When Mr. Big and I broke up and went our separate ways, I decided to not get too involved with anyone for a while; I just wanted some fun. When I felt the need for a sexual release, I made my preferences clear. I wasn’t interested in a micropenis — I wanted someone who was hung. Size was all that mattered to me.
Then I met the man who would prove to me that there’s such a thing as too big.
I had been chatting with him off and on for a few months before we finally were able to sync our sex schedules. I knew that he was a stunt man with a great sense of humor. Strangely enough, he didn’t send me any dick pics — and I didn’t ask.
We genuinely liked each other and if our hookup went well, there was the possibility it could turn into a relationship. This time, I wasn’t just interested in his junk; I wanted to get personal with all of him.
When I got to his house, he opened the door and the overpowering smell of reused tortilla chip oil almost knocked me down. Once I was inside the house, I saw that it was very clean, though sparsely decorated. He had a couch, a few tables, and one light. He said that he had lived there for more than five years, but it looked like he had just moved in.
The smell was the only thing that proved someone lived there. I tried to breathe through my mouth.
He was dressed in baggy pants without a shirt, so it was easy to see the scars all over his body. He explained that he had gotten them from various stunts he performed in a number of famous action films…
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