Our contributor Liz Nadybal, a recent Rutgers graduate who blogs at Hub City Brotel, has a confession to make:

Here’s the dilemma: You amass a large number of condoms (thanks to your dear mom plying you with multi-packs every time she sees you), lube and penis whistles. You were supposed to hand them out on Valentine’s Day to your dearest friends, but it’s now nearly Christmas.

This was the situation my friend Zada found herself in back in 2007, and so when we gathered for our annual Secret Santa party, we decided to incorporate the condoms, lube and penis whistles — oh my!

The nine of us girls — from juniors in college to recent graduates — gathered in the dick-adorned apartment, though the atmosphere was far from sexy. Penises bring out an almost silly side in women in the company of other women. Especially when you throw sangria into the mix. There were no sex-themed gifts — this was the beta event, after all, so the gifts were more like “Pretty Pretty Princess” the board game. But as the sangria circulated the room, we ended up posing for photos with the penis whistles. And when Zada posted the photos on Facebook, an annual tradition was born. We decided to call it “Dickmas.”

This year, for Dickmas 2.0, we had dick-shaped food and more dick-shaped decorations. A few Dickmas newbies contributed some beautiful crayon artwork — phallic menorahs and dickmas trees. We purchased rubber penises and dick-shaped straws from the local sex shop.  (Cliche, we know — but you try finding some original dick decorations at your local sex shop!) We dug into two dick-shaped cakes, including a Rice Krispies phallus. And one lucky attendee received an X-rated board game as her Secret Santa gift.

Maybe we’re not the first to coin the term, but a search on Facebook shows that just one other person held a Dickmas party out in Kansas last year. Maybe word from our Dickmas spread to Kansas? I’m hoping it catches on.

Sure, when a gang of girls gather for Dickmas, the phallic shape is pretty comedic. But our party is more than just a gag. Most of us consider ourselves feminists, and this party is a way for us to show each other that the penis isn’t something to be feared or hated: We’ve all become pretty lax around rubber dicks, but occasionally, someone will still yelp when one is thrown in her face.

Which is not to say, of course, that we want to learn how to laugh at real penises in bed — that’d just be mean. But learning to laugh at the rubber kind is a great first step to finding the real thing a little friendlier. At least, that’s our excuse.

In the meantime, I can’t wait for Dickmas 3.0. Maybe this year, we’ll even get Santa to strip for us!