I happen to like curves on men. I love firm adorable butts that beg to be bitten. A small waist that flows up to strong wide shoulders. Thick thighs that tell me if he wants to pin me down on the bed with them… he can.
I want to hold on to the sturdy form of a man. Curves arising from the tone of his muscles. Not bulk but tone.
I’m not attracted to prepubescent boys. Many are. I’m not counted among them.
And hair. I do like hair on a man’s legs, arms, shoulders and chest trailing down to his pubic bone. Cock and balls shaved because little hairs getting caught in the back of the throat is a real mood killer! But yes hair. Not unruly and out of control but I want to feel his man fur against me. I want to be reminded that he’s different than me. That where I’m smooth, soft and feminine; he’s strong, hairy and masculine.
I need that contrast. He has something I want. His power. His strength. His masculinity. That I’ll never have on my own. And I’m a greedy bitch when it comes to his manhood!
I want his substance mingle deeply with mine. I want it so deep that his scent starts to exude from my pores.
And I want him just as hungry for me and all that is wrapped in my curvy, wanton package.