bus boy pt. 2

click here for part 1 to this tale


i'd tried everything.

stroked it, kissed it, washed it...nothing seemed to work.

it simply would not grow.

it wouldn't have been fair for me to blame him for what was so obviously not his fault, but right then i was remembering that scene from will.y won.ka when willy first appeared on screen with that limp. it was alluded he was carrying a 'third leg' if you get my meaning, which was evidently too cumbersome for the dude to stuff into his drawers, so he had to let it lay against his leg instead. every time they showed willy from that point on, i was staring at his crotch to see if i could make out an imprint or something. as i lay on the bed between bus boy's legs, trying in vain to pump a few extra inches into what was undoubtedly the smallest penis i'd ever seen on a grown man, i heard maur.y povi.ch's voice inside my head announcing to me in scandalized tones "willy wonk.a...you are NOT the father!"

a frown lassoed my lips and refuse to release them.

this predicament had me thinking back on when i babysat my month-old cousin earlier that year. i had placed him in a baby seat that would allow me to give him a bath over the kitchen sink. i marveled at how small all of his body parts were, from his tiny little fingers with their tiny little nails to his tiny little feet topped with tiny little toes. all that tinyness just made him all the more cute, like a tiny little doll. i remembered looking at his wee wee and thinking to myself "look at his wee wittle wee wee...it's so adorable!"...right before he pee-ed into my face. he was such a diminutive little thing. baby parts are cute on babies.

they are not cute on grown folk, i thought to myself with a sigh.

i lay there, distraught over my unfortunate circumstances as i stared at bus boy's wee wittle wee wee held between my thumb and forefinger much like it'd be if i were changing his diaper. i felt him rustling impatiently above me.

"why'd you stop?" he asked incredulously, his breath coming in gasps. obviously he was completely unaware of my dilemma, too caught up in what i suspected was the rare occasion when a sista had ventured far enough to put his dick between her lips. i looked up into his eyes and hoped he didn't see through the lie i was about to spit.

"i got a piece of your pubic hair in my teeth and it's bugging the shit outta me," i sputtered as i shimmied to the edge of the bed and quickly stood. "i gotta get rid of this thing or it's gonna bug me the rest of the night."

i damn near ran to the bathroom.

closing the door, i stopped it right before it would have slammed against the frame. i exhaled a long breath as i put down the toilet seat and plopped down onto it. placing my head in my hands, i ran my mind across all of the times over the previous month where we'd kissed, all of the times i'd caressed his crotch and was disheartened cuz i thought my kisses weren't turning him on enough for him to develop a chubby. while a part of me was now elated at the realization he was probably harboring a hard on during those intense make out sessions, i wanted to kick myself for not noticing the obvious signs of his lack of a generous endowment.

never once during those sessions had he encouraged me to put my hands in his pants. usually that's one of the first things a brotha does when he gets caught up in the kissing. he wants to be stroked. shit, he can't wait to get a sista's hands on it. i mean, making out is a choreographed line dance of hand and mouth movement. the lips are the first participants, then the hands join in. there's the groping of the tits, squeezing of the ass, and eventually the hands end up in the pants. it's like the electric slide of lips and limbs.

meanwhile, i'd stumbled through my make out sessions with bus boy like an uncoordinated novice cuz he made a point of keeping his hands out of my pants, which dictated i keep my hands out of his. he'd been a good kisser though, so i hadn't complained too much. i'm just saying...there's a natural rhythm to these things and he had fucked up the rotation.

and now i knew why.

he had a wee wittle wee wee.

and now he was comfortable enough to share his shortcomings with me. SHIT.

his penchant for powdering his balls suddenly became a trivial thing in light of this major development.

"you aiight in there?" he asked anxiously, his voice muffled as he stood outside of the bathroom door.

"i'm cool," i responded with forced lightness, "i'll be out in a sec. this hair is proving to be a nuisance to get out."

