When I’m hunting for cock, I don’t hunt for huge.
I search for smaller when I’m in the mood.
I spot them in crowds, the ones who avert,
Their shy little glances, the anxious alert.
It’s not really the size, it’s the look in their eyes,
That small moment of fear they can’t disguise.
Trousers slide down, their hands start to shake,
Bracing themselves for a cruel mistake.
Expecting a laugh, a smirk, or a jeer,
But I only whisper, “You’ve nothing to fear.”
Their tension unwinds, their hunger runs wild,
Fingers exploring, their touch growing riled.
They may still be nervous, not believing their luck
That they found a woman so willing to fuck
I only grin, as I purr in their ear,
“You’re just my type. You’re perfect, my dear.”
The bigger ones thrust, they take without art,
But small ones, they listen, they learn every part.
They tease, they linger, they master the game,
Until I am shaking, gasping their name.
They kiss with devotion, they taste every inch,
Not rushing the pleasure, not leaving a pinch.
Their hands explore, their lips find a way,
To draw out my moans, to make my hips sway.
I whisper sweet praises; they blush and persist,
Their tongue on my flesh, every flick, every twist.
They crave my approval, so I beg for more,
They build me up slowly, then watch as I soar.
I climb on top, and I guide them inside.
They know they are in for a hell of a ride.
Their shame is forgotten, replaced with desire,
Lost in the heat of a passion set fire.
I ride them slow, I take my time,
Their breath on my skin, their hands sublime.
They may be small, but they love with might,
Leaving me trembling deep in the night.
These small moments excite, make my heart race,
They shift from their doubt to a confident place.
Our bodies entwine, and they give me their best,
I smirk, and I sigh; small’s always been blessed.
