Salon.com Life | Short and sweet
politics is depressing (again) so how about a little sex?
my friend J-- is a short guy and he is the most adorable guy on the planet. every gay festival, every bar, club or cafe, wonderfully tall handsome men would swoop down and scoop him up. and now J--'s partner is also on the short side and they make the perfect salt and pepper shaker couple. there is something to the compact appeal of a short guy. they're cute. (oh, umi, where are you now?)
but there are limitations. yeah, it's too much to ask a guy to smooth over all your insecurities with his height, but as a big soft girl, i don't want to roll over on my side while i'm in bed with someone and not see the person behind me - just a tiny little hand flung over my plushy shoulder. and then there's making out. let's say you're both rolling around and then you cimb on top and - hey, where'd he go?? i'd feel like a bully sitting on the chest of some skinny little boy i've knocked down on the playground.
that's just...well. that's just not going to happen. (again)
i know all my girlfriends are adamant about their height requirements - lobbyist lumberjacks, gentlemen giants and brawny lawyers need only apply over there. they want to feel feminine, small, dainty and tiny. i said this to a gay friend of mine once and he put his hand on mine and said, very kindly, "sweetie, you ain't never gonna be dainty." it stung, but he was right. i was never going to be thistledown. no man was ever going to swing me into his arms without grunting, herniating a disc or buckling his knees. (oh, s--, i'm sorry for putting you in a truss.)
but maybe there's something powerful in that amazonian feat of wrestling a cute little guy down and unleashing an earthquake of lust on him simply because you can. maybe.
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