Small Penis Syndrome

OK, now that I have your attention, little man, why don’t you rub that wittle, wittle thing that just grew to the wonderful length of . . . how many inches darlin’?  How many?  Ohhh my, my, my.  You have SPS very, very, badly.  SPS?  Why, it means Small Penis Syndrome . . . and you got it reeeeealllll good, don’t you honey?
Admit it, you love the fact that you have a small penis.  That wasn’t always the case, was it doll face?  You had to grow into your appreciation of your small package.  The heart palpitations whenever the subject came up in discussion or in your reading.  The rush of humiliation . . . and the inevitable growth between your legs.  The growth has always been quite modest, right little guy?  But maybe someday, it will grow into a proud, masculine tool that you can use to bed a woman.  Oh, I’m such a tease.  But you like it, don’t you?

SPS and masturbation: a dangerous combination?

Which brings me to my next topic.  As a male of smallish-ness, you masturbate don’t you?  You masturbate a lot, right?  So, when you do, do you look at only women?  Do you sometimes stray into photo galleries and videos where some stud is balling a beauty, her legs spread wide to accommodate him and his oh so ample slab of meat?  I’m sure you do, dicklette man.  Do you know what that means?  That means you’ve been looking at quite a lot of very pretty women.  And when you’ve been looking at these pretty women, the hypothalamus or pleasure center of your brain releases several love hormones.  Over time, your continual and persistent masturbation creates a bit of a fog.  The lines might blur for some of you.  While under the spell of these strong love hormones, you are looking at breasts, cleavage, pussy, curves, softness, large dicks, beautiful asses, long legs, . . . WAIT!   WHATTTT!  Needle scratch on the vinyl.  Did you just cop to “large dick”?
Come clean, little dicked one!  Admit it, you’ve looked at so many large dicks while you pleasure yourself that you’ve lost count.  No?  Oh, yea: well then, how many dicks have you gazed upon while you held your, um, dick, or shall we just call it a dick-lette?  Think about it: you’ve been jerking off while looking at dicks.  Many dicks.  Big dick.  Duh!  You’ve been doing this for so long that, at least subconsciously, you LIKE masturbating and looking at dick.  The logic is irrefutable.
That brings us to one of my clients.  He shall remain nameless because he is straight as they come.  But, he let himself go in our last session.  I had him look at the photo of a strong, beautiful, well-known dominatrix.  I had him kiss her shoulder, then her upper arm, then her bicep, then her elbow, then her forearm, then her hand.  And what do you think said dominatrix was holding?  Answer: the very large, erect dick of a man who was spread-eagled on a St. Andrews Cross.  So, at the precise moment, he was gooning over our dominatrix, I took a chance:
“OK . . . now . . . kiss him.  Just the tip, sweet pie, juuuuust the tip.”
Silence.  But no push back!  None.  More silence.  Then I heard it.  It was unmistakable.  Kissing sounds.  He was kissing.  Ha, ha.  Pay dirt!!
How long do you think it was before he was gobbling up what I imagined was a rather large dildo.  Or was it a cucumber?  No matter: his gagging prevented him from disclosing just what was causing his eyes to water, tears to drop off his cheeks, and throat to heave.  He was into it, to say the least.  Who was I to stop him?
After he came, he was quite chastened.  He turned a bit defensive.  His chagrin was . . . delicious. I took a chance.  He took a chance.  Why don’t you pick up the phone and take a chance too?  Give me a call, and I promise not to call you “cum breath,” . . . unless you want me to.
Oh, and to my wonderful session partner: don’t be embarrassed!  Love hormones are strong.  Don’t deny them.