We did the usual: dinner at a posh restaurant, then after drinks at the swanky Man Ray Restaurant. All I could think about was showing off my abs to this girl, and letting her show off a bit of what was under her shirt, to me. Call me hot in the pants, but at least I'm honest. But that's not all I wanted from this girl. I actually liked her and could see myself in a serious relationship with her, if the sex was good.

After our drinks, I invited her back to my place. "Jill" waivered for a moment, but then said no. I thought that was the end until she said "but you can come to my place instead." I was happy again. I was in there. I was going to wake up in Jill's bed the next day, naked. I was certain of it...or at least I hoped so.

We kissed all the way to her place, even though the cabbie gave us suspicious glances in his rearview mirror. By the time we got to her door, we were both on fire. We didn't even make it to her bedroom and to this day I still don't know what it looks like and doubt I ever will.

The sofa is where we ended up, me on top of her, pulling up her skirt, coming out of my Diesel jeans.

I was ready for all night long action...that is, until she said, "Are you in yet? When are you going to put it in?" I assured her that I was indeed "present" and didn't think more of her question. Looking back on it, I did wonder why she was so limp and docile... not like the vixen I thought she'd be in the sack. She held back alright. I even thought I saw a bored look on her face once during the 45-minute romp.

We stopped, or I stopped for a water break and was contemplating how I could reve things up a bit, when she started yawning and bascially asked me to get lost. Of course she said something about being really tired and that she had to get up early the next morning. I was utterly disappointed.

I gathered my things together and kissed her goodnight and stood outside her front door wondering what the hell had just happened. The goodbyes had lasted a mere five minutes at best. As I stood there wondering if I should knock on the door and ask her what was wrong, I heard her talking on the phone to her best friend. She was talking about me, describing our encounter.

I have never gotten over the one sentence that explained it all:

"He had the smallest d**** I have ever seen or felt in my life."

Now tell me, how does a man get over that?

*Submitted by A.C.

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