I talk about cock size a lot. When I was on Tinder it was in my profile under something coy like, “I prefer gold wrappers,” or some such. On Adult Friend Finder I’m explicit with my fantasy penis. I want a guy who’s at least 7″ and girthy, like 5″+ around.
I’ve been called childish and rude and told I’m missing out on what a smaller guy can do for me. The men who meet my preferences give me high fives and thank me for my honesty. They like a woman who knows what she wants.
So why do I like them bigger?
I find big cocks hot as fuck
I don’t know if I’m a product of the current state of society which seems to laud hung men or if I come by it naturally, but I am in love with big dicks.
They titillate and challenge me, they make me feel proud that I get to have it and that I can take it; I feel overwhelmed with desire when I see it jut at me, throbbing and bulging with veins so beautiful I want to cry for want of it.
When my hand wraps around it and my fingertips can only just barely touch my pussy pulses and my heart quickens. I cannot help my physical response to a big cock — I simply cannot — and it feels good, oh so good. Just the response, I’m not even talking about how it feels in me.
For many years I wasn’t cognizant of my preference. I knew smaller ones felt different and often would think, “I wish I felt… more,” but couldn’t put my finger on it. Then one day the stars aligned: I met Troy.
We lay in his bright living room the first Monday we ever knew one another and as I knelt at his feet and deftly unbuckled his pants he sprung out and my eyes widened. “What?” he said.
“Um… you’re really big,” I said and fell onto him with my eager mouth. I was old enough to know the difference and sexually awake enough to appreciate it.
He’d never cum from a blowjob until that day. He didn’t know he was hung until that day. It was a turning point for the both of us.
Troy had his own preferences and introduced me to the term “size queen.” He launched a search for men on AFF to play with us who were bigger than him. He’d watch me get fucked by these fellas and impatiently wait his turn to suck my juices off their long, engorged members. Troy was a master at deepthroat and I’d watch in awe as the men would disappear down his throat like a sword. Jack, Ryan, Max. When he and I were over I knew I had a thing. I was a size queen, too.
The Neighbor was bigger than Troy and even more talented with it. I squirmed with glee when I noticed his bulge hardening under his silky basketball shorts, from the feel of his heat in my hand. I loved that it made his jeans fit funny and that he couldn’t hide his size from the world, as if to say, Fuck you. I’ve got a huge cock.
I know lots of women — a majority, actually — who don’t care about dick size and prefer smaller and thinner penises inside of them than I do. Big ones intimidate them or hurt once inside. I don’t have either of those problems.
I’m built for big cock
Five years ago, at the tender age of 35 I was set loose on the world of men with a broken heart and a raging sexual appetite. Together, Troy and I discovered the wonders of my body and I became a wet and willing partner at the drop of a hat. His hands, his kiss, his breath on my neck. It didn’t take much and my pussy would be soaking and he’d slip right in. I eschewed lube and we never used it. Instead I savored the stretch until he slipped around inside of me as I came and squirted around him, ruining our beds, rugs, blankets, and couches in the process.
After Troy there was Phillip who was a monster. He’s the first man whose cock made me a little afraid, but I trusted him and it was spectacular. He called me his dirty little Girl Scout and I came from the filthy words and being hung up on his staff. The man barely had to move and I was writhing. With Kent, it was different. He was enormous, too, but the curve of his cock also hit my G-spot and I just sobbed into my pillows as he rode me to his climax. And I could feel The Neighbor in my throat and skull through my pussy as he’d fill me up and take me to faraway places attached to his thrusting hips.
The thing with all of them was I got wickedly wet and lost my goddamned mind and if it weren’t for their size they would have been lost to me completely. Physiologically, as a woman becomes more aroused, her vagina expands and cervix lifts up and out of the way essentially expanding rather than constricting. I don’t know if I have some giant hallway-sized pussy or something, all I know is that my intense wetness creates a severe loss of sensation for me, so unless his cock is big, I’m not feeling him. I’m told my pussy feels amazing. I’m glad they can feel something while I’m lost in sloppy pussy outer space.
In addition to wetness, there’s also vagina depth. The average is 3-4 inches in length unaroused, aroused it can nearly double. I must have a deeper one than most if a man who’s 10″+ can fit in there with little to no pain. Just the thought of taking in something that huge turns me on and, whether it’s true or not, it makes me feel special.
Size has nothing to do with character
How a man reacts to my size preferences, however, does speak to his character and self-esteem. Calling me names and telling me I’m short-sighted is more about the man than it is about me. I know what I want and I want it to be amazing for the both of us. I want him to be excited by my excitement and for him to see the lust in my eyes, not veiled disappointment because I was told to expect something different. I want to feel him in me — I’m naturally desperate for it during the act of sex — and a man with a baby arm between his legs rockets me off the planet like no other.
When a man states very clearly that he likes a petite woman who’s fit I don’t call him names. I just know I’m not the woman for him. At best, I’m softly athletic, of average height with big, mushy tits — I’m an athlete in bed, but you wouldn’t know it to look at me — but he doesn’t need to know that. I’m not going to argue with a guy who has a whole truckload of reasons behind his stated preference. He’s entitled to it. I also don’t want a man to settle for me. Physically speaking, I want the man who wants me, just the way I am. The man who wants a softer partner, with pendulous breasts that swing and bounce, and an ass that jiggles as he slams into it.
I want men to be ok with me not wanting them if their cocks are average or smaller. Let me go find a guy who’s bigger and wish me well on my search. I’ll wish him well on his search for a woman who thinks he’s perfect, too. I’m not doing it to be exclusive, I’m doing it because it’s just what I want. No one should shame someone because they have a preference be it for fake tits or BBW, hairy men or older blokes. We all want what we want. There’s no need to make it personal.
Love vs Cock vs Good Times
I’ve essentially shot myself in the foot having this ridiculous thing about me, this preference, because I also want a man who’s intelligent, funny, and kind, successful in his career, and above all else, interested in me. Add to it the general ambiguity of dating, the trials and misfires and it’s an exhausting endeavor, which is why I’ve essentially taken myself off the fucking market (pun intended). I’m tired of it all.
I’m tired of the emotional math necessary for sending texts or making calls, tired of the hoping and the waiting, tired of trying to untangle mixed messages and shot-down hopes, tired of looking for a man who wants me who also has a nice, giant meaty cock. It seems vaguely impossible; I might as well buy a lottery ticket.
Luckily, I’m perfectly capable of just chillin’ and fully enjoying myself with a man who isn’t related to a donkey. I’ve had some really pleasurable evenings with these guys and walked away sated, smiling like a fool. I’m an equal-opportunity dater, I just have a preference. It doesn’t mean you have to be my dream cock. If you’re a great guy, I’ll still think you’re great and you might even win my heart.
I’ll never rule out love with someone based on the size of his penis, but it would certainly be a boon for me if I loved a man who had one that was made for me.
I don’t know what other size queens think about their needs and wants, I only know about mine. It’s born out of lust, pride, and physiological necessity. It’s not meant to make anyone feel badly. It’s only meant to make me feel good, both inside and out. I sincerely hope that we all find our perfect match in whatever sizes we want.