I'm a man with a little dick. But that doesn't stop women from fucking me – even women who
say they want men with big dicks. They fuck me because I give them what they need, not what
they say the want. In "Adventures of Little Dick" I'll share with you some of needs of the women
I've met and how I fulfilled them.

THE GRAND CANYON

Taking My Shot

Her name is Lisa. She was someone I'd been running into off and on for at least five years –
long enough to know she had been divorced for two and had three kids. She was definitely
commanding my attention as he filled her plate at a table set aside for appetizers. She was
wearing a simple blue sundress that was having more than just a simple affect on me. That
dress looked as light as air as it caressed her thighs and every now and then dipped into the
pucker of ass. Lisa is a beautiful woman, but this is the first time I noticed her body. She was
forty pounds overweight but my dick was telling me it was in all the right places. I had to take a
shot.

"Hi, Lisa," I said as I approached her. I felt she knew me well enough for me to invade her space.
I never hit on woman I don't know at least casually. Rejecting a stranger is easy; to me, that's too
huge an obstacle overcome to be worth the effort.
"Hi, Cyrano."
"I was wondering if you could do me a favor."
I chose my words carefully. She couldn't think I was asking her out on a date. Women have a
list of qualities they want in men they date. I wouldn't get two deep on anyone's list. So I
asked her for a favor. I wanted her to do something FOR me not WITH me.
"I heard about a new restaurant opening up that I want to try, and I hate going to restaurants
alone. I just feel creepy."
I wasn't lying, maybe exaggerating a little. Dining out alone does make me feel uncomfortable
and self-conscience. I stick as as close to the truth as possible, even if it makes me look weak.
Women have excellent lie radars.
"I hear the food is great…"
I always use good bait. It's usually a low-risk activity that I can sell in place of myself. If I offered
myself, that list was going to come out. And that list is absolute. If she wants a Matthew McConaughey,
I don't care if she looks like a gila monster, she'll think she deserves a Matthew McConaughey.
"…recipes from the Old Country, unique flavors."
I'd done my homework before I even knew my target. I was going down the menu, practically item
by item. I was selling the restaurant and the restaurant experience, not a date with me.
"I don't know. Between my job and the kids, I really don't even have time for myself." I could tell
she was feeling cornered so I backed off.
"Just think about it. It's just a short drive from here." This is not a date; She's meeting me there.
"Besides, don't you need a break from fish sticks and frys?" I asked smiling as I walked away.

Thirty to forty minutes later she walked up to me and said, "Sounds like a good restaurant. I think I
can do it Saturday after next." She took the bait.

Hold The Interview, Please

Isabella's was small restaurant but its large expansive windows made it seem bigger. I was waiting
outside pacing and preparing myself mentally – Lisa was ten minutes late. When I spotted her in the
parking lot she was dressed just as I expected: middle-management chic. This was a Saturday and here
she was dressed like she was going to a job interview. I had no flowers – this was not a date. I opened
the door for her but I made no attempt to pull out her chair. I ordered several things on the menu.
after all, the sole reason for us being here, supposedly, was to sample the food. After the waiter left,
it didn't long for her to start in on the interview process.
"So, you like being a mailman?" I had to cut her off quickly or this was going to go south in a hurry. Ms.
was qualifying me as if we were on a date.
"Whoa! No date talk. We're here for the food. So let's stick to that. Tell me, what was the first taste you
can remmember that made you feel real safe and warm inside?" If she followed my lead, I would be back in
control. If not, I was just going to enjoy the food, thank her for joining me, and we were going to go our
separate ways.
"My tea cakes," she said after thinking for minute. I had her. From there on out we talked
about food, but in doing so we covered our childhoods, friends and family, trips and vacations. We were
two human beings sharing our lives, not two automatons talking about five year plans or if we saw children
in our future. But more important, when I saw her face light up when talking about food, I knew she was
having good, warm, fuzzy, feelings – feelings for the most part she would attribute to being with me.

