I think the moment I realized that you had accepted and embraced your smallness and the smallness of men was when you offered to give my clitoris a blow job. 

It was so sweet for so many reasons.

You sat down on my shoulder and spoke into my ear, and together we talked about how big or small you would have to be shrunk or grown to, for my clit to fill your mouth like your cock used to fill mine. Our conversation was so detailed and so dirty. I knew that my clitoris had grown since you got small, and our sex got much more frequent and much more lusty. But I had no idea it was actually shaped like something you could go down on like a cock. I wondered how much you'd remember when you actually went down to deliver on the promise of this juicy role reversal.

I have to say, I didn't know whether you'd follow my instructions. Going down on a cock (when you were big) and going down on a clitoris are as different as a geyser and an earthquake fault. One squirts and the other shakes the whole world. 

I should have known you would have the right idea when I felt you reach my breasts. When I had you in the big world, you would go through the motions of foreplay when you reached my warm orbs. But this... was SO different.

 When you soft-kissed, light-kissed, French-kissed and sloppy-kissed my nipples... you weren't just playing with them. You were ROMANCING them. I was feeling a voice and a sexual persona, part of me but apart from me, inside of me, that was singing backup to my own soft song of pleasure. It was another woman but it was me. Soon it was two other women as you kissed and fondled my other breast into life. 

The complexity of my sexuality and my body always seemed to set me up for disappointment as men worked to understand me. But your gentle and lustful embraces were setting me up for something better. The way your arms and elbows dug into my areola and rolled it forward, kneading it like pizza dough. Your obvious hunger for me and for my nipple

resonated all through me. 

Then came the moment you took my clitoris in your mouth. Until that moment, I perceived my clit as one point, one incredibly focused spot that responded in unity to sensation. You, however, made your tongue dance and scoop and swirl along the length of my clit. You gave me the sensation of tiny little nerve fibers of light and pleasure, each following their own path to my brain and lighting up my pleasure centers in little flashes, adding up to a bundle of ecstacy and electricity. You taught me my clitoris has an up side and an underside, a left and a right, a front and a back, a tip and a shaft and a base. I could identify sensations from all of these places. 

You weren't just doing your duty to your woman. You were making love and making me feel like I have another sexual persona, another voice in my erotic chorus, all sharing these sensations together. For me, it was the beginning of a magnitude-9 earthquake, and when you plunged your legs inside me, I shook and shuddered and bit my lowered lip and laughed and growled and held on for the wonder ride you were giving my naughty places. 

Then as I thought the songs of my sexual energy couldn't possibly override the quake, you slid inside me and became the conductor of my erotic orchestra. You waved your hands and wiggled your square man shoulders and gave me a beat to synchronize my pulsing vagina. You waved to the string section and my G-spot came alive, you hit soft, sweet notes until it fired my juices into the air like a flower.  

You directed my powerful vaginal walls from climax to climax in a thunderous overture and your reward was to swim in and swallow the sweet honey made by this very happy woman. I saw so many colors, and heard so many words, and I was just moaning and babbling with joy for what seemed like forever.