SPH-THEMED EROTICA STORIES

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Part 3: A Naked Day Out…

It was a long, restless night. I simply couldn’t clear my head. As I lay in bed, I kept replaying the humiliating incident over and over again…. Sitting there, next to my boyhood crush, completely naked… getting overwhelmed and a little too excited, involuntarily climaxing all over myself without stimulation while she looked on at me and laughed at my pathetic display. “How the hell did that happen? Was that real? Did that actually happen?” I asked myself as I lifted the covers and gazed down at my flaccid little dick. I winced in shame as I clasped my dinky member between my thumb and index finger, giving it a little squeeze.

Yes, it was pathetic, resembling a sleeping pink worm resting on a hairy walnut. My mind wandered, picturing Jane, imagining what she must think of me. I desperately wanted to impress her, to assert myself as an able-bodied man… instead, she saw me as nothing more than a pitiful child with a pathetic little winky, far from impressive. There I was, well into my thirties, being treated as a child; it stung and was excruciatingly emasculating. My mind wandered again to the moment when my humiliation reached its peak, as I came and came all over myself in the worst possible way, in the worst possible light, simply just by being in her presence, by being near her, by being so close to her…. It just happened so quickly, taking me completely by surprise, and I was utterly powerless to stop it. No, she wasn’t upset, nor was she cruel; she was sympathetic and understanding.

“Don’t be ashamed of your dainty little bits,” she’d said to me with an almost sympathetic grin. However, it was clear to me that, behind her kind eyes, she was amused by my pathetic display and my apparent lack of masculinity. Yes, it amused her; that much was obvious to me.

After she’d dropped me off at home, I was relieved to discover that both my parents were out. I waddled inside the empty house, completely nude, more than eager and desperate to disappear from the world. Minutes later, I was in the shower, washing off the day. As I crawled into bed, all I could think about was how absurd and pathetic I must’ve seemed to Jane. How sexless and impotent I must’ve seemed, my shortcomings very much the focal point of our primary interaction. It was one hell of a memorable first day in my new job: my mom’s friend, who also happened to be her next-door neighbor, someone I had grown up with and had always had an intense crush on… had seen me vulnerable, exposed, and utterly vulnerable. It was devastating to my psyche. Little did I know, things were about to get much worse for me.

Sure enough, the following day, a knock at the door indicated more doom ahead for me. Given that Jane lived directly next door, it was a given that she and I would carpool to work whenever my mother was unable to give me a lift. My stomach churned and my cheeks burned in red-hot shame as I wandered down the stairs, only to find Jane in deep conversation with my mother, both hovering over the kitchen counter. As I approached them, they both took pause, glaring over at me, both with wide-eyed grins, both amused by something. I was certain they’d been talking about me and the embarrassing predicament I’d found myself in the previous day: wondering into a contaminated area with a hazmat suit I hadn’t put on properly, being forced to remain nude for the remainder of the day… and of course, the humiliating ride home… sitting next to her, my shame on display as I inadvertently rose to attention before losing complete control of myself, cumming in buckets all over my stomach and thighs…. It was morbidly humiliating, especially when Jane responded with genuine sympathy laced with pity.

It still stung, and my ears burned hot red as she caught my glance from across the kitchen. Jane shot me a half smirk, which made me feel twelve years old. My mother lingered for a moment before ushering us out the door, no doubt pleased with herself that she’d arranged all of this for me. God, I hoped she didn’t know all the embarrassing, humiliating details…. that would’ve absolutely killed me.

The ride into work was, of course, sheer torture. I was so terrified, so pent up, and so anxious, I simply couldn’t speak. I just sat there, mortified and wildly ashamed of what had happened the previous evening. At one point, she shot me a look and gave me a warm grin before returning her attention to the road. To say it was awkward would be an extreme understatement. My mind wandered back to the previous evening, sitting there in the same seat, completely nude, covered in my own juices as she held my shriveling, flaccid little pink penis in her thumb and index finger, gently dabbing it clean with a tissue. It was tender and maternal, but the whole ordeal left me feeling overwhelmingly inadequate and very clearly emasculated.

As this was going through my mind, I was startled by her phone ringing through her car, “Jane Kirkland, you’re on speakerphone,” she answered.

“Hey, babe,” the voice on the other end was deep, and her demeanor changed almost instantly.

“Oh, hey! Where are you calling me from? I don’t have this number saved.”

“Yeah, I’m calling from my work phone… sorry, I just had to hear your voice again! I had such a good time last night,” the man responded. This was clearly Anton, ‘the’ Anton, her so-called muscular, masculine ‘friend with benefits’. I sat in stunned silence as they proceeded to talk about how much fun they’d had the previous evening. After she’d dropped me off, he had taken her out to dinner, followed by a show… where they eventually ended up back at his place.

She was quick to cut him off, “Let’s keep it PG!” Jane declared with a giddy grin, “I’m not alone. I have little Timmy with me.”

“Oh…. Hey Timmy!” he said through the phone, his tone light and friendly, almost as though he were speaking to a fifth grader.

“Urm… hello,” I responded, meekly.

To my utter mortification, Jane then proceeded to talk about me, to Anton, almost as if I wasn’t even there. She went on to say she’d known me since I was eight years old, that I worked in finance but lost my job due to the GFC, and that she was helping me out until I got back up on my feet. She then went on to tell him, in great detail, how I had a silly boyhood crush on her and that I still harbored those feelings. She laughed aloud as I sat there in stunned silence, as she called my crush “sweet” and “adorable,” in such a tone that made me feel foolish, small, and useless. Anton, of course, found it utterly hysterical, laughing over the phone, almost as though he were indulging a child’s embarrassing confession. In that moment, I could feel myself further shrinking into some type of awkward adolescent version of myself. Just when I thought it was over, Anton actually began to taunt me, “That’s so cute!” he said, chuckling before adding, “Like a little puppy who follows you around, huh?”

“Oh, you have no idea!…. He’s like a little baby pink labra-doodle!” Jane teased, shooting me a knowing grin before erupting into laughter.

I sat there, red-faced as Jane laughed and laughed; however, it wasn’t cruel, no, it was worse. Her laughter was indulgent and amusing in an almost affectionate way. It left me feeling wildly inadequate and morbidly vulnerable. Shame rang in my ears as the conversation eventually shifted.

When we eventually pulled into the staff parking lot at Fletcher and Felicity Medical Supplies, I was a frazzled, frantic mess. Jane swept me inside, bright and businesslike, while I trailed behind, almost like a shadow. My face burned red in shame and embarrassment as I followed her. To my surprise, despite everything I’d been through, no one really paid me any sort of attention, but in my mind, every glance carried judgment. Every passing smile burned with shame and humiliation. Every woman in this office had seen me completely naked. Every woman had seen what little I had to offer between my legs. Every woman had seen me completely eviscerated, with nothing left. No pride, no masculinity… nothing.

To my mortification, my new desk was positioned right outside her office, “so you’ll be perched here,” she said without looking at me. I realized then and there that I would essentially be on display for the entire bullpen, with nowhere to hide. I shuddered as I took my place behind my comically small desk. I was essentially a neutered servant on display for everyone to see. As the day progressed, mundane errands kept me busy with print jobs, laminating, and coffee runs, and I found myself rushing back and forth all day, much like a delivery boy. No one was unkind or cruel, yet every casual encounter made me feel smaller, more useless, more pathetic.

The low point came that evening when Jennifer’s partner arrived to pick her up. Jennifer, who had started with me the previous day, was at least a whole decade younger than I, radiating beauty and carrying herself with great confidence. I watched from afar with a pang of jealousy rising in my chest. Her partner was himself —a good-looking, muscular young man with boyishly good looks and an imposing presence, who garnered plenty of attention wherever he went, as evidenced by the giddy reactions from most of the other women in the bullpen. Yes, I stood there and stared as he shared a passionate embrace with Jennifer, all the while chatting away with the ladies who seemed to swoon by his very presence.

