The Boy Behind the Garage
An SPH Experience by Anarkys.
Then the laughter erupted.
I saw it. Everyone saw it. His dick was tiny. I mean, tiny. Maybe three inches hard, if that. It stood up from his groin like a pinky finger, thin and pale, surrounded by a neat patch of dark hair. He was fully erect—from the struggle or the panic, I don’t know—and it looked almost comical against his thighs. Like a child’s cock on an adult body.
He scrambled to pull his pants up, his face crimson, eyes wet. He pushed through the crowd and stumbled out the back door. People were still laughing, making jokes. “Did you see that thing?” “Bro, that’s not even a micro, that’s a nano.” Derek was high-fiving his friends.
I don’t know why I followed him. Maybe because I’ve been humiliated before. Maybe because I saw something in his eyes—that total collapse of dignity—and it tugged at me. I set my beer down and walked out the back door, into the cool night air.
He was behind the garage, leaning against the wall, shoulders shaking. I could hear him trying to breathe. When I rounded the corner, he flinched and wiped his face with the back of his hand.
“Hey,” I said.
“Go away.” His voice cracked.
I stepped closer. “I’m not going to laugh.”
“You saw it. Everyone saw it.” He wouldn’t look at me.
“Yeah, I saw it. So what?”
He finally met my eyes. There was anger there, and shame, and something else—a desperate need for someone to tell him it was okay. I felt a strange warmth spread through my chest. Not pity. Something else.
I moved closer. He didn’t back away. I reached out and touched his arm. “What’s your name?”
“Evan.”
“I’m Michelle.”
He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. I could smell the sweat on him, the beer on his breath. We stood there in the dim light from a security lamp, and I made a decision.
I leaned in and kissed him.
He froze for a second, then his lips parted. The kiss was soft, tentative. His hand came up to my waist, trembling. When I pulled back, his eyes were wide, confused.
“Why?” he whispered.
“Because I want to.”
I dropped my hand to his crotch. His pants were still loose from the ordeal, the button undone. I rubbed him through the fabric. He was hard again—hadn’t even gone down. The outline was almost nonexistent, just a little lump under the denim.
I pushed my hand inside his pants, past the waistband of his boxers. My fingers found his cock. It was so small I could barely get a grip with my whole hand. My palm covered it entirely, my fingers wrapping around nothing. So I used two fingers—index and thumb—and pinched the shaft gently. It was hot and smooth, the head just peeking out.
He let out a shaky breath.
“You’re so small,” I murmured, not cruelly, just stating it. “I’ve never touched one this tiny before.”
He whimpered. I thought he might pull away, but he pressed into my hand.
“I bet you don’t get a lot of action, do you?” I started stroking him slowly with my two fingers, rubbing the head with my thumb. His breathing quickened.
“No,” he admitted.
“They probably laugh at you. Or ignore you. Or tell you you’re not enough.” I kept my voice low, almost tender. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t feel good.”
His hips started moving, a little desperate thrust into my hand. I could feel his balls—tight, small, drawn up close. I cupped them with my other hand, squeezing gently.
“I’d never let Derek fuck me,” I said, looking him in the eye. “But you? Maybe I’d let you. I bet you’d be grateful. I bet you’d worship me.”
He moaned. His hand gripped my hip harder. I could feel him starting to lose control.
“Would you like that, Evan? To fuck me? Even with this little thing?” I squeezed his cock between my fingers. “It’s barely anything. But I bet you’d try your hardest.”
He nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “Yes. God, yes.”
I leaned in and whispered in his ear: “You’d probably cum in thirty seconds. But I’d still let you try.”
That did it. He let out a strangled cry and started humping my hand, then turned slightly and pressed his hips against my ass, dry humping me through my shorts. I could feel his tiny cock rubbing against the fabric, desperate and frantic. He came within seconds—hot liquid soaked through my shorts, a warm patch spreading on my thigh. He shuddered and gasped, burying his face in my shoulder.
I held him while he rode out the aftershocks. His body was trembling, his breath ragged. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were wet again, but this time it wasn’t just shame.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
I smiled and wiped a smear of cum off my shorts. “Don’t mention it.”
We stood there for a minute, catching our breath. I could still hear the party inside, the music thumping. No one had come looking for us. No one cared.
I reached out and tucked his still-soft dick back into his boxers for him. It was so small it barely needed tucking. He watched me with a mix of embarrassment and awe.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
I laughed softly. “You’re sweet. And you’ve got a tiny dick. But that’s okay.”
He smiled for the first time that night—a real smile, relief and gratitude all mixed together.
We walked back to the party separately. I didn’t see him again that night. But I’ve been thinking about it ever since. The way he felt in my hand. The way he came so fast, so desperately. The way he looked at me like I’d saved his life.
I want to see him again.
I want to take him somewhere private, pull that tiny cock out with my two fingers, and make him cum over and over until he forgets everyone who ever laughed at him. I want to hold him and whisper dirty things in his ear and remind him that even if he’s small, he can still be wanted.
And honestly? That’s the hottest thing I’ve felt in a long time.
The End.
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