Based on a story suggestion by GY

Near the end of my first semester of college, I was at my favorite coffee house waiting to place my order when the girl in front of me turned, coffee in hand, and I moved left just as she moved right, and then we reversed, and her coffee sloshed over the side of the cup.

Nothing spilled on either of us, but I felt somehow it was my fault, and I apologized and offered to buy her another coffee.

“Not necessary, it was my fault,” she said, and I said something sort of foolish like, “No, I need to,” and she relented. I’m usually shy about talking to girls, but something about her, her eyes, her lips, her body, her aura ... whatever ... made me uncharacteristically bold. We took our coffees to a table and started talking.

We talked for more than an hour. We talked about coffee and ice cream and parents and pets and politics and road construction and what we hoped to do with our lives. It turned out she was a grad student in physics. I was still trying to decide my major. I was in General Studies, but my real interest was art.

I thought about her the rest of the day and much of the night. I jerked off thinking about her. The next day I went to the coffee shop again at the same time, hoping she would be there, and she was, sitting at “our” table. I got a coffee, and she smiled at me, an invitation to sit with her, and we talked again, about God and favorite fairy tales and favorite art and artists. The word smitten came to my mind. I was smitten. I blushed.

“You okay?” she asked.

I wanted to blurt, “I love you,” but I managed to hold my tongue.

“What is it?” she insisted.

“Nothing, except ... I really like you.”

“That’s not nothing,” she said. “And I really like you too.”

“You do?”

“I do. I really do. Do you want to go to bed?”

I couldn’t believe it. “That would be ... fantastic.”

“Maybe it would,” she said. “Let’s go find out.”

“Ah yeah, but I can’t get up for a minute.”

“Why not?”

“I kind of have to, um, let my, ah, my cock calm down.”

“Oh,” she said. She grinned at me. “How long do you think your cock might need? To calm down.”

She kept grinning at me. My cock didn’t calm down. “I don’t think it’s going to,” I said.

“Great,” she said. “Let’s go.”

So we went, the front of my pants bowed like crazy.

She lived in an apartment upstairs in an old house four or five blocks from the coffee house. Inside her door she undressed me. I undressed her. She helped, and then she led me to the bed. She pulled me back, and I was on top of her, and then I was in her.

I could never have imagined anything feeling so good. And it kept feeling better and better and then she gasped, “Oh yes, come in me!” and her sex was clenching my cock and I was coming in her.

“Oh my goodness,” she said. “I don’t usually come that fast.”

She had her head on my shoulder and was lightly, ever so slowly, running her fingers over my softened cock. It was getting stiff again. Across from us, I watched her in the mirror of her closet doors. Her expression as she touched me was clearly one of interest and delight. So when she said, “I’m going to have to get myself a new toy,” I was a little concerned that somehow I hadn’t measured up.

I said, “I thought ... Do you mean it wasn’t ... I wasn’t...”

She turned her head, looked at me, and gave me a raised eyebrows look. “You were,” she said. You were fine. You were more than fine. Your dick is more than fine. You do know that right?”

“You’re not just saying that?”

“Why would I lie about that?”

I shrugged. “Maybe it’s something women say to help a guy’s ego.”

She rolled over me, opened the drawer of her bedside table, and pulled out something pink and penis-shaped. I knew some women had such things. I’m not sure why but I was surprised she’d have one.

“I mean, look at it!” she said as she waved it at me.

She held it next to my dick. What I saw made me uneasy. I expected that if a woman had a choice, that size would matter.

“Look,” she said, caressing my cock with her toy. “Yours is so much more.”