I stood there and stared. I stared with my mouth agape in extreme envy. I simply couldn’t help myself. It was so unfair that his man had it all; he had swagger, looks, and, of course, he got to fuck someone like Jennifer. It stung to realize that it wasn’t me, despite my longing for that type of female attention. As I stood there, looking over at them, I suddenly felt naked again, vulnerable, and pathetic. Everyone else seemed to have a purpose, a base, whereas I had nothing. I was simply a caricature. I stood there awkwardly as they all loomed around, no one really noticing me or acknowledging my awkward presence.

Jane noticed.

Unbeknownst to me, Jane saw me, standing there alone, staring at them with longing.

The following Saturday morning, I walked into the kitchen only to find my mother and Jane seated around the kitchen table. They’d been talking about me; it was clear as day. Jane had apparently arrived early and was in deep conversation with my mother. It honestly felt like I’d wandered into a ladies’ room; the whole thing felt so uncomfortable to me. “Morning, sweetie,” Jane said.

“Urm… good morning,” I responded, meekly.

Jane shot me a smile, almost maternal, warm and tender.

“Have some breakfast!” my mother barked at me as Jane stifled a chuckle.

I helped myself to the cold eggs resting on the stovetop, and as I sat on the other side of the table opposite them, I felt my stomach churn. I could barely stomach a bite as Jane reached out and brushed my hand tenderly. “I’m so worried about you,” she declared. “You don’t really have much else going on, do you?” she asked.

I gazed over at my mother, almost in desperation, “Jane tells me you’re struggling,” she added.

Jane rubbed my hand with sympathy-laced condescension, “Maybe I’ll take you out for a little while today. A change of scenery might do you some good. Something different,” she declared.

“ss…something different?” I quipped, unsure.

“Yeah, like a little outing. Just you and me,” Jane added.

Forcing a thin smile, I realized then and there that my mother had practically arranged for Jane to ‘babysit me’ and take me out in order to ‘cheer me up’.

“A walk, or maybe a coffee somewhere. Perhaps take in a show. Nothing too strenuous,” she continued as I sat there, red-faced. In that moment, it dawned on me, this wasn’t an escape; it was a supervised outing with one of my mom’s friends. My cheeks burned red in shame and humiliation as I struggled to process this, almost as though I couldn’t manage my own needs.

My mother leaned back, sipping her coffee. “That’s sweet… a little field trip,” she quipped. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, honey?” she added, her tone making it clear to me that I had no say in the matter.

The room fell into silence as their eyes both fell on me. I nodded stiffly, ashamed and embarrassed, in that moment feeling like an obedient schoolboy.

Jane’s smile widened, “We’ll have a nice little outing. Just the two of us,” the subtlety of this was suffocating and left me feeling very much like a child needing to be looked after. It dawned on me I was being pitied, not just by Jane but also by my own mother.

Almost half an hour later, I sat in the passenger seat of Jane’s car as she clung to the wheel, a bemused smirk plastered on her face. The air was filled with warm tension, nothing overtly sexual but intimate in an odd type of way. Needless to say, it left me feeling frazzled, anxious, and ashamed. I was not a child. I was a grown ass man, I once commanded board rooms, I once entertained a revolving door of bikini clad women, all desperate to please and satisfy me. I was an enviable male specimen living the life most men dreamt about…. Now, I was nothing more than a neutered puppy, afraid, lost, and morbidly aware of my shortcomings. I shuddered in embarrassment as all this raced through my mind, how far I’d fallen, how I’d been stripped bare, not only figuratively but also literally.

“Relax!” Jane said, breaking me out of my daze, “It’ll be nice for you to get out. I know you don’t have any friends. Aside from work, you’d never really ever leave the house…. And you’ve been through a lot, I think you need this. Don’t you?” she said, with a sympathetic smile.

All I could do was nod, almost stiffly.

She gazed back at me once more with a strange mix of curiosity and sympathy, “You’ve grown so quiet. I can’t imagine how difficult this transition for you must be.”

Her fingers lightly brushed against my thigh, “You poor, delicate little thing.” Instinctively, I looked down as her hand slowly moved up my thigh with almost delicate encouragement towards my crotch. I shuddered as I suddenly felt myself begin to stiffen. I gasped, wincing, expecting her to touch me down there, in my tender, special place…. And then, she pulled away, almost as if to taunt me.

Her eyes gazed down at the embarrassing little growing lump between my legs, “It’s okay, babydoll,” she said gently, almost with pity, “you’ve always been a delicate little boy.” My cheeks burned at her word to describe me: delicate. This wasn’t cruel, nor was it an act of aggression. It was a verdict. She had very politely just declared that I was inadequate, small, weak… not a man, in any way whatsoever.

As I sat beside her with my hard little erection pressing against the fabric in my shorts, I felt shame. My inadequacy was laid bare. I was essentially being treated like a frightened child in need of tender care. A fragile, delicate little thing who could never live up to the desires of able-bodied women around me. By the time we pulled up into the parking lot of a busy shopping mall, my erection had subsided, and a new type of shame had washed over me.

Obediently, I followed her as she led the way inside. I trailed behind feeling small, impotent, and emasculated.

Inside the shopping mall, the bustling crowds made me feel rather uneasy, amplifying my discomfort tenfold. People passed by, chatting, giggling, laughing, carrying bags, oblivious to the storm going on inside my chest. I kept my head down and remained close to Jane, almost as though she were there to protect me from the ‘big bad world’.

She steered me gently, her hand occasionally brushing against the small of my back, guiding me almost like a parent might guide a reluctant child. “This way, sweetie,” she said softly, her tone warm and sympathetic.

We stopped near a coffee shop. She glanced over at me, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Would you like a coffee? Or perhaps a juice box?” Her eyes flickered downwards as the heat rose to my face, and I suddenly felt overwhelmed and flushed. Her gaze lingered long enough to let me know she was in charge and was clearly the only adult here.

Out of nowhere, I found myself meekly responding with, “Juice, please, Aunty Jane.” I shuddered as she grinned at me, almost triumphantly.

Moments later, I was handed a juice box. The lady behind the counter handed Jane a table number, “Coffee should be a few minutes; take a seat.”

I stood there awkwardly, fumbling with my paper straw as Jane’s fingers brushed my hand with delicate care. The contact was light and almost maternal, yet felt condescending. In a way, it almost felt as though she were teasing me. It was a touch that emphasized how small, inadequate, and emasculated I truly was. She then leaned in slightly closer and said, “You’re just the sweetest little boy, Timmy. I’ve always thought that about you.”

The words cut deeper than any insult. But it dawned on me that’s how she saw me: ‘a sweet little boy,’ not a man. Never a man. I shuddered in shame and humiliation as I sipped the paper straw of my embarrassing little juice box.

So there we were, looking for a seat. I was sipping my juice box, and she reached over to adjust my posture, gently straightening my shoulders as though I were a child in need of reassurance. Every step forward drove home the point that I was no longer a man, at least not here. I’d never felt more emasculated in my entire life.

She casually guided me to a table and said, “Sit!” Her tone was both comforting and commanding.

As I lowered myself into the seat, I could feel the vulnerability of my exposed spirit. I sat there, sipping the juice box as she simply stared back at me, an impish smile plastered on her face. She didn’t say anything, nor did I, but it wasn’t very comfortable. When the waitress emerged with a small cup of coffee, Jane thanked her before taking a sip, not ever breaking eye contact with me.

That’s when I felt it. I felt it again.

