I ended up hooking up with a good friend of mine after a mean girl made fun of his penis size at a party

Okay I'm putting this on reddit because I can't tell anyone I actually know and I need to get it out of my head.

I hooked up with my childhood friend Eli last weekend and it was genuinely some of the best sex I've had in college and I've been thinking about it constantly since. Context matters here so bear with me.

I've known Eli since seventh grade. Earth science class, sat next to each other, he explained plate tectonics in a way that actually clicked and we were inseparable for like two years before high school happened and everyone sorted themselves out socially and we just drifted. Not dramatically, just the slow fade of two people ending up in different friend groups. I ran into him at college orientation and felt that specific warmth of rediscovering something you forgot you liked. We'd been loosely back in each other's orbit since September.

He's nineteen, still very much the same guy. Five-nine, slim, sandy hair that needs a cut, thick glasses, the kind of person who apologizes when someone bumps into him. Genuinely sweet. Not someone I'd thought about like that, or not consciously anyway.

So there's this girl, Brianna, classic mean girl type, and apparently she pulled some cruel prank on Eli at a party the week before, got him to skinny dip on a dare, saw everything, and had been running her mouth about his size to basically everyone. I heard her in the bathroom line going into graphic detail while her friends laughed. She did the finger thing. You know the thing.

I stood there and felt actually furious.

I found him in the kitchen doing his best impression of someone who definitely hadn't heard any rumors, cup in hand, jaw tight, not quite meeting anyone's eyes. I touched his arm and said come with me, and we slipped out the back door onto the porch, away from the music and the bodies crowding the hallway behind us. The air outside was cooler, smelled like cut grass and whatever someone had been smoking near the fence earlier, the bass from inside thumping dull and distant through the wall.

I told him what I'd heard. That Brianna had been running her mouth, the whole thing, the finger demonstration, all of it. He stared at the porch railing for a moment and then looked at me with an expression I couldn't fully read, somewhere between grateful and waiting for a punchline that never came.

I kissed him before either of us could overthink it.

He went completely still, long enough that my stomach dropped a little, and then he kissed me back slow and careful, both hands coming up like he wasn't sure where to put them, and there was something in the way he did it that made my chest do something I wasn't expecting.

We went back inside and navigated upstairs through the party, past someone's coat pile and a group of guys arguing about something on their phone, found an empty room at the end of the hall and closed the door behind us. Suddenly the party was just a low thrum through the floorboards, quiet enough to hear each other breathe. The room smelled like laundry and dim lamp light and him, clean and warm underneath everything else.

He told me he'd only done this once before and that it had been fast and kind of a disaster. So I took my time.

I pulled him down onto the bed and kept things slow, hands on his chest, kissing him until his breathing changed and his hands stopped being unsure about where to land. I guided one of them under my shirt and he got the idea, palms warm against my skin, thumbs tracing up my ribs. I got his shirt off and then mine and his eyes went somewhere specific and stayed there, and I liked that, the way he looked at me like he was trying to memorize something.

When I got his jeans off I want to be straightforward about what I saw because that's the whole point of this post. He was hard and yeah, he's small. Three and a half inches, maybe a little under, a slight leftward curve. I wrapped my hand around him and he made a sharp sound through his nose and got harder in my grip, and here's the thing nobody who was laughing in that bathroom seems to understand: I didn't care. My hand fit around him easy and I stroked him slow and watched his jaw go tight and honestly just felt annoyed all over again at Brianna for making him feel like this was something to be ashamed of.

I pushed him onto his back and told him to use his fingers first. He was hesitant so I guided his hand between my thighs and let him feel how wet I already was and that seemed to recalibrate something in him because he stopped being hesitant. Two fingers, slow at first, then finding a rhythm when I told him to curl them slightly, and I was embarrassingly loud about it, grabbing his wrist and riding his hand and not really caring how I sounded because it was good, actually good, better than guys who think three pumps of their fingers counts as foreplay.

I came on his hand before we even got to anything else, which set a tone.

When I finally got his boxers off and straddled him I took it slow, reached down and lined him up myself and sank down an inch at a time. The fit was easy, no stretch, and I felt him twitch inside me when I settled my full weight down, his hands gripping my thighs. Here's my genuine honest review of the experience: the angle sitting on top of him meant he hit exactly the right spot every single time I rolled my hips forward. Every. Single. Time. I don't know how to explain it except that shorter with the right curve in the right position is doing things that longer and straight never managed to figure out.

I rolled my hips and found the pace and stopped thinking about explaining anything to anyone.

He got less quiet the longer it went on, hands moving up from my thighs to my waist and then my chest, figuring out what to do with his hands in a way that felt like watching someone realize they're actually good at something. I put one of his hands where I needed it and he worked it while I moved and I made sounds I'm a little embarrassed about in retrospect, the kind that come out whether you plan them to or not.

I came the second time clenching around him hard enough that my whole body shook, thighs locking up, one hand braced on his chest, the sound that came out of me not even a little bit dignified. He finished maybe a minute after, hands tight on my hips, face turned into the pillow beside him, breathing completely wrecked.

We lay there after, on top of a stranger's comforter, the party still thumping away downstairs like nothing had happened, and I stared at the ceiling and thought about Brianna doing her little finger demonstration in the bathroom and genuinely could not relate.

After a bit he lifted his head and looked at me, glasses crooked, and gave me that small genuine smile I remembered from seventh grade, the crinkly one, and something moved around in my chest that I'm still not sure what to do with.

I kissed him again and his arms came around me and we stayed like that for a while with the party carrying on without us, and I'm lying in my dorm bed right now at two in the morning thinking about it, genuinely cannot decide if this is the beginning of something or just the best night I've had all semester.