How My Relationship Proves Falling Dick-Over-Heels Can Still Lead To True Love


M. and I had something between a flirtation and friendship for nearly three years before we started dating. We'd met on Tinder, during the early days before the app got creepy and became less about starting real relationships and more about getting dick.

We would go out every six months or so. Neither one of us were that interested in each other, let alone interested in commitment. We liked each other enough to stay in contact, but not enough to put in much effort. We'd go on a date, lose touch and then reconnect.

It became somewhat of a personal joke. He'd text me twice a year and say something along the lines of, "Hey! It's been six months so we should get drinks and then not speak for another six months."

I never took him seriously. We never even had sex -- just a few drunken, though great, kisses after our sporadic meet-ups.

Then everything changed one night in September 2014.

I was throwing a party at my duplex apartment on the Upper West Side. It was my favorite thing to do on a weekend. It meant having all my friends over and eliminated any chance of both having to spend money and finding a place to sleep.

M. messaged me on Facebook asking if he could come. It was a little weird. He'd never been to a party at my apartment before, and he didn't know any of my friends. Regardless of how random the request was, I told him he could come.

He showed up to the party, and my jaw literally hit the floor. He had started sporting a full beard. He was looking fine as hell. I knew we were going to hook up.

He was as determined to do it as I was. He stuck it out to the bitter end. There was a bit of a standoff between M. and this other guy I used to casually hook up with. We were the last three people.

Eventually, the other dude took the hint and left. By "hint," I mean that I said, "You need to go home now." Hell, mama needed some hot bearded man D.

M. is a pretty small dude. He's about 5'9" and has a narrow build. So nothing could have prepared me for the absolute perfection that was this guy's penis. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on. I swear to God it should be used as a model for dildos, it's that good.

And the sex was fantastic.

I was completely dicknotized. I was hooked on that D like crack cocaine. Had it not been for my instant dick addiction, I don't know if I'd have seen M. again for another six months.

We started hooking up regularly. No more six-month lag time for me now that I needed what was happening down below.

It's a little awkward to talk about now, but I was really in it for the sex. It was the best f*cking sex I'd ever had. Not only was he blessed with a godly phallus, but homeboy knew how to use it.

I was dick-over-heels in love with his cock.

Little did I know that M. and I were not on the same page. One day while we were spooning and bathing in that post-coital glow, M. suddenly got very serious.

"I want to be clear about my intentions. I really want to date you … like, seriously date you," he said.

I am not even f*cking with you when I say I actually mouthed, "What the f*ck." It's a good thing he couldn't see my face.

There was no way I was settling down right now. Sure, I was into all the sex, and I was even starting to like M., but this was extremely unexpected.

"Let's talk about this later," I said, hoping that would be the end of it. It wasn't.

To give M. credit, he's also a really nice, caring guy. We had a lot of fun together. I just wasn't into the idea of having a boyfriend. I was f*cking great at being single. I loved being single.

I managed to put off the whole "commitment" conversation for another month. I couldn't stop getting the dick. I was obsessed with it. I even let M. start taking me on dates. I guess I liked all the perks of having a boyfriend without actually having to make a decision on the whole thing.

My perfect little set up quickly came crashing down when he gave me an ultimatum: "Listen, I'm really trying to have something serious with you, and if you're not looking for the same thing, I just can't do this anymore."

Sh*t. There it was, out in the open. Either commit or lose the dick I'd fallen in love with.

I negotiated and managed to get a little more time. I told M. to give me until after the Christmas holidays to figure out what I wanted.

As the days spent home for the holidays passed, I realized something: I missed M. Not just his dick, but I missed him. A lot.

At first I wondered if it was the sex that I missed, but it wasn't just that. I missed his laugh, the sound of his voice and the scent of his skin. I missed all of our inside jokes and the way he rubbed my chest to make me feel safe before falling asleep. I missed him, not his penis. I guess I didn't know what I had until I didn't have anymore.

It was an epiphany. After four months of f*cking around, and the reality set in that I could lose him, I knew that I couldn't bare it. I could not imagine my life without him. I was not just dick-obsessed; I was f*cking falling for the guy. I HAD fallen for the guy.

And what's more, as much as I hated being given an ultimatum, it was a bold move and I respected him for it. He wanted what he wanted, and he wasn't willing to settle for my f*ckgirl antics.

I put a proverbial ring on it as soon as I returned to New York.

The funny thing is, I may have fallen dick-over-heels instead of head-over-heels, but I'm 100 percent in love with M. We've been together for over a year now. We're planning to move in together in September. I can see myself spending the rest of my life with him. He's my best friend, and I've never been happier.

So, you see ladies, my relationship proves that falling dick-over-heels can actually lead to real love, no matter how farfetched it may seem.

Weirdly enough, there are guys with phenomenal penises who are actually good men, too. M. was a rare find, but they are out there, girls. You don't have to settle.