Summer Lessons in Moderation
An SPH Experience by umsaythatagain.
I started the day right: eggs, bacon, a solid workout, and a long run. By one o’clock, I was by the pool with a bottle of dark rum and a can of Coke. I don’t remember the exact count, but I know I hit at least three rum and Cokes, then a Blue Moon with a slice of orange. The sun was hot, the water was cool, and my judgment was nowhere to be found. Somewhere between the second and third drink, I decided swimming naked was the obvious choice. The pool is in the backyard, fenced in, private. No one could see me. Even if they could, I was too drunk to care.
I peeled off my trunks, tossed them onto the lounge chair, and dove in. The water felt incredible. I floated on my back, staring up at the blue sky, my body completely bare. My little dick—I’ve never had much to write home about—dangled between my legs, soft and useless, barely an inch and a half even when I’m hard. I’ve always been small. The doctors called it a micropenis when I was a kid. My parents never made a big deal about it, but I knew. I always knew. In high school, gym class showers were a nightmare. I’d wrap a towel around my waist before anyone could see. I’ve never been with a girl sexually, not really—a couple of drunken handjobs that ended in awkward silence. The only person who’s ever seen me fully naked is myself.
But that afternoon, alone and drunk, I didn’t care. I swam, I drank more rum straight from the bottle, and eventually I climbed out of the pool, water dripping off my pale, skinny body. I lay down on the lounge chair, still naked, the sun warming my skin. I closed my eyes. The rum hit hard. I passed out, face down, arms hanging off the sides of the chair. Completely unconscious. Completely exposed.
I have no idea how long I was out. When I woke up, it wasn’t to the sun. It was two voices. Laughter. Close. I opened my eyes, groggy, disoriented. The sun had shifted, and the shadows were longer. I turned my head, and my blood went cold.
Standing at the edge of the patio, holding a camera phone and grinning like an idiot, was my brother. Next to him was my dad, holding a golf club bag in one hand, his other hand over his mouth, trying to suppress a laugh. Beyond them, I saw our neighbor, Mr. Henderson, who had apparently come over to borrow our weed whacker. He was standing there too, eyes wide, a slow smile spreading across his sunburned face.
I scrambled to sit up, instinct making me cover myself with both hands. But it was too late. They had already seen everything. My brother had been filming. My dad had watched. Mr. Henderson had gotten a full view of my naked body, including the tiny, flaccid dick that barely cleared my pubic bone.
“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep and panic. I reached for my towel, but it wasn’t there. I had left it inside. My trunks were on the ground next to the chair, but I couldn’t reach them without exposing myself further.
My brother was almost crying with laughter. “Dude, I’ve never seen anything like it. You look like a Ken doll. A flat Ken doll.”
My dad cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “Son, we thought you were dead. We came home, saw you passed out, and then… well.” He shrugged, a grin breaking through. “You certainly weren’t hiding anything.”
Mr. Henderson chuckled. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my time, but that has to be the smallest adult penis I’ve ever laid eyes on. No offense.”
“None taken,” I said sarcastically, finally lunging for my trunks. I pulled them on under the cover of my cupped hands, my face burning.
My brother was already showing my dad the video. I could hear my own drunken snoring in the background, and then my brother’s commentary: “Holy shit, look at that thing. It’s like a button mushroom.”
“Alright, enough,” I said, but my voice was shaky. I walked past them into the house, trying to act like it didn’t bother me. But it did. It does.
Later that evening, my brother cornered me in the hallway. “You know I’m sending that video to everyone, right?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I already did. The group chat. All the cousins.”
I wanted to punch him, but I knew he was right. I had no leverage. I was the guy with the tiny dick who got drunk and passed out naked in broad daylight. The story would spread. It already had.
At dinner, my mom called from her trip. My dad put her on speaker. “So, I hear you had a fun day by the pool,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement.
“Mom, please.”
“I’m just saying, I always knew you were small, but I didn’t think it was that small. I mean, your father and I—”
“Mom, hang up.”
My brother was snickering. My dad was shaking his head, still smiling. I pushed my plate away and excused myself.
I went to my room, locked the door, and stood in front of the mirror. I pulled down my shorts. There it was. My little dick. Soft, pale, barely an inch when flaccid. I tried to get hard, just to see if it made any difference. It doesn’t. Even fully erect, I’m maybe two and a half inches. Thin. Hairless. Like a child’s.
I thought about my brother’s video being passed around. My cousins would see it. My aunt and uncle. Maybe even my old high school friends. I’d be the guy from now on. The guy with the baby dick. The guy who looks like he hasn’t hit puberty.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall. The worst part is, I know they’re right. I’ve always known. I’ve just never had it thrown in my face so publicly.
Tomorrow I have to face them at breakfast. My brother will probably bring it up again. My dad might make another joke. I’ll have to sit there and take it, smile like I’m in on the joke, pretend it doesn’t eat me alive.
But it does.
It absolutely does.
The End.
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