While waiting for our leftovers, I asked her if she would try one more restaurant with me. It was a test.
If I had relaxed her enough her to embrace her FEELINGS, the answer was going to be a quick yes. If she
was still THINKING about me and where this was going, I was dead in the water.

Heeeere's Jessica

Our second "date" was at Dugan's, a rustic bar and grill. I couldn't believe the difference in Lisa's
appearance. It was like night and day. She had squeezed into a really tight, low cut, red dress with pumps
to match. Her hair had accents in it, and it looked like a professional had done her hair. I always pay close
attention to a woman's appearance. It pays huge dividends down the road. I don't just take mental notes, I
write it down as soon as possible, or in today's world of smart phones and mini-recorders, dictate it.

Either Lisa had a date after our dinner, or she was dressed this way for me. If it was the latter, I hit
the jackpot. In either case, it was time for The Dance. A woman dressed like Jessica Rabbit expects to be
treated like she's hot. Lisa was asking for The Dance. So I gave it to her.
"Wow, Lisa! That you?" I tap danced around her like a bellhop working for a big tip. I got the door, pulled
out her chair, acted speechless – the whole nine yards. It was time to find out if this display was for me.
"Hey, would you like to take some salsa classes with me?" A blank look spread across her face. This was
not good.
"I don't think so, Cyrano, I'm a little clutzy." This could have been her way of politely rejecting me.
"No, trust me on this. I've seen you move. You were born for this. We'll take it slow. If you break an ankle,
we'll call it quits, okay." A little humor goes a long way.

The Ten Count

Lisa really took to the salsa classes. But her enthusiasm was giving me serious hard-ons. I didn't show
up for the fifth class.
She called me for two days before I returned her calls.
/> "Yeah, Lisa it's me."
"What happened to you? I've been calling you for two days." It was time for the knockout punch.
"You know what /> "No, honestly I /> "That fucking red dress is what happened. I can't think about nothing else. I keep seeing the hem inching
up the back of your thighs, the fabric melting into your hips when you sat. These salsa classes have been
a nightmare. Fighting like hell to keep from getting hard-ons with you rubbing against me. I can't
concentrate at work, I'm beating myself raw at home. This has to stop. Look, this is my problem. I'll get
over it. I'm a big boy. In a couple of weeks I'll bottom out."
I just sat back and waited. This is silver bullet stuff. Telling a woman how hot she looks just makes
her uncomfortable at best – even if she likes you. She didn't pick her parents, and age and gravity will
ravage even the best of genes. She'd much rather be complimented on something she can control,
something she's accomplished.. And putting together that jaw dropping outfit WAS an /> "Cyrano, It's nothing to be embarrassed about," she said after seconds of awkward silence. I never said I was
embarrassed. What the hell was she talking about? But the fact that she was still on the line spoke volumes.
I was purposely graphic to cut through all the bullshit. If she wasn't at least flattered by the idea of being
my sexual fantasy, she would have hung up. She didn't want me to bottom out.
"Lisa it's okay. I'll be fine."
"Don't be silly, Cyrano. What are we in junior high? Let's meet for coffee and talk about this like adults."
And down goes Lisa!

The Ultimatum

I hate Starbucks. But it was were she wanted to meet. This was the last decision I was going to let her dictate.
She walked in wearing a track suit – an expensive track suit, with designer sunglasses, jewelry and full make-up.
She was feeling good about herself and wanted the world to think she falls out of bed looking fabulous.
"Hi, Cyrano."
"Hi, Lisa." If she was waiting for a compliment. She waited in vain.
"You were right, Cyrano," she said after we ordered and found a table. "I really like salsa and I think we make
a great pair. Look, we've put in all this work, the least we can do is go show off our moves." She thought she
was taking control and re-writing the . She was mistaken.
"You really don't take me seriously, do you?
/> "No, I want you to listen carefully. You're stoking a fantasy that is wrecking my life. It's either going to
become a reality, or I'm flushing it out of my life. There's a bed and breakfast up the coast that I rent one
weekend a month to write," I said sliding the brochure across the table. "Maybe you'll join me there, maybe not.
I got to go."
I stood up and walked out. It was a sexual ultimatum, plain and simple, but with a twist. I was counting on her
own vanity to force her into submission. If she was as captivated by the idea of being my fantasy as I thought,
she was going to fuck me. If not, she was going to tell me to go fuck myself. There would be no middle ground.

