A few months ago (perhaps around last Halloween) I invested in a dildo marketed as "The Werewolf". Without going into my bit of a werewolf fetish, I know the toy is a case of eyes bigger than my stomach... er... orifices. "He" has 10 inches of "usable" length and a two inch base. The head is 9 inches around. (compared to the deliciousness of the NJoy 11 - which is 5.5 inches at the side that fits easily and 6.5 at the one that doesn't).
That alone makes this toy one for "Fantasy Only".
I named "him", River. In fantasy, River is a towering, toned, dirty blonde were. In a way, "he" is also named for Mr. L and imbued with the things it's possible no mortal man could give me.
My fantasies are still fertile even though I feel stagnant. My dreams still exist even though I'm not able to act on all of them...
Perhaps, my tendency to think about what I want and don't have (or what I need and am not getting) is stronger than I believe. Then again, it could be like hunger - gnawing with urgency. The heart pains could be just like the hunger pangs faced.
A satisfying fantasy is still a fantasy.
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