the kind of man i want by Agatha Valencia
Before telling you what I want, you have to know who I am. Or at least the preconceptions I fit in.
I feel long and petite. I’ve been told my mouth is small. Went to the OBGYN once… She couldn’t fit the stick in my pussy. Ass is small and round like a cherub’s cheeks. My gaze strays when a guy with tattoos stares, pearls clutched, but also a little bit hot. I try to see myself as much as I can because it gives me pleasure. Love to know that I look good.
My posture is terrible, have a bit of smartphone neck. My spine looks like a concave curve sometimes because I worry people might see my nipples. I can use just nipple covers because my tits are not that big but I walk really fast. Makes me self-conscious when they inevitably bounce around. I blush easily too, have only kissed twice. I really don’t know how to do much except touch only what’s mine. But I can flirt. Saying goodbye, I bit a guy’s earlobe once. Not too hard, of course. I would do everything oh-so-frequently if only people’s spit didn’t make me recoil. There’s prudeness in me, too. Sorry. Can’t do things in a public setting.
In my day-to-day, I’ve always looked for prestige and excellence without knowing. I consider myself more intelligent than most, or at least that my brain is rather fast in certain topics. I’m the person who steps up when it’s needed, when no one else knows what to do or how, when people need coordinating, when people need to be ordered around. I thrive in a room full of introverts because I’m kind and assertive. I am the direction. A direction looking underage: can’t offer the thrill of a big rack, even with eight years past eighteen. I’m hilarious but not outrageous; it’s hard for me to be crass —trying hard to be, though. Aside from my mother, no one has seen me naked.
The kind of man I want makes me do things I want to do. He makes me desire him with no reservations. Tells me what to do, lets my pretty head rest. Doesn’t say obvious things like how intelligent or funny I am, and instead objectifies me in private (and from behind). He spanks me when I inevitably bite his bicep, and does something with this perpetual wetness coming out of me. When we cross a street, his hand is on my back, and he pays the fucking bill. We are so comfortable with each other that I don’t even have to pretend I want to pay for anything.
He likes how fragile I seem because of how powerful it makes him look… There’s little merit if you take care of someone who can take care of herself. He knows how easy it can be to hurt me, so it makes no sense: if he ever wants to hurt something, it will be something hard to hurt. That’s how much of a man he is.
The kind of man I want gives me so much that no parts of me will have to be saved. He will deserve the effort I put into looking pretty and being fun to be around. He will make me want to wear heels. I will want to be the most stunning person alive. He cries on my lap when life gets a little too much. Face might be sweet, haven’t decided, but there’s gentleness to this man —even if I want to be scared once in a while. I am many things I don’t admit, but he will know how to carry the exploitation of my repression for his pleasure.
Because I’m a kitty, a girl, a princess, a flower… Too proper, clean, and unconsumed. He’s going to get rid of this tiredness once my skin wakes up to his touch. I don’t care for poets or artists. I want someone who doesn’t need to speak to make me feel worshipped, whose hands are agile enough to control their strength. I want to be flipped, turned, tossed. Don’t want to weigh at all. For him, I will be air, pink, and stars. He will love it when I sing. He’s going to be my audience forever and…
His lap will be my favorite chair.
Agatha Valencia is a Costa Rican writer with a background in economics and a lifelong obsession with the secret lives of women. She writes about outliers and bodies out of sync. A newcomer to publishing, she finds freedom at night by studying musical theater, urban dances (popping specifically) and performing in drag as euroraver_25.
© 2026 Agatha Valencia. All rights reserved.