It occurred out of nowhere, and I was utterly powerless to stop it. My body betrayed me once more, and in that moment, a faint, unwanted little erection made an appearance. My face burned red in shame and embarrassment as I awkwardly crossed my legs in an attempt to hide my shame. Of course, Jane noticed immediately.

She tilted her head slightly as her eyes cast downward, almost with a clinical curiosity. Then she smiled at me gently, a mixture of sympathy and quiet amusement on her face. Yes, she was flattered. But this was more than that. “Whatcha got there, honeybun?….” She asked softly, playfully with an impish grin, “Awww, sweetie….” She added with sympathy, realizing what was happening between my legs.

“Good for you!” she said almost mockingly, almost though it were some type of proud achievement for me to achieve an erection. In my mind, I’m sure she assumed it didn’t work as often as it should, or at least the way a cock on a real man would work.

My heart pounded in my chest as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, morbidly terrified and ashamed. Jane then leaned back slightly, her tone calm and indulgent, “go on….” She said softly, tilting her head at me with that damned smile. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom? You can…. Take care of yourself. We wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened the other night, would we?” She sat back once more, folding her arms at me, almost impatiently, “Once you’re done, come back and we can go shopping.”

Her command was so gentle, it was almost polite. But it was still morbidly embarrassing. Essentially, she’d told me to go to the bathroom and jerk off so there was no possibility that I’d cum in my pants. It was so terrifyingly humiliating, and it left me feeling two feet tall.

Stiff-legged, I reluctantly rose, more than aware of almost every amused eye on me in the busy café as I waddled on through towards the bathroom. Every step was a reminder of how exposed and inadequate I was. It was a testament to how far I’d fallen as a man and what I’d become. As I neared the bathroom, her voice followed me, “Take your time, babydoll. Don’t rush. Make your cummies. I’ll be right here waiting for you….”

I shuddered in humiliation as a chorus of muffled laughter erupted behind me.

Of course, once I’d wandered into the bathroom, nerves took over and I lost my erection in a matter of seconds. To save face, I waited for a few minutes, long enough for her to believe I’d actually fondled myself and ejaculated in a public restroom. Needless to say, it left me feeling frazzled and lost.

When I emerged from the bathroom, she was standing there, waiting for me with a tender smile, “All done?” she asked softly, almost as though she were checking in on a child’s progress.

“Yes,” I said in almost a whisper, keeping my head down, too ashamed to even make eye contact with her.

“Good boy! I bet it felt nice, I’m so happy for you, sweetie,” she responded, her tone almost maternal, but laced with amusement and authority. “Now, let’s go shopping!” she declared, before turning and leading the way.

Reluctantly, I obediently followed her through the bustling mall. Jane was gliding confidently, not knowing that a storm was brewing in my chest. Along the way, I noticed several women cast occasional curious glances my way, probably taking in the odd interaction between Jane and I. Just when I didn’t think things could get any more uncomfortable, Jane spoke, “you know….” she began, almost casually, “it’s perfectly healthy for normal men to…. Urmm… take care of themselves sometimes. Masturbation is very healthy. It’s really quite natural,” she said almost tenderly.

I gazed up at her, completely gobsmacked as she spoke to me as if it was the first time I’d ever fondled myself. It was utterly humiliating. I wanted to scream, ‘I’m in my fucking thirties!? Do you have any idea the amount of pussy I’ve had in my life?! Who I used to be?!…. If only you could’ve seen me back then!’….Her assumption about my masculinity struck a nerve with me, and as I opened my mouth, desperate to defend myself… I choked. Nothing came out. Instead, my cheeks burned and I found myself fidgeting as she continued the embarrassing conversation, out loud in public.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed, babydoll….It doesn’t make you less… sweet or kind. But…” She paused, tilting her head, “It does make me wonder about what you miss. So many pleasures other men take for granted. It’s so sad….”

My stomach dropped. The casual but pointed nature of her words, the way she framed me as a man denied even the most basic intimacies. To my horror, she continued, “You see”, her tone was almost like an aunt explaining a life lesson to a child, “most men experience more. Larger, firmer, stronger… able to satisfy partners in ways you might never know. And you… You’re different. You just have to accept that. It’s nothing at all to be ashamed about, sweetpea….”

Her words were gentle, yet unrelenting. Every syllable carved into me a new layer of inadequacy. The tiny, almost imperceptible smirk she gave when she said “you’re different” made me feel like the entire mall — every woman nearby — could see through me, witnessing the truth I could not hide.

I even noticed a few women glancing over, their interest piqued by the tone of the conversation. Jane didn’t notice; she was speaking solely to me, utterly absorbed in her delicate, condescending lecture.

My face burned hotter and hotter. I found that my hands were becoming clammy, and my legs were becoming stiff. In that moment, all I wanted to do was disappear, to shrink into the floor, but as Jane gently touched my elbow, steadying me like a child learning a difficult lesson, I realized that escape was futile.

“You adorable little poor thing,” she whispered, with a soft, sympathetic shake of her head. “It really is sad for you, isn’t it? To never experience what other men do… to always feel… so… limited.”

Every word hammered at my core. Flustered, embarrassed, humiliated. Jane’s pitying authority had reduced me to nothing but a boy, someone incapable of the fullness of manhood.

I was barely able to process this. I found myself becoming even more reserved and flustered… all I could do was nod, desperate to end this conversation, but it only made it appear as though I were agreeing with her.

“You know,” she murmured, leaning slightly toward me, “most men don’t even think about how they do these things. It comes naturally. Take Anton, for example. He’s always big and hard, effortlessly so. Whenever I’m around, he’s just… ready… but you… You have to really focus, don’t you? It doesn’t always work the way it’s supposed to?”

I swallowed hard, my face flaming. In shame, I nodded slightly, unable to meet her eyes, desperate for the conversation to end. It was utterly emasculating, her musing out loud that I struggle to function as a man. “You poor little thing…..” she continued with sympathy.

A cluster of women passing by glanced over in our direction, catching fragments of the conversation — Jane’s gentle, coaxing tones, her light touches, the way she lowered her voice yet kept me in a quiet spotlight. I felt their eyes probe me, curious and amused, while I further shrank inward, wishing desperately to disappear.

“It must be so frustrating… all the things you can’t do the way other men can. You’ll never really know the pleasures most men take for granted.”

Mortified and eager to end this barrage of humiliation, I nodded mutely, swallowing, muscles tense with embarrassment. Every step I took, every soft word she murmured, reminded me of my failure to be a man in the eyes of the women around me. Even the curious glances from strangers, even those passing with casual amusement, felt like confirmation: I was being treated like a boy, watched, exposed — emasculated in ways words alone could not describe.

Jane’s hand brushed my back again, guiding me gently toward a quieter corridor lined with boutiques. “We’ll find a few things to look at, a little distraction,” she said, her tone indulgent, almost like a caregiver. “You’ll do fine. Just follow my lead.”

I meekly nodded, flustered, barely able to keep my composure, unable to even speak.

Eventually, Jane led me into a boutique store lined with racks of clothing, her pace brisk, her expression animated. She plucked garments from the shelves with unselfconscious enthusiasm, holding them up against me as though she were dressing a nephew for a school photo.

“Oh, Timmy, look at this one,” she said brightly, holding up a pale blue shirt against me. “Isn’t this just adorable?”

Her tone was casual, innocent — yet each word landed like a hammer. Adorable. Not handsome. Not masculine. Adorable. I shifted awkwardly, morbidly embarrassed before glancing over at the amused shop assistant who hid an obvious smirk. Jane, however, was totally indifferent as she draped another shirt across my shoulders, then turned to dig through a stack of shorts.

“These will do nicely,” she went on, holding a pair against my waist and then stepping back to study me with narrowed, appraising eyes. “Yes, yes, that’s sweet.”

