The One That Got Away
An SPH Experience by bruce_002.
I had mine. Her name was Mia.
She was my side chick for almost two years. I had a girlfriend at the time, and Mia was just… easy. Not easy in a slutty way—easy in the sense that she never asked for more. She’d come over, we’d fuck, she’d leave. No strings. No expectations. I could ignore her for a month, then text her “u up?” and she’d be at my place in twenty minutes.
I was her first. The first guy she ever let inside her. The first cock she ever tasted. The first man who made her cum. I knew that, and I took it for granted. I figured she’d always be around because I was her first. That meant something, right?
Wrong.
It took her a while to get over me. I’d ghost her, she’d cry, she’d come back. We had this cycle going for almost two years. But eventually, she stopped crying. Stopped coming back. She found other guys. Guys with bigger cocks. Guys who didn’t treat her like a booty call. Guys who actually gave a shit.
I didn’t realize what I’d lost until she was gone.
Fast forward three years. I’m at a bar downtown with some friends, and I see her across the room. She looks good. Different. More confident. She’s wearing a tight red dress that hugs her curves, her hair longer, her makeup sharper. She spots me, and for a second I think she’s going to ignore me. But then she smiles—that same smile—and walks over.
“Hey, stranger.”
“Hey.”
We talked for an hour. Turns out she’s single. Turns out she’s still that horny girl I remembered. We had history, and the chemistry was still there. We both knew where the night was heading.
Her place was closer. We barely made it through the door before our clothes were off. She was wet before I even touched her, and I was rock hard—four and a half inches, maybe a little less, but enough to get the job done.
I fucked her like old times. Missionary first, then doggy, then I ate her out until she came on my face. It felt familiar. Comfortable. Like slipping into an old pair of shoes.
But something was different.
Her reactions were… muted. Not fake, but not as intense as I remembered. She moaned in all the right places, but there was a restraint. A politeness. The kind of performance you give when you’re being nice rather than being taken.
Afterward, we lay in her bed, both catching our breath. I was still inside her, softening, and I traced patterns on her hip. The silence felt heavy. I needed to know.
“So,” I said, trying to sound casual. “How was it? For old times’ sake?”
She laughed softly. “Good. It was good.”
“Just good?”
She turned her head to look at me. Her eyes were soft, but there was something behind them—a truth she was weighing.
“You really want to know?”
“Yeah. I do.”
She sighed, shifted, and propped herself up on one elbow. Her hand came down to rest on my chest, her fingers playing with the hair there.
“Okay. But don’t get mad.”
“I won’t.”
She took a breath. “You were kind of the smallest on my list.”
I felt my dick shrink inside her. My heart dropped to my stomach.
“Really?”
“Really.” She wasn’t cruel about it. She said it matter-of-factly, like she was telling me the weather. “I mean, you were my first, so I didn’t know any better. I thought that was just how cocks were. You know? Normal sized. Then I started hooking up with other guys, and… yeah. You’re definitely the smallest I’ve had.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at the ceiling, my mind racing.
“How many?” I asked.
“A few. Maybe a dozen.”
“And they were all bigger?”
She nodded. “Some a lot bigger. Some just a little. But yeah. All of them.”
I felt a weird mix of shame and arousal. My cock was completely soft now, and she was still touching my chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles.
“It’s not a bad thing,” she said, sensing my discomfort. “You were good at other stuff. Your tongue, your fingers… You made me cum plenty of times. But the actual fucking? Yeah, I’ve had much bigger.”
I laughed bitterly. “So I guess that’s why you stopped coming back.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Part of it. But mostly it was because you treated me like shit. The small dick was just… the cherry on top.”
That stung worse than anything she’d said about my size.
I stayed the night anyway. We fucked again in the morning—this time she rode me, and I could see the look on her face. She was moving differently, careful not to let me slip out. I knew she was used to more to work with.
When I left, she kissed me on the cheek and said, “Take care of yourself.”
I never heard from her again.
And that’s the thing about that one side chick. You think she’ll always be there, always a phone call away, always willing to take your bullshit. But eventually, she gets tired of small cocks and small behavior. And once she’s gone, she’s gone for good.
I still think about her sometimes. Not just the sex—though that was good. But the fact that I was the only man she’d ever been with, and even I couldn’t keep her.
Now I know why.
The End.
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