Well, longer anyway. I know a guy who has a bulge down by his knee. Maybe not that long. Maybe thicker too, come to think of it. I dread the day when a woman comments on my size. Not that I’m all that small.
Sometimes I’m surprised at — proud of even — what my cock looks like. Sometimes it gets good and hard and I feel like I could rule the world with it. I outlast women who have a difficult time climaxing, and when I come they are frightened, but smile. Sometimes it doesn’t go down for quite a while, and the love of my life continues to stroke it and squeeze it until I get bored. And it still doesn’t go down. Sometimes she might take it in her mouth to clean us away. I might pop it out and give her cheek a few playful whacks, the love of my life. And it’s still good and hard. At times like these when my cock does finally go down, it doesn’t shrink completely. I can feel the skin relaxing though, as she fondles it absentmindedly. I look at her and her eyes are closed. She’s so contented, running her fingers along the underside, tracing the bullet-shaped symmetry of its head, and slowly squeezing my balls.
But someday someone might snicker or comment. I dread even more the thought that a woman might want to comment, and hold back. I imagine searching her eyes, feverishly, looking for the telltale signs of mocking and disappointment. I’d feel uncertain. Maybe not hearing the comment I imagine she undoubtedly suppresses would be worse than hearing it, or even hearing some preliminary comments, and a ‘never mind.’
Women are different sizes and shapes too, right? I’m starting to think that most women, when confronted at close range with what makes a pair of pants lumpy near the knee, would have an immediate response, and most likely it wouldn’t be such a positive one, no matter what types of images do what to whom. So maybe the chance for a slow disappointment is a better deal than the near-certainty of immediate shock. But still, I wish my cock was bigger, or longer at least. Maybe thicker too.
Marla loved to suck dick. I met her in a little theater on Melrose, one balmy summer evening. The play was excellent, but don’t ask me the title now. Marla, Marla. She was standing outside the theater during intermission, smoking a thin 100. Nearly as tall as me, but lanky, with shoulder length jet hair and wide eyes, she drew me to her just by standing there alone. And I began thinking about the size of my dick right away. I started worrying even before I began my little bit of posturing and preliminary conversation.
I have a habit, a tactic which seems to work pretty well for breaking the ice with women, especially women whose skin I wish to explore as soon as I can. I introduce myself by making the most inane small talk I can imagine. In the midst of this ridiculous banter I’ll say something which provides a little clue that I am not completely brainless. It’s almost like I’m talking nonsense, and if she is really interested in me, I mean in a chemical, physical way, my words won’t matter. And when I see the response I’ll know – bingo. And further, of course, if she responds to my planted witticism, or stunning observation, I’ll know that she isn’t only hot to trot, but also has some appreciation of intellect. If she responds in the least to all of this, I’ll start getting an erection within a minute or so. But she won’t notice because of my size, I guess. Man, sometimes I so wish my cock was bigger.
Marla noticed. She looked down. She blew some smoke in my face, and I was surrounded, cornered, captured. Neither one of us needed to say anything of it. The second act was about to start and we returned together. After the play we took the short walk to her apartment, and fucked.
As she orgasmed the second time I wondered what she would tell her friends. Then I thought about whether she spoke to friends about things like this, about picking up strangers with little dicks. I was so hard I kept pumping away, pressing into her as forcefully as I could on the instroke while she bucked and screamed out loud. I didn’t feel as if I was ready to come, any time soon. Her cunt was so open and wet and loose that I really wasn’t getting the friction I wanted for a good shoot. Sometimes with the love of my life I might angle myself just right, sort of poking her from off to one side, and I’d shoot pretty darn fast. I think that’s where love or affection or something helps. At least knowing someone inside out helps. Yep. It sure does.
But with Marla, okay, I did get a good jolt from being on top of her, dick inside her, pumping on auto, and having her burst at the seams from her come. But my little dick was floundering around, bumping up against her walls, and dripping slimy juices I could see when I pulled it halfway out of her. I could feel her contractions inside, seconds before she opened her eyes and raised her gaze to meet mine. Nearly every time she squeezed me there was eye contact. But I couldn’t respond as deeply as I thought she wanted me to because my little member wasn’t as deep in her as it should have been for maximum enjoyment. And now that I think about it – fantasize about it – it sure would have been much more exciting if my cock were thicker too.
And I did think — fantasize — about this while she had her third orgasm, which was slightly more explosive than the previous ones, in that her screams were louder and her fingernails which so far had never stopped scraping at my back finally drew blood.
