Over a year ago, I wrote a bit about my “type,” about how I prefer petite women – the tinier the better.
In the last few days/weeks, I’ve been thinking a little about this, interrogating not so much the why of my preference for smaller women – I’ve done that before – but instead, the how of my preference against larger women. What are, I wonder, the hydraulics of my not being turned on? The mechanisms by which I conclude that a larger woman isn’t appealing to me?
I fucking love getting head. If there’s a stereotype about fat chicks, it’s that they are enthusiastic and talented at the art of the blowjob. And I love eating pussy. And fat chicks have pussies. Similarly, I like fucking, and from what I hear, many fat chicks like to fuck.
So what happens? What is it that gets in the way of my being turned on? And, interesting to ponder, is it likely to be responsive to effort on my part to undo?
I think part of the problem for me is that my visual tastes are vanilla – I like images of well proportioned, fit, curvy women. And I like receiving images as evidence of compliance. And images of larger, rounder women are simply less appealing to me. And the images – the lead-up to a sexual encounter with me often features an exchange of pictures – are central to getting me hard in advance, to building up my anticipation for what’s to come. And if you’re a larger woman, well, then, the pictures just aren’t going to do it for me.
I heard the other day of a guy who (in reality) set up a glory hole in his home, and who has a parade of fellows come and be fellated by him. He never sees their faces.
This radically disembodied sex is entirely unappealing to me. (See what I wrote here about Hyacinth’s weekly collection of breasts.)
I (have) allow(ed) my visual preferences to color the sex I pursue.
What would happen if I didn’t?