The Night I Hooked Up With the Cute Guy From My Psych Class and His “Little” Dick Ruined Me for Anyone Else

Everyone in lecture called him “Quiet Ben.” 5'10", messy brown curls, glasses, always in flannel, the guy who actually read the textbook and raised his hand with thoughtful answers. I’d been crushing hard all semester. Last Thursday our study group turned into just the two of us at his off-campus apartment after everyone else bailed.

We’re on his couch, notes everywhere, wine in coffee mugs. He’s nervous, keeps pushing his glasses up, finally blurts, “I really like you.” I kiss him before he finishes the sentence. It’s soft and sweet at first, then hungry. Shirts come off, he’s lean, swimmer’s shoulders, cute happy trail. I reach for his jeans and he actually stops me.

“Hey… I should warn you, I’m… not big. Like, objectively small.”

He looked so embarrassed I almost laughed, but instead I kissed him again and said, “I don’t care. Let me see.”

He wasn’t lying: maybe 4.5 inches hard, slim, perfectly straight, cute upward curve. Honestly adorable. I dropped to my knees anyway and took him all the way in one motion (no gag, no effort, just warmth and wetness). The noise he made was pure shock and relief. I sucked him slow, swirling my tongue around the head, playing with his balls, looking up at him the whole time. He lasted maybe two minutes and came hard down my throat, hips jerking, whispering “oh my god” over and over.

Then he flipped the script.

He laid me on his bed like I was something precious, kissed every inch of me, spent forever on my tits, then went down on me for what felt like an hour: perfect rhythm, perfect pressure, two fingers curled exactly where I needed them. I came twice before he even came up for air.

When he finally slid inside me I laughed, because it felt… different. Not stretching, not deep pressure, just this perfect, snug friction right against my front wall. That little upward curve hit my G-spot on every single stroke. He fucked me slow at first, watching my face, adjusting the angle until I was gasping. Then he sped up, short, fast thrusts that never went too deep, just constant perfect contact.

I came harder than I ever have in my life, legs shaking, actually screaming into his pillow. He kept going, same perfect rhythm, and I came again thirty seconds later. Third time he flipped me onto my stomach, entered from behind, shallow and fast, one hand under me rubbing my clit in tight circles. I saw stars. When he finally came he buried his face in my neck and moaned my name like he was praying.

After, we were both laughing and sweaty and stunned. He kept apologizing (“I know it’s small, I’m sorry”) and I literally climbed on top of him and said, “If you ever apologize for that dick again I’ll be devastated. That was the best sex of my life.”

We’ve hooked up four times since. Every single time I come at least three times before he even thinks about finishing. Size queens can keep their monsters; I’ll take perfect fit, perfect angle, and a guy who knows exactly what he’s doing with what he has.

Quiet Ben is officially not quiet in bed, and I’m officially ruined for anyone else.