I have never understood whence the stigma of "size" -- or the lack of it -- originated.
Possibly it is another result of the dreadful anathema that is 'western advertising?'
I say this partly because of an huge poster advert on the motorway billboard as one exits the M 13 at the Assagay turnoff, if one is proceeding towards "Lovers' Dam" at Shongweni, possibly for a spot of fishing, or some other innocent recreation with a young lady that one had met at the pub that afternoon.
The poster has obviously been sponsored by the franchise which attempts to sell a brand of boxer shorts by the name of "Big Boy."
Personally, I consider the advert to be in poor taste.
It depicts an athletic and well-tanned young gentleman wearing nothing more than the skimpy underwear of the sponsoring company.
Now, I am certainly not a prude but -- without intending to be indelicate -- I can find no earthly reason why anyone should have thought it necessary to stick something that looks very much like a 1963 VW Beetle bonnet (hood ?) down the front of the poor fellow's shorts.
And besides being inherently dishonest, this sort of advertising is clearly dangerous.
There have been nine accidents upon that turn-off in the last four months alone: the vast majority of the drivers having been ladies.
I hope that I shall not be considered "sexist" when I say that I do not feel similarly offended by the bikini poster at the Dumbotswena exit, off the same motorway ?
That lady is truly lovely, and although skimpily attired in a similar manner to the aforementioned gentleman (and certainly better put together) she is -- after all -- advertising swimwear, and the poster is tastefully presented upon a silver sanded beach, with palm trees, and a glorious sunrise casting rippling shadows over her tits.
And the lady's picture is not nearly as dangerous.
This simple fact will illustrate the difference:
In the same four months, there have been only five major accidents (and one divorce) resulting from the poster of the beach lady at the Dumbotswena exit off the M 13 motorway. (All the drivers concerned were gentlemen, although I believe there was a lady involved in the divorce.)
Anyway, I have permitted myself to be diverted from the topic, so let me return.
Surely this "size" thing is mostly in the mind ? (Shut up, Lydia.)
The "Ooohs" and "Aaahs" so dishonestly portrayed in films -- when the leading ladies and gentlemen are 'getting busy' in one location or another, are so obviously 'fake' and can -- in any case -- not in any way be related to "size". (Tom Cruise comes to mind.)
There was a film (the name of which temporarily escapes me) in which the leading lady faked orgasm in a restaurant, and there was never any suggestion regarding the physical attributes of her male partner -- who was, anyway, sitting on the other side of the table. (I think the funniest line I have ever heard in any film, was when the slightly shocked waiter asked a lady at the next table what she would like to order, and the lady replied, "I'll have what she had !")
But do you see what I mean about this "size" nonsense ?
May I now return to the fellow in the "Big Boy" boxer shorts, at the exit from the M 13 at Assagay ?
We more moderately endowed gentlemen may content ourselves in the certain fact that we possess advantages that "big Boy" cannot even begin to contemplate.
And what has brought this to mind at this particular time, is that I was stuck in horrendous traffic on the M 13 the other evening. We had been crawling along for half an hour or more behind some unseen accident (-- possibly beneath the "Big Boy" poster again ?)
Nature was calling, (nay -- stridently demanding!) and the relief was truly enormous when I discovered that the working part of my travelling ablution tackle fitted almost perfectly into the neck of the quart bottle of beer that I had just finished.
And that was when I finally knew that I need no longer envy "Big Boy."
The Mercedes is currently being panel-beaten.
I was the fifth major accident at the Dumbotswena exit off the M 13 motorway, but the lovely lady on the swimsuit poster advertisement cannot be blamed for that.
After all, how could she possibly have been expected to know that -- after I had glanced up once more at her wonderful photographic representation -- the old fella would not come out of the bottle as easily as he went in ?