Last year, I spent the winter in Amsterdam for a work trip. As an American guy clocking in at just 5’6″, the shift to this city of giants was a real eye-opener. Making friends was tough enough, but dating was even tougher. Brutal. Dutch people tower over most others, and I stood out like a sore thumb. Still, one chilly night, I met Anke, a stunning Dutch woman with long, blond hair cascading down her back and piercing blue eyes that locked onto mine across the bar. We chatted easily, laughing over drinks, and as the evening wound down, the flirtation heated up. I chickened out on inviting her back to my place, but she beat me to it, her voice low and inviting as she suggested I come to hers.

The walk to her apartment was charged with anticipation, snowflakes dusting our coats in the Amsterdam winter air. Once inside, the door barely clicked shut before our hands were on each other. We stripped off our shirts in a frenzy, my fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra until it sprang free, revealing her full breasts with pink nipples already hardening in the cool room. She kicked off her jeans and slid her panties down her long legs, exposing her shaved pussy, lips slightly parted and glistening from the building heat between us. I dropped my pants, boxers still on, and knelt between her thighs on the bed.

Anke lay back, her 5’11” frame stretching out invitingly, blonde hair fanning across the pillow. I leaned in, inhaling her musky scent, and pressed my mouth to her pussy lips. My tongue flicked out, tracing her clit in slow circles while my lips sucked gently, drawing a soft moan from her. She tasted fishy and sweet, her hips bucking slightly as I delved deeper, lapping at her entrance before sliding a finger inside her tight warmth. I curled it upward, stroking that sensitive spot while my tongue worked her clit faster, feeling her thighs tense around my head. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, hands gripping my hair, and soon she shattered—her pussy clenching around my finger, juices flooding my mouth as she cried out, body arching off the bed in a shuddering orgasm.

I pulled back, wiping my chin, my own dick throbbing hard against my boxers. Anke sat up, her blue eyes hazy with post-climax glow, and reached for the waistband of my underwear. She tugged them down, and there it was: my four-inch erection springing free, average thickness but unmistakably small. Her face shifted from satisfaction to wide-eyed surprise, brows furrowing as she stared.

“Ohhh, so small…” she blurted, the words slipping out before she could catch them.

Heat rushed to my face, a mix of embarrassment and regret twisting in my gut. I’d meant to mention it earlier, to spare us both this awkward reveal, but her height didn’t faze her, so I’d stupidly hoped this wouldn’t either. Now, naked and exposed, I felt diminished in every sense.

“Sorry,” I muttered, voice cracking. “I was going to say something sooner, but…”

She cut me off, her gaze flicking from my dick back to my face, then down to my shorter stature. “I guess I should have expected it, because you are also a small man.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, almost clinical, slicing through the lingering arousal like a cold wind. It stung, equating my dick to my height, reducing me to measurements in her eyes.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, sitting up straighter, her breasts swaying with the motion, “because usually the men I’m with are much larger down there.” She paused, as if weighing her words in the alcohol-fueled haze we’d both shared. “Dutch guys, in my experience… They’re tall and well-hung, too. Just my luck to find the exception.” Her blue eyes studied me curiously now, with less desire and more intrigue.

“Was it always like this, or did something happen?” she asked, tilting her head. I blinked, caught off guard.

Did she think some accident or surgery had left me this way? My mind raced with confusion and defensiveness, the vulnerability hitting hard after pleasuring her so intimately.

I let out a nervous chuckle, shifting on the bed to cover myself slightly. “Uhh, no, it just… never grew much beyond this. Born this way, I guess,” I said.

Her questions kept coming, relentless. “Do other women say anything when they see it?”

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, completely ignoring the naked tension between us. The pretense of sex evaporated. It felt like an interrogation now, my erection wilting under her scrutiny.

“Uh, sometimes,” I admitted, cheeks burning. “Some are kind about it, but others… they just bail when I tell them upfront.”

The rejection I’d faced before echoed in my mind, amplifying the bruise to my ego.

“Does sex feel different for you than with a much larger penis?” she pressed, her voice laced with genuine, if tactless, curiosity.

I couldn’t help a dry laugh. “Oh, I don’t know… I’ve never had a larger one to compare it with.”

The absurdity of it all hung in the air, both of us tipsy enough for her bluntness to pass without immediate offense, but it gnawed at me inside.

“I wonder if I could even feel it…” she mused aloud, her eyes drifting back to my softening cock, now just a small, defeated nub against my thigh.

Seizing the chance to redirect, I leaned in, brushing my lips against her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. “Want to find out?” I murmured, my hand sliding to her hip as I tried to guide her back onto the mattress, hoping to reignite the spark.

But she shrugged me off gently, sitting up fully. “Oh God, no. Thank you anyway. You do not need to do that tonight.”

Her rejection landed flat, her naked body still sprawled but now distant, like the intimacy was a one-way street.

Stunned, I froze. She’d just cum hard from my tongue, her pussy still slick on my lips. How could she dismiss me so casually? Normally, I’d back off, but her words framed it like I was offering charity.

“Are you sure?” I pressed, voice hopeful yet edged with desperation. “It can be really fun, I promise.”

She shook her head firmly, blue eyes meeting mine with polite finality, then dropping unsubtly to my small dick, the very thing she’d just grilled me about.

“No, thank you. I do not want it. Thank you for the lovely evening, though,” she said, and gave this big fake smile.

The hint was crystal clear. Deflated, blue balls aching, and ego shattered, I gathered my clothes, dressing in silence while she watched impassively. The walk back to my flat through the snowy Amsterdam streets was a blur of cold regret, the winter wind biting as hard as her words.

 

The End.

 

 

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