It must have been that the mattress was not positioned right on its frame, and this caused one corner of it to drop to the floor, sending us rolling. We hit the floor with a thud, still in a pumping fuck embrace, my small cock still jammed into her while her bloody fingernails continued to scrape, and my frantic tongue stifled her screams.
Marla looked exhausted when we heard the knock on the door. Buck naked I rose, and positioned myself behind it as I opened it a sliver. She knew the questioning voice – a neighbor’s, an older man who lived with his wife in the next apartment.
His name was Harold, she told me later. So what, I said. Fuck you, she answered, half-kidding. No, fuck you, I replied, my thumb of a cock still hard and erect, and now burrowing between the cheeks of her ass. She panicked for a moment, until I bit her shoulder in a playful gentle manner, and began to rub my cock between her cheeks. I reached under her to cup her tits and started to squeeze her hard points with thumbs and index fingers. When she realized I wasn’t going to penetrate her ass, but only wanted to slide between her fleshy cheeks, and rock upon her long slender body, she began to press into me. This was more like it! I could feel surges welling within me. I stopped the nipple play a moment and grabbed her hands. I placed them against her ass, and encouraged her by my motions to apply pressure inwards, to hold her cheeks tightly against my erection. The give and take of the flesh sent me soaring. She molded her ass to my cock, and writhed underneath me. I came within minutes, after giving her three orgasms while pumping senselessly like an automaton, aroused to absolute hardness for at least an hour, but then unable to climax. Now, hot thick white gooey spurts released themselves, hidden until they oozed and dripped from her ass crack. Yes, she whispered, yes, yes over and over as I roared with both voice and jizz. That’s all she said: yes, over and over, like a ‘there, there.’
But before all this, before her neighbor left, Marla apologized to Harold for the noise, as I stood behind the door. The two of them must have been good enough friends for Harold to feel comfortable pressing against the slightly opened door, and poking his head inside. He looked at me as I tried to hide, naked and erect, pressing back on the door he was trying to open. And of course he looked down at my tiny dick, which had given Marla three orgasms already – I say ‘already’, for the night was still young – and a smirk took over his features for a moment before he had the common sense and decency to mutter an apology and be on his way.
It’s a curse, this small dick, a curse, a humiliation and a bother. If it were thicker I could feel Marla’s walls contract around me. If it were longer I could go so deep in her, because I know she is deep. My tongue knows just how deep she is, because of how fervently and obsessively I buried my face in her bush, and jabbed through her lips, over and over again that evening. And if my dick were both longer and thicker, I’m sure I wouldn’t have to keep pumping her like an automaton for over an hour before I was blessed with my own release, and I wouldn’t have to fuck her ass crack so I could shoot, even though I did like doing that.
I think the reason I liked doing Marla that way had something to do with what I experienced with Jamie. She was always asking me to place my cock in weird spots: behind her knee when her leg was folded, or under her armpit, or between her toes (which was difficult even for me with my teenie weenie), and sometimes between the cheeks of her ass, just like Marla. Of course Jamie and I knew each other for a long time before we got into things like this, and we had many arousing discussions before we ever touched each other. I knew her a long time before I mentioned the size of my member. Jamie’s whole take on the issue was that it wasn’t an issue. She had imagined, numerous times before, having her body ‘fucked’ in many non-traditional places, and the size of my cock was a non-issue in these matters.
So, the same day I mentioned my lack of length and thickness was the same day she stripped for me so that I could see her plump little body in all its glory. To me it was glorious, and her mind, with its filthy thoughts and weird ideas about little cock placement was even more glorious. I even got to fuck her sideways, inside the major fold of her belly. And she came like Marla, the screaming, the shaking – everything like Marla. I take that back. Jamie came while I was rubbing myself on various parts of her body. I was never inside her when she came, and it was a good thing. My cock would have been lost within her cavernous pussy. I knew her pussy just like I knew Marla’s — tongue-tried. The thing about Jamie was that she could come without anything inside her — no cock, no fingers, no tongue, no toys: absolutely nothing inside her and she could come screaming. I was in love with at least this part of her, and in a certain amount of awe also. While we pressed against each other, contorted sometimes beyond reason, we came by intention, and rubbing, and the knowledge of strange and filthy thoughts passed silently between us.
