I heard a saying once, that the best gifts come in small packaging, or something along those lines. I never gave it much thought; I was always so certain that bigger was automatically better. Bigger meant wider, longer, fuller, thicker, anything along those lines, and anything along those lines was better for whichever country was obtaining it; Wider and longer space for land, fuller populations and trade, thicker income, all for the betterment of a nation.
Yes, in my eyes, bigger ways always better. However, that was before I'd obtained my little Latvia.
His body is small, both short and thin, and though he's often the color of the snow I despise so much, somehow he makes it beautiful. Alluring. And of course, he isn't white all over. His lips and his nipples are pink, especially after I've gotten my mouth on them. He tastes just as sweet as he looks, like a mix of pure sugar and powder.
People often reprimand me for how I feel for my Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia especially. They always say that he's too young for my attention, he's too small and weak for my advances, and on one occasion, Estonia even burst out and said I should feel ashamed of myself and called me a pedophile. As if they understand at all. They left me long before already.
I ignored them initially, but after a while I did begin to wonder if what I feel is wrong. My feelings aren't complicated; I think Latvia is adorable, beautiful even, and I want to kiss and hold and touch him all the time. I want to keep him with me forever, and I still don't understand what's so wrong about it. Yes, compared to me his body is small, but his mind and heart are adult, and if he truly believes the same as his comrades do, he would say so. I know he would. I know my Latvia.
Oh yes, I do so know my Latvia. I know his body from the tips of his hair to the soles of his feet. I know exactly where to touch him to make him giggle or squirm or cry out. I know how to touch him to control the pace of his heart. I know what to say to him to make him go limp in my arms, often just a ghost of a whisper right into his ear.
This is why I consider Latvia to be mine in the first place; I'm sure I know him better than even he does. He does belong to me, although sometimes, actually once in a blue moon, he forgets this and I regretfully have to punish him. I have to lock the door, I have to bind his wrists and take him dry, and I have to hurt him, although neither of us enjoys it. I have to hurt him because I love him. I can't let him forget his place with me, so he must be punished. I know he understands, I only hurt him because I love him so much, and if he'd just obey all the time I'd never have to make him bleed.
But I suppose it's just in his nature to disobey sometimes, and I must punish him again, and he acts nervous and scared around me for weeks after. I hate seeing that. I devote extra time just to show him how much I love him, and I know he understands. He has to understand. He just has to.
Maybe in the reality of some, my passion for my Latvia is wrong. Maybe in their eyes I'm a tyrant and he's a whimpering victim. I don't care, because they'll never understand my love for him. They'll never understand how it feels to lose everyone you love, and to find someone new and fresh and soft and delicious to love, only to have the world try repeatedly to steal him away. None of them understand, not Lithuania or Estonia or Ukraine or even Belarus could possibly.
I love my Latvia, and he understands; he loves me in return. He does, he always will. He has to. He's mine.