He's under 6'2"

Maybe she's just tight because I'm her first and shes has not been a big whore. But if tats the case then I got really lucky finding a women in this day and age who dose not have a blow out cunt.

Im gonna be honest here, I knew this girl practically her whole teenage years. Knew she was how she was.

Just under 5' never really felt a thing while raw dogging her, she didn't felt a thing either, never came, we had so much sex and she just got bored at the end. Just be glad with what you have.

>I'll poke at typical teen-angst and -insecurity
>I know, I'll go for height and cock as usual.
^ftfy

Pic unrelated

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what can i say, feeling is mutual

My girl was super tight virgin as well. One day just pounding really hard, i felt it pretty much stretch out and she went from pain to pleasure instantly.

Not sure what it was but she loves it all now. Took 2 years for that to happen but i got use to going hard at the end and as deep as possible.
Just get her really in the mood and warmed up and go hard. It will fit.

So i'm lucky that she is not what most guys want? I thought most guys like blow out vags and implants. But what you said i've heard before from a friend. My friend would always ask if she gave me head yet and I said ya why? He said his GF feels better giving head then having sex... Now even when she is doing her thing it still feels good having normal sex. He later admitted that his GF is a bit to lose and as they go on and she gets wet he can't feel a thing. Problem also with my GF of being to tight is she wants implants but her tits are big right now and I love the feel of them.
it's always hard first putting it in after 3 days because it takes her 3 days to heal. but, if we do it every day and I'm not to aggressive with her then it seems to feel better for her. I'm half way through my second year with her I hope you are right.

I liked like she was, I'm not picky as long as shes not black. Couldn't feel a thing, kissing and handjobs were better.

So basically a guy can replace the girl you are with.

fffffuuuuu I'm 6'1" and 6.5" :(

interesting larp

>admitting being a manlet on a public forum
>not wearing stilts and paying a woman to lie about your tiny dick
I suppose there is some strength in being able to survive as such a horribly malformed reject. I hope you find peace in this world user. Maybe you can live in one of those little person villages and pretend your hunchbacked wife isn't finding normal sized dick on the regular.

Do you know how to prevent me from ripping my GF every time I go in?

stop fucking dogs

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user, stop projecting what you do in your own life on others. Now can you answer my question or just be mad?

sorry man. it's your dog. do whatever.

So it's a no then. Well when you get with a non animal then tell me how to fix my problem. Also, I don't own a dog or have one so that's why you must just be talking about what you use it seems. I still don't know why you are pushing your ideals in this thread when you can just start another about fucking the small dog you have or something.

When will you faggots learn to stop caring what females think? The majority of them are literally cattle and cattle. Do you care what a cow thinks of you?

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I'm pretty obviously just fucking with you, guy.
Learn to ignore it or you're going to have a bad time here.

and stop fucking your dog

>are literally cattle and cattle
Please clarify, are the second kind merely non-literal, or are they actually figurative cattle?

he posts troll threads on Cred Forums to feel better about his fragile ego...

I gave up on women and started treating them like shit. That's when I met the one I'm with now. So point is, non of them will respect you if you are a cuck and put them above you. Kinda like you are saying.
I know, I'm just trying to edge responses from you. Seeing if you come up with something I have not seen before.

>she's over 100 pounds
>she's under 6'

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>fair enough.
It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom,
it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief,
it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light,
it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope,
it was the winter of despair,
we had everything before us,
we had nothing before us,
we were all going direct to Heaven,
we were all going direct the other way--
in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of
its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for
evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the
throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with
a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer
than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes,
that things in general were settled for ever.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five.
Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period,
as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth
blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had
heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were
made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane
ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its
messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally
deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the
earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People,
from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange
to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any
communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane
brood.

The .Pest part 2

France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her
sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down
hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her
Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane
achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue
torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not
kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks
which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty
yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and
Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death,
already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into
boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in
it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses
of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were
sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with
rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which
the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of
the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work
unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about
with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion
that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.

In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to
justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and
highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night;
families were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing
their furniture to upholsterers' warehouses for security; the highwayman
in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and
challenged by his fellow-tradesman whom he stopped in his character of
“the Captain,” gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the
mail was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and
then got shot dead himself by the other four, “in consequence of the
failure of his ammunition:” after which the mail was robbed in peace;
that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand
and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the
illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London
gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law
fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball;
thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at
Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles's, to search
for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the
musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences
much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy
and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing
up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker on
Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the
hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door of
Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer,
and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer's boy of
sixpence.

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All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close
upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five.
Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded,
those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the
fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights
with a high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred
and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small
creatures--the creatures of this chronicle among the rest--along the
roads that lay before them.

>he's under age 12

>She's over 220
>Her stomach is over 44"

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