Thursday
Midnight. In our room naked on the bed, R curls up behind me and pushes up against me. We’re on holiday together, our first trip as an “official” couple. I’m looking forward to a few lazy days of sightseeing and sex. It’s good with R—except I’ve noticed that he doesn’t always come. I can tell he’s hard, so I reach down and guide him into me. He whispers in my ear, “tell me what you want.” This is a game I know how to play, I think. “I want you to fuck me with your hard dick.” He’s quiet for a minute and then says, “Yeah, is it enough for you?” “You’re enough for me, you’re exactly what I want,” I reply.
But it doesn’t seem like the answer he’s looking for. “Tell me you need more. Tell me how small I am.” I’m not sure what he means. I stay silent. Our bodies drift apart and we fall asleep in a mess of torn off clothes, tired and boozy from our night on the hotel roof with goods from the minibar.
Friday
10 a.m. We eat nasi goreng and pat ourselves on the back for last night’s rooftop shenanigans. On our way out for the day, I notice a sign on the concierge desk: “This property does not permit the use of drugs, sex in public areas, or consumption of excessive alcohol.” The man behind the desk gives us directions in a short, almost rude, tone. Does he know what we did last night?
8:30 p.m. We sit on a curb outside of a restaurant. We’re desperate to keep the momentum of our adventure going. It’s our last night here. We talk about dancing, but we’re exhausted, and my legs are itchy and pocked with mosquito bites from the night before. Hand in hand, we walk back to the hotel.
10 p.m. In our room, we undress ourselves, ready to jump each other and unwilling to let anything slow us down. R launches into me. Our motions are in sync, I’m wet and feeling every inch of him inside of me. I think I’m going to come for the first of who knows how many times, but as I do I can tell he’s getting softer. I let out a moan of disappointment, and he slides out of me and rolls to his back with his arm hanging over his forehead. “It’s embarrassing…but I want you to humiliate me.”
11 p.m. We’re out of bed, sitting on a loveseat in the lounge outside of our room. He tells me he wants me to talk about how small his penis is while we’re having sex. I’m confused and annoyed that this is putting a damper on our last night of vacation sex. I didn’t even know this was a thing.
Sitting on the toilet, a Google search tells me this is, in fact, a thing—small penis humiliation (SPH). I read, “small penis humiliation is a sexual practice and fantasy for men who enjoy being shamed for the length and girth of their genitals.” I learn that men with penises of all sizes can be into SPH, which helps with some of my confusion. R isn’t small. I still don’t know how to start fulfilling this fetish of his. I fall asleep exhausted.
I’m confused and annoyed that this is putting a damper on our last night of vacation sex. I didn’t even know this was a thing.
Saturday
10 a.m. At the airport starting our journey home, our conversation from the night before weighs on me. While he wasn’t pushy about me participating in his fetish, I want us both to get what we desire most out of sex.
11:30 p.m. Back home, our Uber driver drops me off at my place and R goes to his. Sitting on my couch, I think about what I learned about R on our trip. I open my laptop and an incognito browser window. On Pornhub, I find thousands of SPH videos. After watching a few and reading more about SPH, I’m feeling turned on by the idea of giving it a shot.
Midnight Text to R: “I’m coming over.”
12:15 a.m. He opens the door and swings my body around and gently pushes me up against the wall. He kisses me hard. I’ve always said I want “push me up against the wall and fuck me” kind of love. He gets it.
He opens the door and swings my body around and gently pushes me up against the wall.
I unbutton his pants and grab him hard. I look into his eyes and ask, “It gets bigger, right?” He sucks in a shallow breath and his eyes widen. I grab his wrist and say, “I need something at least this size.” I pulse my other hand still around his shaft. “This? It isn’t even half the size of your wrist.” I can tell I found the words to blow his mind. I feel sexy. I straddle his body propped up on the couch, and as I whisper in his ear, riding him, my words bring us both to orgasm.
I lie on his couch, thinking about what just happened. In my professional life, I’m used to being the boss. I take charge of boardrooms mostly filled with men, but I’ve never felt this empowered during sex before. Often, I wonder if the other person is enjoying it as much as I am. But I’ve just felt the impact my words have on him, and it was sexy as hell. Have I opened a door I can’t close? I wonder. I guess I’ll have to find my boundaries.