"if you need it, the floss is in the medicine cabinet." a second later i heard the bed creaking as he resumed his position on it.

i stood up and opened the medicine cabinet, groaning softly as i deliberated over my choices. i could either go back to the equivalent of licking on a tic tac, using my superior oral skills to bring this session to an end as quickly as possible, or i could make up an excuse to get the fuck up outta there. i suddenly knew how that guy felt. you know that guy...the one who went down on his girl only to discover her vagina smelled like a sewer. i mean, do you stay down there and just hold your nose (or in my case, fantasize about having my mouth around something larger, like a vienna sausage), or do you make up some lame excuse cuz you know you ain't fucking with them anymore anyway so what do you care if they believe the lie or not?

only he was a pretty cool dude. we had alot in common and he made me laugh. he was a phenomenal kisser and could make a conversation flow so smoothly the words were coated in butter as they slide effortlessly from his lips. yet no matter how many attributes bus boy had, there was only one thought that kept repeating itself over and over in my head.

he's got a wee wittle wee wee.

he's got a wee wittle wee wee.

he's got a wee wittle wee wee.

girl, you can't fuck with a guy with a wee wittle wee wee!

this was not an dilemma born in vanity, folk. i'm a sista with meat on her bones and my parts are definitely of the grown folk variety. putting his dick in my mouth wasn't the worst of it. i mean, i've had small things in my mouth before. if i can manage a straw, i can suck his dick like it was a pixie stick and keep that shit moving. no, this was about the whole 'grown woman's vagina being poked by said pixie stick.' it would involve alot of faking like i felt that shit when the only thing clueing me in on that fact it was even inserted would have been his face contorted in ecstasy cuz i know i wouldn't feel a thing.

did i really want to take the farce that far?

looking at the unused floss wrapped around my middle finger, i quickly came to a decision as i heard his restless movements out in the bedroom.

i stepped out of the bathroom and made my way slowly to the bed.

"did you get it out?" he asked, his voice laced with anticipation, a crooked smile in place on his face.

"yup," i replied as i took in the sight of him still naked from the waist down, legs spread, his 'little friend' sticking straight up in between them like a tiny finger flicking the bird at me.

let me make this shit as quick as possible.

i gave him a sultry grin, slid my body between his legs, and wrapped my lips around his dick, engulfing it to the base. i smelled the faintest wisp of baby powder, but at this point i was intent on my mission...get him to spit so i could split.

i closed my eyes and created a vision in my mind. his dick was now that pixie stick, and i was gonna suck out the sweet treat inside. i ran my tongue around it, massaging the head with my mouth. i caressed the balls, noting the absence of any powder-like substance (we'd had that discussion early on, so he knew what to do when the time came). i kept this up for a few minutes before i felt his hands gripping the back of my head frantically as his hips leapt from the bed. he started grinding my head into his crotch. it wasn't long before he made his announcement and exploded in my mouth. i heard his toes popping as he curled them in response to the fierceness of his orgasm. i swallowed, then rolled over, away from him.

can i go home now?

i felt dirty. i mean, it was so small i almost felt like he wasn't old enough to have his dick in my mouth. i knew then it was over. i thought i'd be able to deal with it, but i couldn't. it was just too small. i felt bad about my decision, but i knew i'd feel worse if i continued seeing him. i wearily closed my eyes.

the only sound was his labored breathing as he tried to collected his senses.

"what time is is?" i asked nonchalantly.

he glanced at the clock on his nightstand.

"ten twenty-three" he responded breathlessly.

"damn," i said, "i still have that paper to finish. i better get home or i'm gonna be up all night working on that shit."

i peeked at him through partially closed eyes to see his expression. his eyes were closed and the brotha looked like he was falling asleep.

"i don't think i can move," he finally replied sleepily, "you wore a nigga out!"

"dude, you laid there while your dick was being sucked and then you ejaculated," i said dryly, "where in that scenario did you put in enough work to be 'worn out'?"

he chuckled, his eyes still closed.

"you don't know how much stamina a brotha need to lay there and cum like that."

i smiled at that, cuz it was easy to smile around this cat, regardless of his dick size.

"remind me to make you put in all the work the next time."

oh shit, did i just imply there'd be a next time? i was SLIPPIN! SHIT SHIT SHIT

"if you stick around, i'll return the favor. let's see who's worn out at the end..."

hmmm...

so, err...you know i stuck around, right?

turns out he's a phenomenal kisser of BOTH sets of lips.

we ended up happily dating for about six months.


moral of the story? a brotha's dick size matters less if he's skilled at cunnilingus...but in the end that shit still matters...