Three and a half inches is the width of a credit card.

Or the length of a microdick - a term that I despise.

There is a Top in Indianapolis who fucking terrifies me because every time he encounters me at a bathhouse he reduces me to a quivering puddle of post-anal-orgasmic jelly using just such a cock. Attached to him, it is a fearsome weapon.

 I encountered another one today as I was hosting in Nashville. In the last minutes before I had to close up shop to leave, a man contacted me on Sniffies:

”Do you accept small cocks?” He asked.

“I accept all cocks,” I replied.

He sent a picture. It was small, all right.

”Do you think we could make that work?” He asked.

This seemed a slightly odd question, but I said that as long as it could get hard we could do something.

He replied, “Good, because I want to try this.”

By ‘this’, it turns out, he meant ‘have sexual intercourse’ which he had not yet done in his 34 years of life. So, suddenly it became rather important that this go well. (He had never been given head, either.)

He was a grower, not a shower, and was significantly overweight, so his cock wasn’t initially visible and I had to feel for it. Once I found it and got my mouth around it, however, it stiffened up right away; there was enough to work with.

 I knew right off that the only way to guarantee penetration would be a gravity assist with me coming down on him from above. With that kind of overweight anatomy, it’s difficult for a man to see what he’s doing if he’s the one mounting an ass, plus there needs to be a minimum of ass cleavage on the way to the hole. I was going to have to spread wide, aim my hole for the spike, and impale. If successful, all he would have to do would be to stay hard.

I was surprised at first by the depth of the penetration, but then reminded myself that a heavy guy like that has some padding in the groin that can conceal an inch or more of cock length, and I was compressing it with my weight. Still, in-and-out thrusting was out of the question. It would have to be a rocking ride in which I discovered that he had enough length, at three and a half inches, to rub my prostate. This is unsurprising if you think it through - you know the index finger the proctologist uses to give you a prostate check? Measure its length. (Hint: It ain’t nine inches long.)

He did not last three and a half minutes before I heard him say, “You want this load?”

”Of course I do.”

This is why I go to hotels and bathhouses and let men I don’t know and sometimes never see use my body for acts that some in society consider unsavory and wanton at best, disgusting and immoral at worst. Not for the loads, though that man’s short dick shot volumes, and was my twelfth load of the night. Not for the ecstatic physical release that I receive, because no one attempts to give me that in return, nor is it expected. I go out and hike my ass in the air for the sake of the man for whom that ass is his first time, and it is within my power to make sure that turning point in his life is a triumph. He entered my door a man so uncertain of himself and his small dick that he didn’t even know if he could fuck; he left a bona fide member of the brotherhood of Men Who Have Bred Another Man. No one can take that away from him.

As I write this, it’s very rewarding to me to have his load inside me. I can be proud of my own three and a half inches, the three and a half inches of cunt that he rode to victory.