The Bed and Breakfast

Lisa said she was coming but it looked like she had backed out. I expected her Friday night. I was having brunch
Saturday morning while my room was being cleaned, and she still hadn't shown. I was heading back to my room at
a quarter to one when she entered the lobby with her bags. She didn't look too pleased to see me.
"You look beat," I said. She mumbled something about crowded freeways as I relieved her of her bags and led her
to my room..
"This is it," I said giving her a tour of the room and showing her out to the balconey to take in the ocean view.
The tension was getting heavier by the minute.
"I need to go freshen up." She took a the smaller bag into the bathroom with her. Twenty minutes later she was
still in there. I could just picture her in there bawling her eyes out. When she emerged, she was wearing a sheer
black Teddy and diamond studded, ankle strapped black sandals to match. She couldn't even look at me. She walked
over to me like a kid at her first recital. I knew the next five minutes would be crucial.
"Take it off. All of it." I guided her head into my chest. "Just listen to my voice and trust me on this." She
slowly undressed while trying to keep herself covered at the same time. I slowly circled her without saying a word
as she trembled, one arm covering her breast, the other hanging down in front, hand over her crotch. I leaned in
until my lips almost touched her left ear.
"I've tried to imagine this body hundreds of times," I said softly. "All I had to guide me was that red dress,
how it moved with your body. I sketched and resketched over and over in my mind how I thought you looked. It was
never enough. It just led to more frustration. I don't have to imagine anymore. I've taken you all in. You'll be
with me now until I die. Thank you. If you want to leave now, you can go. You don't have to do anything more."
She was staring at the carpet slowly shaking her head. That a girl. I led her over to the bed and pulled back
the comforter, blanket and sheet.
"Lie face down." she timidly complied. "We're a long way from sex, Lisa," I whispered in her ear as I undressed.
"First a massage. My hands are going to roam your body until I'm confident I'll remember your feel long after
you're gone." As I climbed over to straddle her I made sure she felt my erection.
"You feel that? I feel like a nine year gawking at underwear models only to have you magically come alive in my hands."
I could feel Lisa starting to relax as I stroked her verbally and kneaded her with my hands. She was allowing me
to get into her head, which is were I wanted to be.
"Roll over."She slowly rolled over but was attempting to cover herself.
"Remove your arms!" I commanded in a stern voice. She covered her face with an arm and looked away. Her breasts
flopped to her sides. I cupped them in my hands.
"I'm finally holding them in my hands," I said in a soft voice. "And I'm going to do more than that. I'm going
plant my face in your cleavage and feel you heartbeat on my skin; I'm going to roll your nipples on my tongue and
feel them stiffen. Today every thing I fantasized about is going to come true."
I removed her arm from her face and resumed massaging her. I started at her shoulders and worked my way down to
her feet. As my hands worked, I detailed the plans I had for every inch of her body. I was already fucking her
into next week and I hadn't even entered her. And that was my plan from the start. The sex part is fun and
pleasurable in and of itself, but it's as ephemeral as cotton candy. For it to last, have its own weight and
substance, a woman needs the words, something she can parse, take apart and put back together. I wanted her to
hear my voice in her head all week, relive what she felt while she's hearing it, fucking me over and over again
for seconds, minutes at a time. I wanted the flashbacks to startle her, come out of nowhere at the most inappropiate
times: on the job, driving home, over the stove. In short: I wanted to shake up her boring fucking life.

