I just read this thread because I thought it was going to be about
Senor Rubirosa, our own favorite poster.
You know, I chose the name
Senor Rubirosa in about two seconds, figuring any name would do ... especially since I was only going to use the board for about two weeks, and then would take my freedom back.
Sigh.
The rest, as they say, is hysteria.
Porfirio was pretty fascinating. As a Rubi scholar (it takes 74 minutes to get credentialed), I've come across a statement that he was 27 cm long, which jibes well with suggestions above of 11 inches.
Was it Doris Duke? Anyway, one of his paramours said he was so big, even flaccid, that he always
appeared to be engorged.
Truman Capote said his flaccid dick resembled a baby's forearm. One's first reaction is to wonder if this is another example of Capote's pathological need to improve on the poverty of God's own imagination; it's not unlikely he never
saw the storied love instrument. The second is to wonder whether he had in mind an especially Brobdingnagian forearm. I mean, as I told naughty once, I hear that comparison and just say, 'Harrumph.'
One thing I liked about Porfirio. He was, by all accounts, an utter gentleman. He never talked of his conquests. Though sure of his charms, in every way, he had no obvious egotism. As a social creature, he was fun to be around, for men no less than women.
As a kind of Dominican Caesar, 'He came, they saw, he conquered."
And like James Dean, he had the grace to die sorta young. He was only 56 when his car crashed in Paris' Bois du Boulogne, leaving his beauty and his legend preserved nicely in aspic.
The fate of his stick shift has never been disclosed. But I like to think that, wherever he is, he's grinding the gears daily.