I used to say 'size doesn't matter'... until one man proved me wrong last week. This is the taboo truth women will never admit to their husbands: JANA HOCKING

Dear readers, I have some exciting news.

Last weekend, I did my first walk of shame - or, as I prefer to call it, a 'stride of pride' - in what feels like years. And it was knicker-less! 

There's nothing like a cool breeze to help cool you down after a debaucherous night. And morning.

Yes, I had finally broken a rather lengthy dry spell, and it felt glorious - despite the inevitable looks from those irritatingly energetic early morning joggers and parents ferrying their children to weekend sport.

Thankfully, I lived just a block away, so my messy hair and crumpled dress were only on show for a few minutes at most.

To be honest, I didn't care what they thought - because this man had completely upended a theory I'd held for years. I spent the entire morning trying to process it.

If you've followed my column for a while, you'll know I've always held firm views on penis size.

I've often said it's not about length or girth, but the motion in the ocean that counts.

Well, it would appear I was wrong.

Oh, so very wrong.

Because this man had the most exquisite package - and I finally understood why this debate stubbornly persists, no matter how hard we try to sound evolved.

The length. The girth. It was spectacular.

I'd always thought penises were rather unfortunate-looking things, but when he sent me a reminder the next morning - bathed in soft light - I'm ashamed to admit I reverted to a hopelessly horny teenager all over again.

The whole thing has left me puzzled.

I've had some lovely times with perfectly average-sized ones. In fact, one of the men who broke my heart was working with considerably less than what society would have us believe is ideal.

Which raises a fair question.

If size doesn't matter, why am I still thinking about this one days later?

Don't get me wrong. It's not simply a matter of dimensions. The guy was lovely. His package came with emotional intelligence, good looks and plenty of charm.

But I've never been left so thoroughly haunted by a man I barely knew.

Now, before I go into details about my encounter with Mr Perfect Penis, let's talk about another canon event many women will be familiar with: the 'oh my god, it's so small' story

Mine happened at university and involved a guy I'd been lusting after for an entire semester.

He was a rugby player built like a brick you-know-what house. The sort of bloke who made doorways look narrow. So when one of my friends subtly (and by subtly, I mean not subtly at all) shoved me into him on the dance floor, I was delighted when he took the collision as an invitation to hook up.

This, for younger readers, was how we flirted before sliding into DMs became a thing.

We raced back to my dorm room, pausing only long enough for me to fire off a panicked text to my roommate saying, 'Don't come in.'

Off came the clothes. Then came the reality check.

When I reached down for a preliminary inspection, I found myself wondering whether there had been some sort of administrative error. Surely this could not be what I was working with?

It was so unexpectedly tiny that my brain simply refused to compute it. It was almost... inappropriate.

So I did what any mature and emotionally evolved young woman would do: I announced that I'd just remembered I had my period, threw my clothes back on and made a swift retreat to the university bar.

(Before anyone feels too sorry for Mr Rugby Player, let me assure you that life worked out beautifully for him. He went on to marry an absolute stunner and they now have three children. He's doing just fine.)

But just as genuinely small ones seem to be relatively rare, so too are the truly exceptional ones.

Of course, I've seen some larger-than-average specimens before. One ex was so well-endowed that the whole experience was more uncomfortable than enjoyable. The warm-up alone felt like a part-time job.

But a truly perfectly proportioned one - we're talking length and girth working together in divine harmony - is a different matter entirely.

And he knew it. Having a godlike willy seemed almost integral to his personality. He was dropping hints from the moment we met.

I just assumed he was attempting to give off 'big d**k energy', like so many men do. 

But no. The man was not overselling the product.

So I hang my head in shame when I say this, but I may have been wrong all those times I reassured men 'size doesn't matter'.

Or at the very least, I was not entirely right.

Why did I say that for so many years? I wonder if perhaps, as women, we've become so determined to appear evolved that we're no longer honest about our preferences.

Men have their physical preferences - they're not quiet about them. So do we. And yet the moment penis size comes up, everyone scrambles to insist it doesn't matter.

And I still think that's kind of true... mostly.

I've had incredible chemistry with men who were entirely average, and I've had disappointing experiences with men who were well above average.

But every now and then something comes along that forces you to question a mantra you've been confidently repeating for years.

Because after one unforgettable evening - followed by an inappropriate amount of thinking about it the next morning - I've found myself wondering whether I've been oversimplifying the conversation.

'Have I been wrong the whole time?' I asked myself as I walked home last Sunday morning, dress crushed, hair wild, knickers missing... and years of confidently held opinions scattered somewhere behind me.

And good lord, what an inconvenient time to start questioning them.