Let Me Be Tiny—And Wanted There is something holy about being held in a palm.Not as possession. Not as property. But as offering. Think of it—your cock, your breath, your trembling want—cradled like a secretkept safebecause it is small. There’s…
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…
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