After I finished massaging her feet, I straddled her legs and slowly moved up her body making sure she felt my
erection from her legs right up to her stomach. Her arm was back over her face again. I removed it.
"Look at me," she turned her head and slowly parted her lids. "I sorry if I'm being a little too intense for you, but
I'm not taking this for granted. I may never be in bed with you again. This experience has to last. "I started lightly
brushing my lips against hers. The fire had definitely been lit. Within seconds we were steaming up the windows.

FIVE MINUTE MAN

It was going hot and heavy. I was kissing, licking, nibbling, rubbing and, in between, giving Lisa all the verbal
feedback I think she needed… for about five minutes. I have this A.D.D thing when it comes to sex. After five
minutes of heavy petting I just had to see /> "Yes!" I shouted after reaching her crotch.
"What?" she asked propping herself on her elbows.
"So pleased to meet you," I said to her pussy while clapping my hands together. Lisa plopped back down on the bed and
started giggling. I went after her pussy with relish…for about five minutes. Then I had to enter her, feel my dick
rubbing her walls.
"I knew you'd be this wet! I just knew it!" I shouted as I pumped like a wild man for about…you guessed it. Then
I dismounted like a gold medal gymnast and started pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed.
"What's wrong?" she said sitting up and covering herself in the sheets.
"I'm too excited. I've got to calm down." Some women find this cute at first – until they realize I can keep this
up for hours.
Kissing necking rubbing! PUSSSSYYYY! Dismount. "Kissing necking />
Fuck the Crockpot

I'm sure you've heard the analogy: Men are microwaves. Women are crockpots. Well, what my has taught
me is that this crockpot business is all bullshit. If a woman really needs to get off, it takes less than five
minutes. All the time and effort you're putting into foreplay is actually just giving her time to quiet those
voices in her head.

Does he think my ass is fat?
My cellulite must make him want to gag?
"Lord, please don't let him ask me to take off my bra.
"He doesn't really like doing that. He's just trying to win points."
"Did I lock the back door?"

My five minute attention span frustrates women until one voice shouts above all others, "I NEED TO GET
OFF!"

About an hour and fifteen minutes into what I call The Show – Kissing necking rubbing. PUSSSSYYY! Dismount –
I guess Lisa was frustrated enough to catch on. When my face reached her crotch… again, she grapped the back
of my head and in less than a minute…
It sounded like she had something hot on her tongue that she couldn't spit out. Then there was
a whole lotta shaking goin' on. See? All it took was a little focus.
Three later Lisa finally realized what it would take the close The Show. Her orgasms weren't
going to do it. The Show goes on no matter how many orgasms a woman has, real or not. The only thing stopping
The Show is MY orgasm. So, Lisa wrapped her legs around me and held me there until I brought down the curtain.

Pillow Talk

We layed there post coitus for what seemed like an hour. Finally…
"I'm sorry it took so long. After three children I'm about as wide as the Grand Canyon. I'm thinking about vaginal
/> There you have it. We all have our fears and insecurities when it comes to sex. This was Lisa's. I'm sure she has
nightmares of some guy just pumping away and whining, "I can't feel nothing!" Her wise crack about the Grand Canyon
was just a feeble attempt at self-deprecation. Better that it came out of her mouth than mine. It was also a trap.
I had to tread lightly here. Some poor dolt could easily step right into the snare thinking he was paying her a
compliment.
"No, you're fine. Really snug." She'd never believe another word he said after that. Or if he was outright clueless…
"No, it was nice being with a real woman for a change and not have to worry about being too big." He might as well
put his clothes back on.