But back to Marla. I did mention that she loved to suck dick. There’s a good and a bad there too, for someone like me who wishes his dick were bigger.
For three or four months I kept coming around to see Marla, because she had such a level- headed attitude toward the size of my dick (that is, she regarded it as a given, one color that would always exist on the wheel, maybe not her favorite color, but there were none she detested), and she seemed to enjoy it when I fucked the flawless cheeks of her ass. Maybe I came around most of all for the blowjobs.
This thing about enjoyment. It’s an easy word and idea for me to slide into, just like Marla’s pussy was, or Jamie’s warm sweaty curly-furred megapussy. More like Jamie’s pussy, the idea of enjoyment, yeah. There was always room for more. Like anything I’ve enjoyed in my life, where I’ve felt the boundaries — tiny and transparent — of my experience dissolve into vast possible joys for a few moments, I’ve enjoyed imagining my cock large enough to fill and stretch Jamie completely, to the point I’d lose control and come in a matter of minutes, and not care. I’d say there might be more joy from imagining, than from knowing what’s possible with a small dick.
Blowjobs, blowjobs. I never used the word, talking to either Marla or Jamie. The word sets me off, but as far as my relationships with these two women — my fucking and sucking — I never felt right using it. Though fucking pig slut animals we might have been to each other, and enjoyed it, a certain sense of reverence borne on abandon in matters oral deemed the word inappropriate. Our mouths were full of each other most of the time anyway, and when they weren’t we’d rather hear each other gasp and moan than talk some trash about ‘blowjobs’ or ‘eat out my pulsating, juicy pussy’. Well, maybe I could go for that second comment as well as the moans. Maybe gasping wins over all, though.
Marla’s level-headed attitude, and her soul’s skill at lusty reverence for my body caused me to ache for her, and this blinded me to my own world. My longing for her unpredictable comforts brushed white what was happening around me.
The good and the bad about having your dick sucked when it’s a small dick? Here’s the thing. With Marla, there was no bad. There were only limitless twists and turns of her mind finding their way to her fingers and tongue – to cause her skin to be responsive, and make her heat hang in the air around us, and dance.
From the unlimited Marla there were times of steady sucking (always deep, nearly down her waiting throat, my little cock), with her on her knees, let’s say, and this satisfying rhythm might be broken by her excitement, causing her to open her mouth wide, with my hard little dick still pressing against the roof of her mouth, while she licked my balls, and tongued the underside of my cock with near-primal feminine aggression.
From the unlimited Marla there were hours of give and take, faces almost reflecting each other in their sheen and sticky juices. The power would pass, yet never be relinquished completely, as any other detail in our lives will probably never be final, except perhaps for the size of certain bits of us. She might be atop me, ass in my face as she sucked on my slowly pumping cock, and I might grab her ass suddenly, and flatten my tongue against and into her pussy. I could feel her let go when I did something like this. She’d let me do it to her. She’d relax; she’d anticipate. Her inaction was a communication to me as I slipped my tongue in and out, as was the hardening of her tiny clit. Her body’s sway, beginning soon after this pause, was an even better communique and, when her lips closed tightly around my dick and ceased moving, while her legs shook and her ass massaged me and her fluids rolled down my tongue — well, the power had passed, as well as it ever would. And when I felt her hands weigh down my thighs while I relaxed on my back, and as they gripped my flesh while her tongue teased the tip of me — I knew it was passing back, and I relaxed, and I anticipated. I let it go to Marla, and it seemed like she never tired of any prolonged teasing, which she knew I enjoyed, and never tired of bringing me off this way, which was fine for me.
From the unlimited Marla there were days of ‘fuck it all,’ days when work was negated by a quick phone call, friends were turned away, and we fucked and sucked, and that’s all we did. These times were the most intense for me and Marla, declarations we only existed for each other, and the each other we existed for had nothing to do with who we were outside her apartment. The ‘fuck it all’ days found us and twisted us. I fucked Marla in the ass while she leaned over, and partially out of, her window facing the street, while she tried to stifle her vulgarities and gasps. This was her idea. The ‘fuck it all’ days twisted me and her to fuck in the tub, over and over some days, alternating who was on bottom, who was on top. We’d dunk the bottom’s face right at climax, briefly, and watch the bubbles, and feel the extra shake and sway of the orgasm’s hold through wet skin. This was more or less my idea. No — I take that back. It was actually Marla’s idea, with me submerging her when she came. I only asked her to try it on me, after she had already come up with the scenario. It was a bit awkward for me, because she had to sort of hover over me so that I could fuck her ass cheeks to come in a reasonable amount of time, and then she had to reach back to my head (I had asked her to hover with her back to me, and she loved to do things I asked her to do) and press my whole body down and forward and into the water as I came. She accomplished this very well, the unlimited Marla, in the ‘fuck it all’ days.
