Insecurities, they are the epitome of evil even when they are a subconscious feeling. We have these connotations around us that everything should be a certain something or other and it’s fucking insane. Women should be a size 2, men should be taller than 5’5″ and paychecks should be larger that 4 figures. I’ve spent plenty of time riding the rod and engaging in numerous activities that include both real and fake forms of the male anatomy. I’m used to a new guy who I have not devoured to me how impressed I’ll be of their amazing junk. In which, once all clothes are on the floor, I’m laying there either impressed or disappointed by how much of a liar they are.
I wonder if it’s an ego boost, narcissism or a form of flirting that they feel the need to talk about their family jewels, but in the end, I’m the one who needs to be satisfied with the application (according to the manual). So when I met Mr. Smalls, I was taken aback by how honest and real he was of his insecurity. His pleasure wand was not up to standards according to the stereotypes of locker room chatter, since obviously a room full of sweaty men in the buff knows exactly what women want. I’ve read about the concept of micro’s and questioned if I would ever come across one on my conquest for self-discovery. And by his obsession of other male penises, I wondered if I had found the dark unicorn in the room; the one where you don’t know if you need to impress, boost or conquer it, but your curiosity catches the best of you.
I will say my insecurities played a role in me sticking around for this battle, my therapist says is was a form of self-fulfilling indulgence (or in laymen terms, I was torturing the hell out of myself). I spent more than six months from working my way into his fantasies to finally working my way into his pants. The shame was written on his drunken face, he felt inadequate and I felt fully impressed. What he hid, what he was afraid of, the stereotypes, were all completely wrong. It was impressively different, but not micro. Equally, it was impressive that I took six months to fight an uphill battle that I knew in my heart I wouldn’t win, it was impressive that being sober I let a drunk man dictate what I was to do, it was impressive that despite his insecurities he was wrong; we were both wrong.
One wank, a stain on the back seat & a devastating goodbye I knew no matter how long I held up my rouse the fall was still going to be extremely painful. I learned a few things about myself, to my therapist surprise, and I realized that body insecurity isn’t just a female thing. Would he be pleasurable? Impressively so. Would he be worth the wait to find out? Most likely. But was myself torture worth the agony? Never once. Moral of the story he came in small, he left large and I left stronger.