"Hey," I said waiting for Lisa's eyes to meet mine. "Your body has changed. It's going to keep on changing. You're
mourning a body I never met. I don't give a damn about that body! This is the body giving me hard-ons. And I'm getting
another one right now just thinking about it."
I pulled her legs apart and entered her. Before I was five strokes along, she had flipped me on my back. The timid
Lisa was gone, maybe floating out to sea. This Lisa liked being on top. She kissed and nibbled my neck as she ground
her wet, sloppy pussy all over my crotch.
Lisa may have wanted a tighter pussy, but what she needed was to lose herself in the power of her own sexuality,
which she did. And she wallowed in it like a pig in slop the rest of the afternoon.

Home Life

After the B&B, Lisa and I were officially But she was different. She updated her wardrobe with tight, form
fitting blouses and skirts. Her walk was different too – head back breast out, confident strides. She was experiencing
what I call the Glass Cage Effect. When our family went on road trips when I was a kid, there were still roadside
diners with rattlesnakes in glass cages. The dare was to keep your hand pressed against the glass when the snake
lunged at it. The reasoning part of your brain said this was safe, there's thick glass between you and snake. But when
you pressed your hand against the glass, the part of your brain that deals with survival screamed, "That creature is
deadly!" Your heat rate soars and palms sweat as you wait for the snake to strike. You're being thrilled by a paradox:
safely living life on the edge. I was now the glass cage, and Lisa had her hand pressed firmly against the glass. She
could revel in her vibrant sexuality in a room full of vipers. It was practically public masturbation. She was safely
living life on the edge.

None of this bothered me in the least as long as I was the It was when she tried turning me into the
that we butted heads. Husbands get fucked every other month, blowjobs on their birthdays. Lovers get more sex than
they can handle. Husbands have to earn sex. Lovers get it freely. I was upfront with Lisa from the start and was
consistant about it. If I came over, there was going to be at least five minutes of fucking. She was going to blow me
for two and half minutes and then I was going to eat her pussy for two and half minutes(I have a pretty good clock in
my head). Then I'd go jerk off while her smell was still fresh on my face. I didn't care if she had a long or hard day
at work. I'm getting my five minutes or I'm going home. Need help with the kids, fine, as long as I get my five minutes.
Need some empathy, sympathy or just someone to talk to, you got it, as long as I get my five minutes. Now, to you more
enlightened nimrods out there who think such behavior is boorish, I'll see you on the Celebrity Bulletin. For those who
don't know what the Celebrity Bulletin is, it's a public posting of pictures of some of the communities more upstanding
citizens by the Sheriff's Department. It seems every so often certain sections of some of our finest cities are so
overwhelmed by the business of prostitution, that it's nessessary to shame some of our otherwise more law-abiding
citizens into abstaining from the practice. You know, the ones ghetto shopping with the kid car seats in the back. Men
who so respected and cherished their wives that they wouldn't dream of demanding more sex from their already
overburdened soul mates.

I'm not Bulletin material. Lisa and I had our fights and shouting matches. And I've walked out enough to be called
just about every name you can think of. Lisa may have been a little slow on the uptake but she eventually got it:
Life is better when Cyrano gets his five minutes. I didn't care if she saw it as a chore. Just add me to the list:

Put gas in the car.
Pick up Dry Cleaning
Grocery shop for dinner
Blow Cyrano
Cook dinner
Do laundry

I'll let you in on something those five minute sessions taught me: Orgasms are as involuntary as sneezes. There were
days when I knew Lisa's mind was elsewhere until she grabbed the back of my head just as I was about to pull away.
Ding Ding Ding. You've just won five more minutes ma'am. And then… aaaahhhhhchooo! Bless you. It was just her body
telling her, instead of the other way around, that she needed a release. It's no different than a sneeze telling you
that your body needed to expel a foreign object. Sometimes the five minutes had a delayed effect. Sex may have been
the farthest thing from Lisa's mind during those five minutes, but as she went about her chores, her lubricating pussy,
and dampening panties were forcing sex into her consciousness. On such nights the kids were sent to bed early and
the rodeo came to town.

story by: cyrano

Tags: true story sex story

Author: cyrano

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