It’s easy to stray when I talk about Marla, or even Jamie. I sort of went from blowjobs to being submerged by a person you trust when you’re shooting your load at their ass. But why am I talking about this? The real point here is my small dick, and how much someone like Marla made me feel comfortable about it as I fucked her to orgasm over and over, and how patient she was — aroused, I’d think — to get me off in any manner I wished. And Jamie, with her soft body’s folds, and her wild ‘now fuck me here, under my tits, sideways’ type of desire: wasn’t I so fucking lucky to know her a while?
As brief as our lives are, a few months could mean nothing for some. But every hour spent with my little dick inside and searching, longing to fill, imagining growing and stretching out to all possibilities; and every hour with my head held between trembling thighs as I responded to gasped instruction: these opened into more than a lifetime of enjoyment, and its memory. I’m old enough to understand that all things pass, and change (except maybe the size of a dick), and perhaps someday even what I enjoy now with the love of my life might end.
With her, I say ‘blowjob’ because she wants to hear the word from me before she goes down. With her my whole being seems to pass, along with the power, and what others would consider a frightening emptiness is a special place I’ve been invited to visit by someone who’s crazy about me. With her I do come, once in a while, with my silly nubby dick pressed against the grace and beauty of her button, as I pump into her straight, and left and right, as deep as I can.
I spend much time stimulating her breasts and nipples. I look up, into her eyes as she watches me enjoy her. I see in those eyes her own enjoyment, and her opening up to more than a lifetime of that enjoyment, in the moments we pass together.
I’m not sure if all of this is healthy for me. I’m thinking about little affairs here and there to stop me from worrying about the size of my dick, especially when the love of my life doesn’t care. I’m also thinking about how well-suited you could say the two of us are for each other. The love of my life had always been blocked from her proper release by her concerns about the smallness of her tits and her huge, sloppy pussy. She had received many demeaning comments in her past, from both men and women. Some of these were unintentionally hurtful, and these hurt the most, and I can understand that.
For me, her breasts and her big cunt are non-issues. I love to fuck her and eat her and have her tongue and lips all over my body. My love for her has destroyed her insecurities. I fuck her with my little dick in the ways I’ve learned will have her pop off, over and over. And sometimes I can even come by simply fucking her a while, and that’s so special. And she loves to be asked for a blowjob, and can’t believe how much of myself goes into licking and sucking and pinching and biting her little tits and nipples. I can’t believe how much of myself comes out of me when I do this either. What is this? Love, or codependency, or the kind of truth that is dangerous because it involves bodies only, and leaves the rest of a person to make sense of life’s remainder? We do this so poorly to begin with, even without the blindness the anarchy of our bodies might bring.
So, I’ve told her about Marla, and Jamie, and a few of the others who have put me at ease about the size of my dick, just as I’ve told you, more or less. And I’ve often told the love of my life that I want to share our love with the rest of the world, but that’s a little dramatic she says, and strokes my hardening member. I don’t want to get into too many details here about the love of my life. It would be unfair to her. You’d probably think her tits were just right anyway, unless you are someone whose enjoyment is augmented by exaggeration.
She has her memories too, and she’s shared some steamy ones with me, as I have told her about fucking sideways and dancing tongues. It’s more than okay. I still wish my dick was bigger – I’m only human, and some insecurities can remain powerful, even if they should be negated by memories of her body tightening and trembling while my tongue enjoys its discoveries within. It’s more than okay.
The love of my life will never be able to gag on me, like she has told me she imagined doing to her ‘perfect’ man. Damn it, I’m just not long enough, or thick enough. We’re only human, and it’s okay. I’m the perfect size, she says, for fucking her ass, and she likes that same as she likes gagging. Maybe more, because gagging on a monster dick is just an imagining still for her, and my little cock in love with her ass happens quite often. We have a ‘fuck it all’ life, almost. A few insecurities remain, some great memories. And the possibilities, pushing in on my tiny and transparent boundaries, are limitless right now.
© 2001 John E. This is my story. I wrote it today. All blame (and rights) reserved.