My cheeks burned. In that moment, I felt like a child paraded before watchful eyes. The humiliation was suffocating, yet Jane’s casual, nurturing energy made protest impossible. Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, she pushed a handful of items into my arms. “Now then, let’s see you in these. Come along.”

From there, she casually guided me toward the changing booths, her hand light on my back, ushering me with quiet insistence. Mortified, I stood before the stall, hesitating, my stomach in knots, my anxiety going into overdrive. She, however, didn’t seem to notice, nor did she care about my angst. Instead, she pulled back the curtain of the changing booth and gently ushered me in, “Go on,” she said gently, “try them on. Don’t be shy.”

Realizing I had no choice, I conceded defeat, stepping inside the tiny booth, clutching the garments against my chest tightly. It was then that I realized Jane had no intention of giving me any sort of privacy. She just stood there, smiling at me almost encouragingly. In desperation, I slowly reached forth and tried to draw the certain, but she stopped me, “It’s okay, honeybunch, I’ll stay and help you….”

Humiliation churned in my gut. I had been nude in front of her before, but this time, it was much more devastating. Realizing I was powerless with no escape in sight, I conceded defeat and actually found myself submitting to her whim. With trembling fingers, I proceeded to strip down to my underwear. That day, I was wearing a pair of XL men’s white briefs, but the fluorescent lighting above made me highlighted what I was lacking where it mattered most.

Jane’s eyes wandered downward, almost amused by my ‘big boy underpants’, I’m sure she wondered why I was even bothering with them. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, stepping inside, her voice laced with sympathy. Her hand reached out — tender, deliberate — brushing lightly across my briefs. With an open palm, she gently squeezed my meager genitals, which all seemed to fit in the palm of her hand. The touch wasn’t sexual. It was maternal, clinical, as though she were examining a wound. She then prodded the loose hanging piece of fabric concealing my member, giving it a light tug, accentuating the fact that there was nothing here, nothing at all. My cheeks burned crimson in that moment as I just stared down at my feet, embarrassed and ashamed.

“I don’t think these fit you quite right…” she said, giving me the same sad smile she’d worn all morning. “Perhaps we should get you some new undies too. Something more… fitting.”

Her hand lingered for a moment, then withdrew, leaving me trembling, cheeks scarlet, humiliation flooding every inch of me. To my mortification, Jane turned back toward the racks outside, calling to the assistant cheerily: “Do you carry smaller sizes in men’s briefs?”

The question hung in the air, casual yet devastating, as I stood in my underwear — not a man trying on clothes, but a child dressed and inspected by a maternal figure, stripped of dignity under the gaze of others.

Moments later, the pretty young shop assistant emerged, standing beside her, clutching a pile of underpants.

“Perfect!” Jane mused out loud as she proceeded to rifle through them.

I stood there, perplexed and mortified, far too afraid to make eye contact with either of them. To my horror, Jane pulled out a pair of blue and red briefs adorned with cartoon characters. She held them up against me with an impish grin before saying, “Just perfect!” almost satisfied she’d found what she’d been looking for.

“Let’s try these on Timmy! I’m sure they’ll look darling on you!” she declared.

Mortified, I stood there frozen, trying to process this. Jane stood before me, commanding and in control with her arms folded, head tilted, expectant. The shop assistant, a pretty brunette with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, stood beside her, clearly curious and amused by the whole situation.

“Go on, Timmy,” Jane coaxed almost impatiently. “There’s nothing to be shy about. We’re only trying to help you.”

I knew I was powerless and that escape was futile. I had no other choice but to just get this over and done with. And so, with trembling hands, I slowly peeled my underwear down and reluctantly stepped out of them, standing completely naked before the two women. The assistant’s hand flew to her mouth as she let out a tiny gasp, eyes flicking downwards before darting back up.

Jane noticed instantly, her voice full of gentle reassurance, “His bits are so delicate. Poor little thing needs to really focus to get it to work. It’s so sad, but… he’s such a sweetie.”

In that moment, I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. The shop assistant shifted awkwardly, but Jane’s tone was almost protective. Taking control, she held up the brightly colored underwear, patterned with cartoon characters. “These are fun, playful. I really think they’ll suit you, honeybea,” she said, holding them down by my feet, encouraging me to step into them.

Wanting this ordeal to end, I reluctantly slipped into them as Jane pulled them up past my thighs. The snug fabric clung too tightly, leaving no room for dignity. They were absurd and wildly embarrassing. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I realized just how absurd and silly I looked.

“Awww…” Jane cooed, “They look simply adorable!” she mused out loud with a wide-eyed grin.

The assistant bit back a smile, nodding politely. “Cute,” she said, the word slicing straight through me.

And then came the worst of it. Jane insisted I step out into the shop floor to “get a proper look under better lighting.” Before I could protest, she had ushered me forward.

When I emerged into the busy store, clad only in the garish underwear, customers glanced up, some whispering, some smirking. Jane walked at my side, guiding me like a boy at a fashion show. My skin prickled with shame, my cheeks burned with shame and humiliation.

As we wandered through the aisles, Jane leaned toward the shop assistant, her voice low but audible. “You know, he actually managed an erection earlier today. I was so proud of him.”

I froze in terror, my heart thudding.

The brunette turned her eyes to me, her expression softening with something like pity. She offered me a warm, almost sympathetic smile. “Good for you, little guy,” she said kindly.

The words crushed me.

Jane fussed over me like a proud aunt, smoothing the fabric across my groin. “Oh, it’s just darling. And see how nicely it fits? No awkward… extra space.” She said it sweetly, but the meaning pierced me.

Despite her gentle voice, every word carved deeper into my shame. She kept her hand there, almost tenderly, and to my absolute mortification, I felt it again. I felt that familiar stirring deep inside me. God, I fought with every fiber of my being to stop it. Alas, it was no use, and to my horror, I sprouted an embarrassing little erection.

What made matters worse was that I felt an odd, warm, throbbing sensation from within. Something is building, pressure, something rising from deep inside me. I felt my cheeks flush, my breathing quickened, and in that moment, I became lightheaded… I actually began to see stars.

“What’s this??” she said softly, gently applying pressure between my legs, “has your delicate little friend woken up again??”

My cheeks burned in shame and humiliation as I struggled to explain myself. I gasped and panted as she recoiled in shock, looking over me with confusion and curiosity. The shop assistant glanced down too, catching a glimpse of my throbbing little member, visible, straining, struggling, trembling….

Then, out of nowhere, it happened.

The sudden wet stain spreading across the front of my ridiculous little pair of underwear. My whole body stiffened, my face crumpled with panic and shame as the damp fabric clung to me, “ngh….mpf!” I wailed and winced as I lost complete control.

Then, when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Jane let out a soft, sad, sympathetic “oh, sweetie…. Oh dear…”

“Ngh….” I struggled to catch my breath, all I could do was whimper and groan in post coital shame, “ngh….”

“Twice in one day?” she quipped before coming closer to me, her tone firm and accusatory, “you didn’t take care of your little friend earlier…. Didn’t you?” she asked, cocking her head at me.

Of course, I was far too perplexed to answer. My silence was evidence enough that I’d simply bent the truth. It was clear, however, that she was disappointed in me. I’m disappointed. I wasn’t upfront with her. “So, you lied to me,” she said, folding her arms, “Didn’t you? No wonder you went off like a firecracker! There was a reason I told you to relieve yourself before!”

The shop assistant not only looked mortified, but also disgusted. I’d just ejaculated all over myself, my cum slowly oozing and dripping down my trembling legs. It truly was a sight to behold. I was not only embarrassed, I was ashamed. I was mortified.

Then, without ceremony, Jane reached forth and casually slipped her fingers under the waistband of my underwear. I whimpered as it happened, far too weak and gobsmacked to stop her; in hindsight, perhaps I was in shock. “My god! You’ve made a mess! It’s everywhere!” she commented aloud as she gently tugged the soiled underwear down to my ankles. Mortified, I stood there, in the middle of the store, completely naked, trembling and terrified.

