How Important is a Man’s Size? (The Package)

WORDS BY KAYE MICHELE

He was tall, dark and handsome.

I’m not exaggerating on the tall.

We were on the railroad, headed to this new spot to do a little grooving and shaking. I was looking pretty hot in my black mini skirt and high-heeled boots, my caramel skin glistening in the moonlight. As my girlfriend and I sat there, trying to determine which direction the club was in, I heard a snickering at the mention of the club's name.

I turned. Tall, dark and handsome was looking at me, a smirk on his face.

Besmirched, I said, “Is there a problem?”

He smiled quietly. “Nothing. It’s just… nothing.” He smirked again, a chuckle forming at the corners of his mouth.

I was incensed. “Why are you laughing? What’s so damn funny?”

He chuckled again. “It’s just that where you ladies are going is the tiniest sweat box you could think of.”

I stared at him. Okay, tall, dark and handsome, I thought, I feel you, but are you trying to get on me? What’s the deal?

We began to chat about clubs in the city and ideal places to get a little dance action in. I found myself drawn in by his eyes, pools of brown that lit up every time he made a point or told a joke.

He kept looking at my legs. So I crossed them.

He kept looking. I smiled to myself.

Gentleman that he was, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome walked my friend and I to the club and even got us in for free. He was a bouncer, and so he had a lot of leeway with the clubs. We exchanged numbers and promised to be in touch soon. I went inside with his gentle touch on my mind. I wondered if his large hands matched his…

I’m getting ahead of myself.

The next day, I woke up with Tall, Dark and Handsome on my mind. Was last night just a figment of my imagination? Should I wait for him to call me or should I go feminist movement and call him? It’s funny the things that we as women find ourselves considering as a serious dilemma when it comes to the opposite sex. I asked my housemate what she thought. As she opened her mouth to answer, the phone rang.

We looked at each other.

She gestured to me to answer the phone. I shook my head vigorously. The phone continued to ring. If it was Tall, Dark and Handsome, I thought, I was not going to be the one to answer the phone. Gotta keep up the pretense, right?

I could be such a girl sometimes.

My housemate answered the phone, smiled, turned to me, and handed me the phone.

My insides churned. Palms sweaty, I answered the phone.

“Hi there…," the voice on the line began. "I wanted to know if you would be interested in becoming a gold card member?”

I turned to my housemate, incensed. She covered her mouth, her eyes full of laughter.

Tall, Dark and Handsome did indeed end up calling me later on that day. We stayed on the phone for hours upon hours. You know how that is, when you first meet someone and all you want to do is talk to them, find out what makes them tick, find out their likes and dislikes, when everything is new and fresh and cute and nothing about that person even remotely bothers you because you are just tickled that they're into you.

That’s where we were for a while.

He took me on sweet and sappy dates where we went to the movies and shared popcorn with Raisinets sprinkled on top, the chocolate melting over the warmth of the corn, causing us to lick our fingers. He watched me in the dark put my slender digits to my mouth, me unconsciously-but-not-really using the tip of my tongue to remove the chocolate from the tips of my fingers—his eyes watching me with unspoken lust. Sometimes we went for walks around the park, him talking about his art, me talking about my crazy students, him watching my hips sway as I pretended not to notice.

I was ready to make "delicious" with him. Jill Scott red nail polish on white walls style. Pass the Crown Royal…

But I didn’t want to be considered easy. Sleep with him on the third date? I had to tell Miss Kitty down there, to back up a step.

By the fourth date, though, at his house, him feeding me bits of whiting and sweet potato fries while we watched old Eddie Murphy stand-up, I was ready. I was beyond ready. Oozing sweet sap ready. Ready to lose my underwear ready. So when my Tall, Dark and Handsome man reached behind me to kiss my neck, to touch me in the way that a man touches a woman, I wiggled my red-hot red toes and braced myself.

His kiss was feather light, so incongruent with his size.

I always expected a large man to have a larger than life touch, but it was as if he knew I was a petite thing and he treated me as such, with a delicate strength. His large hands reached behind me, to the curve of my back, and rested there gently, his fingers pulling my polo shirt over my head as his tongue explored the spot behind my ear.

He was smooth…and he knew it.

My back arched as his deft fingers probed my nipples beneath my cream lace bra. He removed my jeans with the same adeptness, never taking his tongue off of my body...

Testing the texture of my nipple with the tip of his tongue...

His fingers now sheathed between cream lace underwear and my delta, gently flicking my clit...

Turning my wetness into a small river, making me squirm.

He was so. Smooth.

I don’t know when he took off the lace that covered my womanhood. I don’t remember him removing my bra. All I could focus on was the sensations he was bringing out of me.

His hands rested on my mounds, played with them like they were his personal toys, like he knew them, knew how they worked. Each touch to my nipple made me moan.

I said all sorts of things. Naughty things. Sacrilegious things.

Called the King of Kings name a few times.

He had me hot.

His tongue tasted my clit, savored the cream his taste test created, deemed it worthy as I moaned incoherently. I felt him lap back and forth, his hands claiming my breasts as his new toys, his touch taking me to the brink. I was close. So close.

"Don’t cum," he said.

I moaned that I wasn’t about to make a promise I couldn’t keep.

He stopped.

Kissed my sweaty skin. My nose. My eyelids. His hands caressed my skin gently. He looked into my eyes.

I breathed in heavily. My body was begging for release.

He kissed me. Kissed my damp skin. His giant hand cupped me. Massaged my clit gently. He swallowed my moans one by one. His other hand brushed my nipples. Over and over he touched me, kissed me, brought me to the peak repeatedly.

I pleaded to cum. My body pleaded more.

He looked me in the eye, “Don’t cum. Wait for me.”

I squirmed relentlessly. My body was on fire. The river beneath me turned into an ocean.

I was on the edge, looking over, feeling my body’s waterfall.

He took off his shirt first. Smooth chocolate skin, no body fat.

He removed his pants. Tommy Hilfiger boxers sheathed what I was ready to savor.

He asked me, “You ready?”

I nodded. I was beyond ready. My body’s wetness told me so.

Off came the boxers.

I dried up instantly.

I’d never seen anything so small in my entire life.

To be continued?

Do you make assumptions about how someone will look naked based on their body type? How often have you been wrong? Could someone's physical shortcomings ruin the mood for you in the heat of the moment? Ladies, have you ever been with a man that came up short below the belt? Did you go through with the episode or cut things short? Was the experience better or worse than you expected? Fellas, has a woman ever told you that you were smaller/bigger than they expected? Do you think there should be a Pt. 2 to this story? What would you do if this scenario happened to you? Did you like the twist at the end?

Speak your piece...

• SOCK IT TO ME
• Purchase T-shirts, thongs & more in the NWSO Online Store
• “Like” the NWSO FaceBook Fan Page
• Follow NWSO’s rants on Twitter @NakedWithSocks
• Ask NWSO anything on FormSpring
• Have a question or wish to submit a guest post? Email NWSO: NakedWithSocksOn@gmail.com