvious to him that I wanted more than just friendship, and he had also grown to like me. It showed in our conversations. The day we met, I was still in my uniform. He said he could drive me home so I could change before we went out.

At home, while he sat comfortably waiting for me, all I could think about was what I’d seen. I was secretly hoping he would come inside and make a move. He didn’t. He was a gentleman. He waited until I was ready, took me out, and brought me home safely.

He proposed when he got home, and I gleefully accepted.

I like him as a man. He’s calm and gentle. He speaks to me with respect and is obviously in love with me. But the reason I pushed myself toward him until we got this far makes me feel guilty and also unsure about our relationship. I loved him and I still do but it all started because of the size of what he was carrying. What if we finally become intimate and the love I have for him fades?

He’s very understanding too. When I told him I didn’t want to rush things, he understood me. Yesterday we kissed in his room. I saw what had once been lifeless come alive, and I couldn’t hold myself together. I had to disengage and run away. Meanwhile, all I want is to experience that.

My problem is the feeling afterwards, the clarity that comes after the walk in bed.

Who Would You Choose, A Rich Man Or A Man Who’s Good In Bed?

I wish I had loved him before I saw what I saw. Now I don’t know whether to proceed or not. I don’t want to hurt him. And I don’t want him to hurt me too, literally speaking. What if it’s just infatuation that’s meant to fade like a passing breath?

I’m even embarrassed, but it is what it is. I fell for what he had dangling outside more than what he had within.

Is that a bad thing?

—Gifty 

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