In panic, my eyes darted to the amused shop assistant and back to Jane, “Aunty J.J..Jane, No! Please, I urm…. Naked… I urhh…” My voice trailed off, struggling to complete my thought.

“We can’t have you walking around in icky, cummy undies!” she said calmly, as though she were tending to a child.

A ripple went through the crowd of onlookers–suppressed laughter, hushed gasps, wide eyes. My chest tightened as I suddenly realized there was nothing left to hide behind. My smallness, my inadequacy, every humiliating truth about me was on display for the world to see.

“Besides, we need to have you dry off properly!” she commented as the crowd surrounding us seemed to intensify suddenly.

“Please… I’m naked! I can’t, urm….”

“Oh, hush! It doesn’t matter, everyone here is an adult!” she said, dismissing me completely.

Indifferent to my angst, without a care in the world, she then bundled up the damp, childish underwear and tucked it into a shopping bag. She didn’t even bother to cover me–didn’t even seem to notice the way my hands fluttered uselessly at my sides. Internally, I was debating with myself…I couldn’t decide whether or not shield my groin or my face. I was so ashamed.

“Better this way,” she murmured brightly, smoothing her palm over my bare hip as if guiding me along. “Fresh air will do you good,” then, with that, she leaned over to the shop assistant and said, “We’ll take them. Can you ring them up?”

The shop assistant stood there, almost perplexed, “urm…. Will that be all?”

Jane looked back at me and grinned, “Yes, I think perhaps just the undies today. I think the poor thing is a little overwhelmed. No more trying on clothes today, I’m afraid!” she declared, almost mockingly.

It dawned on me, then and there, that I would be forced to parade around naked as the day I was born.

After she paid for my wet cum stained undies, she aptly adjusted the strap of her purse, calm and elegant, before leading the way. I, riddled with anxiety, overwhelmed, and exposed, shuffled beside her–completely nude. In utter desperation, I moved my hands in an attempt to shield myself, although it was pretty clear to me there was nowhere to hide. Every step echoed against the polished tiles, my bare soles squeaking faintly, underscoring my humiliation. In desperation, I whimpered, “Aunty Jane? Can I have my clothes back? Can I please urmm…. Can I cover up?” I asked, meekly in almost a whisper.

All Jane did was glance down at me with a smirk and a “soosh-up sweetie!” silencing me in an instant. She was in charge, she was in control, and she’d decided that I would remain completely nude. I had to accept it and move on.

Jane, by contrast, walked tall and unhurried, as though nothing were out of place. For her, it was a normal thing, a normal outing, and nothing unusual was taking place whatsoever. She stopped and glanced at a display in a shop window, pointed out a pair of shoes she thought adorable, and even stopped to smell a candle from a kiosk.

I reluctantly trailed her like a ghost. I could feel eyes burning into me from every direction: gasps, stifled laughter, phones lifted discreetly–or not so discreetly. My cheeks burned so hot I thought I might faint.

At one point, a group of college girls burst into giggles as we passed them. One cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Cover it up, little guy!” Another chimed in, “It’s a chode!” Their shrill laughter followed me like knives.

Jane’s reaction? A small shake of her head and a smile, as though amused but not concerned. She leaned closer to me, her voice warm and sympathetic, “Don’t mind them, sweetheart. They don’t mean any harm. Besides…you’ve always been delicate. That’s just who you are.”

Her tone wasn’t cruel–if anything, it was affectionate–but it cut deeper than ridicule.

I tried to speak, to beg her to let me cover up, but the words stuck in the back of my throat. All I could do was shuffle behind her, hands clamped uselessly at my groin, feeling smaller, weaker, less of a man with every step.

Jane breezed into another store, smiling at the shop assistant as though nothing unusual were happening.

The assistant blinked, eyes flicking to my bare form, then back to Jane, uncertain. Jane didn’t notice–or pretended not to. She carried on, browsing racks as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

Jane plucked a silky dress from the rack and held it against herself, turning toward a mirror to admire the fit. The shop’s warm lights shimmered across the fabric, but my own reflection–naked, awkward, arms folded desperately in front of myself–ruined any illusion of elegance.

I stood half a step behind her, my eyes locked to the floor, my heart hammering. My shame was palpable. Every few seconds, another customer wandered into the boutique, pausing at the sight of me. Some laughed softly, others whispered, and a few simply stared as if witnessing something both absurd and pitiable.

Jane, however, seemed oblivious. She slipped the dress onto her arm and reached for another, her voice casual. “What do you think of this one, babydoll? Do you think it’s flattering?”

My mouth opened, then closed. ‘What the hell was I supposed to say?’ In that moment, my face burned scarlet.

A sales assistant, a young woman with sleek, neatly tied-back hair, approached with a professional smile that faltered the instant her eyes met mine. She blinked, her gaze flicking between Jane and the exposed, pitiful naked man at her side.

Jane didn’t even acknowledge my nudity. “We’ll need a fitting room, please,” she said smoothly, as though I weren’t standing there bare.

The assistant hesitated. “Of…of course.”

Jane turned to me and handed me the dresses. “Be a dear and carry these for me, would you?” She gave my shoulder a light squeeze, her tone affectionate yet dismissive–like a mother indulging me.

I reluctantly clutched the dresses to my chest, grateful for the small scrap of fabric to hide behind. However, it only heightened the absurdity of my position: naked but for the garments shielding me, following Jane into the fitting area.

She swept into the booth and left the curtain wide open, smiling at the assistant. “You don’t mind helping me, do you? He’s no trouble.”

The young woman’s eyes flicked once more to me, and a faint smile–half amusement, half pity–curved her lips.

Jane slipped off her blouse casually, as though shopping alone, while I stood in the open doorway, burdened with clothes, my humiliation on full display. She didn’t glance at me, didn’t acknowledge my shame.

She hummed softly as she slipped out of her skirt, her long legs catching the light. My heart sank as I took her in. Her body was incredible. Despite being well past fifty, she had the toned physique of someone decades younger. She was wearing lace panties and a delicate lacy bra. I stood there, the heat rising in my chest as I gazed over her incredibly beautiful body with wide-eyed wonder.

She, however, was in a world of her own. She was quick to drape her garments over my trembling arm as if I were a hanger, not a man.

The fitting-room curtain hung open, and the sales assistant lingered nearby with a professional smile that couldn’t quite hide her amusement. Now and then her eyes slid to me, standing there utterly nude, arms full of clothes, my attempts to shield myself utterly useless.

Jane tried on the first dress, smoothing it over her hips and turning this way and that in the mirror. “Hmm…what do you think, honeybunch?” she asked brightly.

I stammered, my voice cracking. “I-It looks…nice.”

She smiled warmly at me, almost indulgently. “So sweet of you to say.” She turned to the assistant. “What do you think?”

The young woman nodded, eyes sparkling with restrained laughter. “It’s very flattering. Lovely choice.”

Jane nodded, as if satisfied, then reached for another dress. She tossed the first into my arms, leaving me to juggle the growing pile. The curtain remained open, deliberately or not, so that other customers passing by could catch a glimpse: me, standing there naked, awkward, exposed.

At one point, a pair of middle-aged women walked past, whispering and stifling giggles.

Jane didn’t notice, or pretended not to. She tried on another dress, this one tighter, adjusting the straps with casual elegance. “Timmy, sweetheart, could you step back a little? You’re blocking the mirror.”

I anxiously shuffled aside, my cheeks burning. Now I was completely in the open, the assistant’s eyes fixed on me as she slowly locked eyes with me, meeting my stunned gaze. She tilted her head slightly, a glimmer of pity softening her smirk.

