Don't Enlarge: Be In Charge

Happy Friday my well-hung heroes (and the few women who love them too)!

First item of business I'd like to get out of the way: I have finished writing "Frances Haddon's Pillow Book: Chapter Two."  I think it's something you are all going to enjoy very much, and at this point I'm just waiting for response from the lovely patron who has been commissioning this series to get back to me and (hopefully) tell me that he approves of it.  After that I'll post it to the fan club for the early-bird readers.  (Some of you have been asking about the fan club: I'm referring to my Yahoo group, which you can join 100% free if you just drop me a quick e-mail at veronicadivineff@gmail.com

Current members will be happy to assure you that I do not send them spam or do anything F'd up with their e-mail addresses.)

Now then, I'd like to take a moment to talk about growth stories and Penis Enlargement. 

In the sub genres of Size Queen fiction, one category I actually hate are stories about penis growth or enlargement.  I don't know if I can properly articulate why these don't turn me on, but I'll try.

In the first place, there's just some silly part of me that likes the idea of  size being innate, and fixed.  I'm not into guys who are young enough to still be growing (it should probably be illegal for a lady my age to have that kind of fixation) and stories about guys taking potions or pills or using magic or sci-fi technology to get huge dicks just never somehow do it for me.  Yes, yes, I know some of my own work has occasionally had some elements of this, but the effects have always been very temporary by design, and are only exciting because they're being used on someone who is huge to begin with.

This is much the same way I don't like penis-pumps in general, but might occasionally marvel if a really huge guy uses one just for the exaggerated appearance that is the end result.

But there's a darker reason behind my disdain for stories of penis growth.  I hate the apparently enormous market for products guys use to try to get bigger.  I hate the pills and the creams and the "just one little trick" and the spam e-mails and fucking Ron Jeremy trying to hock snake oil for the dick.  The last one really makes absolutely no sense if you think about it: "I was born in 1953, decades before anyone ever tried to sell a penis pill, but now I'm on camera saying I somehow have knowledge of penis pills because my dick is already big." 

What the WHAT!?

Anyway, there's a lot of guilt here for me.  I write stories in which well-hung men are worshiped and catered to simply because they are big.  It gets me off.  I hate that it does, but there you go.  I just hope guys who read my stories can do so with the intellectual detachment and grains of salt necessarily to remember that but for the precious few like me, these stories are not some guide to every woman's sexuality and that it isn't worth it wasting your money, time, or especially your worry that you might not be big enough. 

You are. 

Trust me.

Now go stuff it inside somebody and have an amazing weekend.