The Uncloseting Of A Sizequeen

    Are most women size queens?  Recently I polled an informal group of lady friends to ask a very big question; when it comes to choosing a man, how much does penis size really matter?  The results may surprise you.  Not one of the women I spoke to admitted they'd dismiss a man for being too small, but several claimed there was definitely such a thing as not small enough.  Several pantomimed frightened faces after the big reveal was bigger than expected.  "Where do you think you're putting that?!" cried one distressed damsel faced with more than she could chew.  These women were all keen to emphasis the importance of a sizable heart, hefty sense of humor, or even packed pocket book over any profuse part of a man's anatomy.  While my ladies sported big dreams of finding love, it would seem that something burly in the jeans didn't measure high on their list of priorities.
    Perhaps nobody else will speak up, but I'm gonna be honest here.  I've met a man (or two) whose chimney cleaner was insufficient in tackling my dirt.  When one man I dated in college finally unleashed a pinky sized appendage after months of hot and heavy (albeit abstinent) dating, I'll admit, I had obligatory sex with him to save both of us the embarrassment of aborting mid-mission, but never answered his calls again.  Brutal I know, but true.  It was not by luck, but rather design that all the men I'd long term dated had been amply blessed -- or could certainly meet a comfortable norm in the nob department.  If a man wasn't filling my sandwich with a big salami; there wasn't going to be a picnic.  Thus for me, when it came to relationships, the problem of size had never really come up so to speak.  That is; until I met Miguel.  
    It was a night in late Spring when I'd finally tired of being holed up, crying over my X.  When some friends invited me to meet in the Mission for a hilarious show, I surprised all by saying yes.  I needed to go out, laugh, and get back on the horse.  Since I don't actually have a horse, I took the next best, and jumped on my bike.  While locking up in front of a restaurant across the street from the venue, I noticed a waiter watching me through the window.  My mojo was so rusty, I probably appeared confused when he first smiled at me.  I nearly tripped on a crack in the sidewalk trying to suss out if it was actually me he was looking at.  I barely managed to return an embarrassed grin in his direction before quickly rushing across the street towards my waving friends.
    Hours later, heading back to my ride with several cups of liquid courage now coursing through my veins, I  had a touch more swagger when Miguel came out to introduce himself.  "I kept an eye on your bike for you" he said.  Completely charmed by this act of urban chivalry, I smiled warmly and I gave him my name.  "I was just closing up, but would you care to come in for a night-cap?"  When my heart fluttered just a wee bit; it felt like the first time it had beat in months.  How could I refuse.  I followed him into the empty restaurant.
    Three glasses of Argentinian red later, we'd covered topics from God to Gaga, and found plenty of common ground.  We were both moonlighting waiters with side jobs in the arts.  Both bicultural children of immigrant parents.  And, perhaps most important of all, both freshly out of long term relationships.  Suddenly serious, Miguel admitted, "I don't know if I'm really ready to date anyone yet."  To his surprise, this declaration brought a huge smile to my face.  "Me either" I confided chuckling, now amazingly relaxed as I let out a huge exhale.  Several hours, stories, and bottles latter, two things became very clear; neither of us were looking to start anything serious with somebody new, but both felt smitten with this new connection we'd found in each other.
    In a situation like this, your head probably knows what's best; but your heart and your hoo hoo might have other plans.  Thus, over the next several weeks you probably won't be surprised to learn that Miguel and I soon became inseparable.  It started with him cooking me dinner at his house; which to this day, stands as one of the most mouth watering meals of my life.  My affection for him escalated as I discovered regular offerings of flowers and little gifts left on my car.  A week later, he was serving up afternoon delight, and I was sky rockets in flight.  When he didn't push for any reciprocation, I was convinced this guy was too good to be true!  I had to wonder, what was the catch?  But I put my fears aside, decided to take the plunge, and suggested we introduce sex into our equation.
    When the big night rolled around, I was nervous.  Even though I felt really comfortable with Miguel, it still felt strange to be with somebody who wasn't my X.  Chances are he felt the same, so we really took our time that first night.  I'd kept my petting pretty PG13, so I wasn't sure what I could expect after the clothes finally came off.  When the cat was out of the bag, and it wasn't the beast I was hoping for, I can't say I was totally surprised.  Generally speaking, Miguel wasn't a large man, and his penis was in perfect proportion to the rest of his body.  I'd hoped that some freak accident of nature had endowed him with one gift of abundant size, but no such luck.  Nonetheless, I wasn't about to let this one small problem get in our way.
    So I carried on undeterred, and you know what?  It was awesome!  What Miguel lacked in size, he more than made up for in stamina.  Not only was he voracious (we may have had sex five times that first night), he was an extremely giving lover.  By the time we fell into a sweaty post climax pile on the bed, I'd forgotten all about my former preoccupation with the package.  I wouldn't be repeating my college fuck n' run with pinky man, this was going to work out just fine.  
    The next morning was punctuated with the sweet afterglow of good sex, and that awkward question mark that lingers in the air the first time you wake up with somebody new.  Miguel handled that in the best possible way; with a repeat performance.  Afterwards, I showered while he made me breakfast and wondered; had I been missing the boat all along?  Dating guys who brought little more to the table than their big dick?  When I thought of how giving Miguel had been in bed, I was embarrassed by all the times I'd let men take their pleasure from me without reciprocation.  Was it possible that Miguel's short-comings were precisely what made him so fantastic?  Were less endowed men willing to work harder to make up for what they lacked?
    As the weeks went on, however, my size queen ways began to resurface.  Miguel proved continuously bounteous.  He was sensitive, giving, and generous in the ways that actually mattered.  But nonetheless, after the initial thrill of a new partner begun to wane, in the heat of the moment I'd found myself fantasizing about being split in two by a meat missile more than once.  As we lay in bed together starring into each others eyes, I felt a mix of emotions.  It seemed premature to fall for someone so soon after my breakup, but I was beginning to ask myself, was this the man for me?  And if so, was a ready to give up big cock forever?  Perhaps if Miguel could have read my mind, he wouldn't have chosen that moment to tell me,  "I think I'm falling in love with you."  What's a girl to do in a situation like this?  You can't say, "That's nice" or "Good for you" with an encouraging pat.  You either return the affection or you don't.  While I adored this sweet, well-disposed man before me, the bottom line was, packing or not, I just wasn't ready to hold that kind of space for another person.  Without a word, I kissed him, and we fell into a bout of amorous love making; but my heart wasn't in it.
    Maybe Miguel could read my mind after all.  Even though I hadn't said anything, I think we both knew the truth.  And even though he'd said the words, I had to wonder if he was truly ready for love himself?  A week later, I got my answer.  Very late on the night of a planned date he canceled last minute due to sickness.  When another week passed and I hadn't heard from him again, I knew it was over.  Was this my karma for kicking Pinky to the curb oh so long ago?  A what goes around comes around moment?  Perhaps.  Nonetheless, when I called Miguel, and he finally broke up with me over the phone, I was livid.  "Really?  Like this!?" I asked, hurt by his emotional reversal and insensitive handling of our separation.  "Were you even going to call me?" I questioned .  "I don't know what to say" was his meager reply.  I wanted to tell him to "Grow some balls, and a dick while you're at it!" but I knew that wouldn't be fair.  So I simply said a brief good-bye and hung up the phone.  I was resolved; once a size queen, always a size queen.  And to that I say ladies; gag on it!
    

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