Jane caught the look and smiled, as if proud of her little companion. “He’s very helpful, isn’t he? Sweet little thing is always so eager to tag along.”

The words, though kindly spoken, carved into me like blades. She wasn’t talking about a partner. She wasn’t talking about a man. She was talking about me as if I were an accessory.

The assistant gave a soft laugh. “He certainly seems…well-trained. Like a puppy.”

My stomach knotted. In that moment, my shame was total, my inadequacy lay bare under the store’s fluorescent lights.

Almost half an hour later, we were both standing by the register as Jane passed the dresses and accessories to the cashier with a breezy smile, as though nothing about the scene was unusual. Meanwhile, I stood beside her, arms straining under the weight of each of the glossy shopping bags being handed to me, one by one. Each new bag Jane handed me stripped away my last defense — my ability to cover myself. Now, burdened on both sides, I was completely and utterly exposed.

The cashier’s eyes dipped, widened, then darted back up. Her cheeks flushed as she stifled a laugh, muttering, “That’ll be $627.50.” Jane paid without missing a beat, chatting casually as if I weren’t even standing there naked with my pitiful manhood on display for every customer in line to see. It really was pathetic, jutting out of me, resembling not a phallus, but rather an earlobe. Nothing remotely sexual about my naked body, that much was clear as day.

When we eventually stepped back into the mall’s main walkway, Jane adjusted her purse and glanced over her shoulder at me, smiling almost maternally. “Come along, honeybean. We’ve got more to do. I have a date with Anton tonight, and I want to look… irresistible.”

The name hit me like a gut punch. My stomach churned as Jane’s words replayed in my head. Irresistible for him. This woman was my fantasy, my ultimate crush. My everything. All I wanted was to impress her. Now I stood beside her, naked, shriveling, shrinking even further, emasculated as she planned her date with a muscular, hung, handsome stud.

Jealousy and shame wrestled inside me as I shuffled behind her, the bags biting into my hands, my small, exposed little dicky drawing stares and snickers from every direction. My inadequacy was not only obvious–it was emphasized with every step, jutting out of me, bobbing up and down delicately.

From there, Jane floated into a shoe store, her voice cheerful as she tried on elegant heels, tapping her toes and admiring herself in the mirror while I lingered awkwardly at her side. The clerk’s gaze dipped toward me, then away, the corners of her mouth twitching. Jane didn’t even notice–she was too busy asking, “Do these look good? Anton loves it when I wear stilettos.”

In that moment, my jaw clenched, jealousy burning my throat raw.

Next came a hat store. Jane tried on wide-brimmed hats and sleek fascinators, spinning in the mirror and giggling at her own reflection. I stood awkwardly beside her, bare and burdened, overhearing the whispers, the snickers, the phone cameras.

Finally, she drifted into another women’s clothing store, her eyes bright as she combed through racks of silky dresses and lingerie. “Anton will go crazy for this,” she mused aloud, holding up a slip of crimson lace. She draped it over my arm with the other bags. “Hold that for me, babydoll.”

Her voice was sweet, almost tender. But every word sliced me down smaller and smaller, until I felt less than a man–less than a person at all.

From there, we found ourselves in a grocery store. Jane turned toward the candy aisle with a bright little smile, almost as though this was all for me, some sort of surprise, just for me. “Oh, my sweet little Timmy,” she said, leaning over me as I struggled with the weight of her shopping bags, “you’ve been such a good little helper today. I think you deserve a treat.”

Before I could protest, she plucked a chocolate bar from the shelf and handed it to me. I froze, heat flooding my face. I could feel the glossy wrapper in my hand, the absurdity of the gesture, the childishness of it all–I, an adult man, completely exposed, being handed candy as though I were a preschooler.

Jane’s voice was light and affectionate, almost maternal in tone. “Here you go, honeybunch. Isn’t that nice?”

I muttered a barely audible “Thanks,” feeling more humiliated with each syllable. I bit down on the chocolate, chewing slowly, aware of every eye in the aisle, aware of the ridiculousness of the scene, aware of my own helplessness.

“What a gorgeous day! Do you wanna go for a walk through the park?”

My stomach sank. “I… I should probably… We should probably head home. Let’s call it a day…” I began, hoping to find some excuse to regain even a fragment of dignity.

“Oh, nonsense,” Jane interrupted, her tone cheerful and unbending. “It’s perfect out, such a nice day. Not a cloud in the sky! Let’s just enjoy it.” She smiled down at me as she adjusted her purse. “And no need to worry about changing.”

The words hit me like a hammer. No clothes. Naked. Exposed. Completely under her control.

Once we’d put all the shopping bags into her car, she led the way across the parking lot towards the adjacent park, just across the road from the shopping mall.

Reluctantly, I followed behind her, the chocolate bar clutched awkwardly in one hand, my nudity an open secret to anyone passing. Jane walked beside me, fully dressed and radiant, utterly indifferent to my shame, her presence emphasizing every inch of my inadequacy.

Jane paused by a bench where an elderly couple was feeding pigeons. She waved brightly. “Hello! What a lovely day, isn’t it?”

I shifted awkwardly behind her, trying to shrink into myself. Every step, every turn of my body, was on display. My little dick bobbed up and down with each step. My bare skin glinted slightly in the sunlight. Jane, however, remained perfectly composed. She didn’t acknowledge my nudity at all.

A young woman, out for a jog in spandex, slowed her pace to watch. Jane smiled at her, chatting warmly about the flowers and sunshine. My stomach knotted, every word of Jane’s conversation reinforcing the stark contrast between her confidence and my helplessness.

At one point, Jane glanced down at my midsection, smirking, beyond amused at my little peter, barely jutting out of me, delicately bobbing up and down with each step. “Isn’t it funny,” Jane she, glancing back up at me, “how we can tell just how warm or cold it is just by looking down between your legs,” she chuckled softly at her own joke.

My ears burned. Every passerby who glanced at me, every whisper I overheard, felt like a spotlight on my inadequacy. As we made our way through the park, I struggled to keep my composure. Strangers looked on in curiosity, disgust, and amusement. I could see their eyes flicking to me, registering my reluctant nudity, yet she carried on, indifferent. It seemed as though she were almost proud of the control she held over me.

Then, like a sledgehammer to my chest, everything suddenly intensified tenfold.

Like a deer in headlights, I froze when Jane waved and called out, “Oh, Mrs. Winterborn! Danica! Over here!”

In horror, I glanced over, morbidly ashamed, exposed and vulnerable, standing there, stark naked, shriveling with my delicate little peter retracting inside of me completely. Mrs. Winterborn was an elegant older lady, roughly sixty years old. She also just so happened to be a neighbor, living directly across the road from us. Yes, she’d seen me grow up. She knew me when I was but a boy. I recalled countless neighborhood barbeques and gatherings throughout my childhood. She and my mother were indeed friends, still to this day, after all these years.

My stomach was in knots as I looked her over, still radiant, still intoxicatingly beautiful and elegant. My angst further intensified when I realized that Danica, her 23-year-old daughter, was with her.

Danica was a fresh-faced goddess and the type of girl I used to tie myself in knots trying to impress. She looked incredible, toned, tall, and fit in all the right places. She was dressed in a tight little number, her hand tugging a leash, leading along a little Yorkshire Terrier.

I absolutely did not want this goddess to see me in this way, naked. The last time I saw her, she had just turned eighteen, and I had to fight her off, reasserting that not only was she far too young for me, but I was way out of her league. Now the tables had turned. I looked utterly pathetic and ridiculous, whereas she resembled a fitness model. Absolutely breathtaking.

