The Smallness Myth

Shame, Truth, and Rewriting Desire

It starts before the first kiss.
Before the first undoing of a belt.
Before you even know what wanting is—
this whisper you carry, silent as a bruise:
Don’t be small.

That myth, honeyed and hollow, presses itself into the skin early.
Size as promise. Size as proof. Size as worth.
But what if the hand that holds you doesn’t need you to be bigger?
What if the heat isn’t in the grandeur—but in the gift of being known, exactly as you are?

In the first 75 words, we shed the myth: the lie that smallness is less than.
Let’s talk about internalised body expectations—not as pathology, but as poetry.
As power. As possibility.

Inherited Shame: Where the Myth Begins

I remember standing in front of a mirror, age thirteen, after gym class. The fluorescent lights above didn’t forgive anything. I’d overheard the older boys talking. Laughing. Some cruel taxonomy of dick sizes as if it were scripture. And I looked down, and I learned to measure myself not just in inches—but in failure.

No one teaches you how to hold your own body with reverence when the world insists it’s not enough. And that message? It stays. In the locker room. In the bed. In the quiet moments when your pants come off and someone looks at you like they’re still waiting for something else.

This is where the myth lives: in silence, in shadows, in comparison.

The Smallness Myth and Erotic Reclamation

But what if smallness wasn’t shame?
What if it was sensation? Precision? Offering?

In His Theirs Enough, Alaric looks Elias in the eye and says, “You’re smaller than you think.”
Not to wound. But to begin.

That line changed me—writing it, breathing it. Because what if the fear of being small is actually a longing to be held entirely? What if the erotic isn’t always about more, but about meaning?

“His cock — not even the length of Alaric’s thumb — jutted forward shyly.”
— His Theirs Enough

Shyness can be sacred. Smallness can be its own kind of exhibition. An invitation to intimacy that isn’t about performance, but presence.

When the Body Doesn’t Match the Fantasy

You learn to fake it. To grip the sheets. To push harder. To pretend you’ve got more than you do. Because somewhere inside, you still think: If I were bigger, I’d be enough.

It’s not just dicks. It’s the chest. The arms. The everything. The bigger body we’re told will get us chosen.

But then someone touches you. Not like you’re lacking. Not like you need to be more. But like this—this exact softness, this curve, this cock—is worthy of worship.

“You like how small you are in my hand?” Nico asks Elias, not mocking, but marveling.
— His Theirs Enough

Rewriting Desire: Softness, Power, Precision

Here’s the truth I had to learn:
Smallness doesn’t preclude desire.
Smallness can intensify it.

A small cock can be worshipped.
A small cock can ache, can rule, can ruin.

It can be held like a secret, sucked like a sacrament. It can be the site of surrender, or the source of control.

“You will come when I decide you’ve earned it.”
— His Theirs Enough

That’s not about denial.
That’s about reverence.

The Smallness Myth and Internalised Body Expectations

So many of us carry the quiet ache of never quite measuring up.
But let me tell you what I know now: You’re not too small to be loved. Or wanted. Or devoured.

You don’t have to be bigger to be held.
You don’t have to be anything other than real.

And if someone looks at you and sees not lack, but longing—
stay.

Stay, and be undone.