I stood there with my mouth agape as they steadily approached. I realized then and there that there was nowhere to hide. I could just feel how small I must’ve looked: infantilized by Jane’s hovering presence. Danica’s bright blue eyes widened and then narrowed with unthinkable amusement, taking it all in. Mrs. Winterborn raised her patrician eyebrows and then smiled, knowingly, her tone syrupy and sweet as she said, “Well… isn’t this charming! Out with your little friend today, Jane?”

Jane beamed, “Yes, he’s been such a good little helper today. Haven’t you, little Timmy?” She smoothed my shoulder almost like a proud babysitter.

Clearly amused by the whole situation, Danica gave a quick laugh, covering her mouth. “Wow… I didn’t expect to see you like this…..” she paused, letting her amusement known before adding, “little Timmy!” she teased.

Before I could muster any sort of response, Hank, her Yorkshire terrier, bounded forward, tail wagging, practically lunging at me. In my haste, I tried to shoo the dog gently, but Hank was persistent–sniffing, nipping, circling. The little terrier kept nudging toward my exposed groin.

“Aww…. Isn’t that just adorable! Looks like you made a little friend,” Jane teased, her voice full of innocent mischief.

Mrs. Winterborn chuckled indulgently. “Oh, our sweet little Timmy…Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.”

Danica pressed her lips together, failing to stifle her laughter as Hank pawed at my legs, sniffing and nosing in places I desperately wished were left alone. Every swat I made at the dog seemed only to amuse them more.

The three women erupted in laughter. Jane, utterly indifferent to my burning cheeks, tenderly patted my back. “He’s harmless, sweetie. Let him say hello. Don’t be so fussy.”

In that moment, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. My neighbor and her daughter–two women whose respect I once craved–were now looking at me the way one looks at a flustered boy, not a man. The more I tried to shoo Hank away, the louder their laughter rang, echoing in my ears, indifferent to the storm of humiliation building inside me. As I jolted away, my little dick remained hidden inside of me, “please, no… shoo!” I covered my groin, desperate to protect the most important part of my body, “ngh! No! Go away! Shoo! Shoo!!” The ladies just stood there, laughing, amused by the whole situation.

Nothing really seemed to work. For some odd reason, the little dog was drawn to me, his interest focused between my bare legs. In desperation, I shifted uncomfortably as Hank darted back and forth around my legs, nose twitching, tail wagging with glee. I tried to step aside, but the little terrier followed with relentless interest, nosing insistently by my ankles.

“Hank! Leave him be,” Mrs. Winterborn called lazily, though she didn’t move to stop the dog. Instead, she smirked, exchanging a glance with Jane.

Jane then leaned in, her voice lilting with amusement. “Careful, Hank. His little bits and pieces are very delicate.”

Danica giggled, her eyes lingering just a little too long on my exposed little dicky. I saw the spark of recognition in her expression–the quiet judgment–and my cheeks burned. Danica was someone who once pinned for me, who once tried to flirt with me playfully. I, of course, rebuffed her advances, but a part of me felt smug and even a little proud for the way she lusted for me. It was the ultimate power play and made me feel like a capable, enviable man. Now, everything had flipped. Here I was, standing before her, my shameful minuscule little secret exposed, my little tiny pink dinky barely jutting out of my pubic mound. I must’ve looked so ridiculous to her. As all this was going through my mind, that damned little dog continued to paw at me.

In desperation, I swatted frantically, my voice cracking. “Please, get him away!” My tone was shrill and frantic, “shoo! Shoo!!” It only made the women laugh harder.

“Relax, Timmy!” Mrs. Winterborn said lightly. “He just thinks you’ve got a little toy hidden there.”

Danica bent over, clutching her stomach with laughter. “Oh my god, he really does!” she said as she waved her little pinky in the air, laughing with glee, “it’s just a petite little thingy”.

Of course, I was a frazzled, frantic mess. I was absolutely terrified of Hank making contact with my most vulnerable spot, but every time I shielded myself, Jane or Mrs. Winterborn teased me for overreacting. My arms and legs flailed uselessly, a grown man reduced to a spectacle for three amused women.

Then it happened–Hank lunged upward, paws striking between my legs. It happened in a matter of seconds, but that was all it took. In shock, I doubled over with a gasp, my hands frantically flying to protect myself in utter panic as pain shot through my core.

The women erupted. Their laughter rang out across the park, sharp and unrelenting, while I winced and pleaded. “Stop laughing–it hurts!”

But they didn’t stop. To them, my anguish was only more proof of my fragility. Jane cooed, “Oh, you poor little creature,” even as she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

Danica, still catching her breath, shook her head. “Wow, Timmy… I always thought you were kind of mysterious, kind of a big shot, but this? You’re just… so tiny. So… fragile.”

Mrs. Winterborn gave my shoulder a patronizing pat. “Come now, don’t fuss. Hank didn’t mean anything by it. You’re fine.”

To them, it was nothing but comedy. To me, it was humiliation laid bare–my body, my dignity, my manhood, reduced to the punch line of a joke. Clutching my groin, I fell back onto the grass, red-faced, my knees pulled together, desperate to completely shield myself. But Jane wasn’t having it.

“Stop squirming. If you’re really hurt, we need to look,” she said matter-of-factly, nudging my thigh with her foot. “Spread your legs.”

My face twisted in shame. “Please… no….not here. People can see–”

“That’s not my problem,” she cut me off briskly. “Now move those hands out of the way!”

Between her sharp tone and Mrs. Winterborn’s smirking encouragement, I found myself reluctantly obeying. Slowly, I let my legs fall apart, reluctantly spreading them as open and as wide as I possibly could. Every inch of exposed vulnerability made my stomach churn. Mrs. Winterborn leaned down, squinting as though she were examining a scraped knee rather than the most private part of a grown man.

“Oh, heavens. It’s hardly anything,” she said lightly, shaking her head. “You’re acting like Hank bit it off or something!”

Danica stifled a laugh, crouching for a closer look, “You sure he didn’t?” she teased before laughing once more.

“Aww….Our poor little sweet Timmy!” Jane said with an impish grin. She slowly gazed over at Danica, partly amused, humoring me. “I saw a little bistro just over the hill back there…. Do you mind asking them for some ice?” Jane instructed, almost haphazardly, her tone light, laced with mockery.

From my position on the ground, I groaned, looking up at them from my most vulnerable position as the three of them stood between my open spread legs. The humiliation was unbearable. Mrs. Winterborn crouched down beside me, patting my shoulder patronizingly. “Honestly, Tim, you boys always make such a fuss over the smallest things.”

To my horror, she reached down and gently prodded my little penis with her index finger, “Oh, it’s so fragile and small. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like this on a grown man before,” she glanced over at me once more, “how old are you now?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

My cheeks burned in red-hot shame as I whimpered, “Thirty-three…” Mrs Winterborn smirked to herself, before shooting Jane a knowing glance, “Oh no! You poor little thing….” She said softly, trying hard to suppress her laughter.

When Danica returned, she wasn’t alone. Two young women in aprons followed behind her, carrying a plastic bag filled with ice. “They insisted on seeing for themselves,” Danica teased.

Feeling vulnerable and exposed, in frantic desperation, I bolted upright, horrified. “No! Please…”

But Jane pushed me gently but firmly back down. “Don’t be dramatic. They’re only trying to help.”

The waitresses, both around Danica’s age, leaned in, their giggles barely stifled as they took turns looking between my open legs. My ears burned; I wanted to sink into the ground and vanish.

Jane, entirely unfazed, pressed the ice pack directly onto my genitals. I winced and flinched, gasping at the cold shock. “Hold it there,” she ordered, placing my trembling hands over the pack.

The women erupted in laughter again at the sight of me–red-faced, sprawled out, clutching a bag of ice to my groin.

Jane gave a mockingly sweet smile. “There now. All better. Honestly, Timmy, you do make the simplest things into such a spectacle!”

The bistro girls nodded in agreement, amused, whispering to one another as though I couldn’t hear them. Danica folded her arms and smirked, her eyes glittering with the knowledge that she would never see me as anything resembling a man again.

Jane sighed sharply, “Come on then. Let’s get you something sweet to calm you down. Maybe some ice cream will cheer you up.”

The bistro girls burst into laughter, nodding eagerly at the idea. “Yes! A treat will make him feel better,” one chimed, as if they were talking about a fussy child after a tumble.

So there I was, hobbling, waddling through a busy park, stark naked, clutching the ice pack helplessly between my legs as the ladies charged on in front of me, leading the way. To say I was mortified would be an extreme understatement. Each awkward step forced me to waddle, my thighs stiff and clumsy. Passersby on the footpath glanced, smirked, whispered–but Jane didn’t care.

When we eventually reached the bistro, the bell over the door jingled cheerfully as if mocking me even further. Jane guided me inside with a firm hand on my back. “Straight to a table, sweetie. Careful now.”

The bistro staff ushered me along like an odd little spectacle; each one of the women behind the counter was clearly entertained. Powerless, I sat down gingerly, still holding the ice pack against my manhood, my face burning in shame and humiliation.

Jane breezed to the counter and returned with a single scoop of vanilla ice cream in a cup. She set it in front of me with exaggerated sweetness. “There we go, honeybunch. Something special just for you. You’ve had such a rough time today.”

The women crowded around, watching as I fumbled with the little plastic spoon. My hands shook from embarrassment, but Jane’s expectant look left me no choice but to eat.

“Isn’t that better?” Mrs. Winterborn teased, her tone syrupy with mock sympathy. “A nice cold treat to help you forget your silly little accident.”

Danica leaned over the table, her grin sharp. “It’s not really a big deal,” she teased, holding up her thumb and index finger. The bistro girls giggled, beyond amused by the whole silly display.

It was awkward to say the very least. One hand, desperately holding the icepack in place, and the other, fumbling with the spoon. Willing to end, I continued with my little treat. I scooped a shaky spoonful of ice cream, the cold sweetness on my tongue contrasting miserably with the ice pack still pressed humiliatingly against my groin. Every glance, every chuckle, drove home the same truth: to them, I wasn’t a man at all.

At one point, Jane actually reached forth and dabbed my chin with a napkin when a drip ran down, making the women burst into laughter once more. “Good boy,” she said brightly, tenderly, as though this were perfectly normal. Without missing a beat, she called over to one of the bistro staff members. “Do you have a bib back there? He’s making such a mess of himself.”

The young barista’s eyebrows shot up, but she smirked knowingly and disappeared into the back. When she returned, she held out a frilly plastic bib–the kind clearly meant for toddlers. Jane thanked her brightly and, to my absolute horror, tied it snugly around my neck. The table erupted into muffled giggles and knowing looks.

I, of course, sat frozen, spoon in hand, my face burning. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole, desperate for this emasculating ordeal to run its course and end once and for all. Just when I didn’t think it could get any worse, Jane leaned in closer to me, taking a gander between my shivering legs, “Let me just check you again.” With a matter-of-fact motion as she pulled the ice pack away.

As the cool air hit me, Jane gestured for me to move my knees wide apart. Mortified, I slowly spread my legs under the women’s watchful eyes. Jane peered down sympathetically, her voice loud enough for the group to hear. “Oh dear…. Would you look at that? It’s simply precious! No wonder you’re so sensitive. There’s barely anything there at all.”

The bistro staff leaned in too, curious, pretending to examine him like nurses on a clinical round. I gazed down with wide wonder at my current state. Due to the ice, it had completely retracted inside of me. From that angle, it appeared as though I had no genitals whatsoever. I had never experienced shrinkage on such a devastatingly humiliating scale ever before in my entire life. I looked sexless. Humiliated. With nothing left to redeem myself.

And then, without warning, Hank the terrier darted forward again–snuffling, nipping, and pressing his cold nose against my exposed groin.

I let out a strangled whimper, yelping and trying to shield myself, but my hands were still clutching the edge of the ice cream cup. The table of women burst into laughter, the sound filling the small bistro. Danica clutched her stomach, gasping, “Oh my god, he sounds just like a puppy himself!”

Mrs. Winterborn patted Jane’s arm, chuckling. “You’ll have to keep a close eye on both of them. One’s no bigger than the other.”

Jane calmly retrieved the ice pack and pressed it back against my open legs, her voice soft and patronizing. “There, there. Settle down. It’s all right, sweetheart. Just hold it in place and finish your little treat.”

Humiliated, I hunched forward, bib tied around my neck, spoon trembling in my hand, while laughter swirled around me. I’d never felt so small, so stripped of dignity, and as I scraped the last of my ice cream from the cup, Jane slid the spoon from my hand with a gentle “All done now.” Without warning, she once again plucked the damp ice pack from between my legs and, with an almost clinical detachment, handed it back to the waiting staff. “Thank you so much for your help–he’s much calmer now.”

The women at the counter stifled their giggles, whispering among themselves while sneaking glances at my diminutive state. My little Peter, completely retracted. Gone, hiding inside of me. To them, I’m sure I looked sexless. I burned in red-hot shame, afraid and mortified, not knowing where the hell to look.

Jane tugged the bib loose but didn’t untie it completely, letting it dangle from my neck. She smoothed my shoulder with a matronly hand. “Stand up for me, sweetheart. Let’s show the ladies how brave you are.”

My stomach knotted, but I obeyed, pushing to my feet, desperate to put this whole humiliating ordeal behind me. The bistro light was merciless, and there was no hiding how shrunken and pitiful I looked in that moment.

“Now,” Jane said with a coaxing smile, “thank them properly for helping you.”

The humiliation burned like fire in my cheeks as I stammered out a shaky, “Th-thank you… for helping me.”

The staff smiled politely, but their eyes sparkled with amusement. Jane beamed, satisfied. “Good boy.” She nodded her thanks to the bistro staff and steered me toward the door. Mrs. Winterborn and Danica fell in step behind us, both still chuckling softly.

Out in the open air of the park, I was acutely aware of how small I was where it mattered most. I felt my cheeks burn red, my stomach churn, as I realized that I couldn’t look more un-masculine. Jane glanced down between my legs once more, her tone maddeningly casual. “Oh, babydoll… it truly is completely gone! Your little giblet seems to have disappeared!”

I clenched my jaw, trying to walk with some shred of dignity, but the comment only made the others laugh harder.

Danica tilted her head, her voice teasing yet innocent. “Not quite a man, almost a boy… but not quite?”

Their laughter followed me as I trailed along, bib still dangling, my face a mask of shame.

Jane led the way down a winding path as I trailed behind, still bare, still clutching at the scraps of dignity I imagined I had left. The sun filtered through the trees, catching the pale blush in my face as laughter drifted from joggers passing by.

Mrs. Winterborn kept pace on the other side, occasionally glancing down at me with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “You know, Jane, you ought to keep him on a little lead next time,” she joked, “before he scurries off.”

Jane smiled warmly, playing along. “Oh, he wouldn’t get far. Besides, he knows to stay close, don’t you, honeybunch?”

I swallowed my shame before wincing aloud, nodding with my jaw tight. The automatic obedience made Danica giggle.

Just then, Hank bounded after me once more, teeth snapping at my heels. In utter desperation, my arms flailed, my steps clumsy as I tried to get away. The women didn’t seem to care much. To them, it was a joke, an amusing spectacle. To me, it was panic and shame.

“Oh, relax, Timmy,” Mrs. Winterborn called, chuckling. “He just wants to play.”

Danica was doubled over, hands on her knees, tears of laughter in her eyes. “I can’t believe how fast you ran! And honestly, it’s just–” she motioned vaguely at my groin, grinning wickedly, “–I swear, Hank has a bigger dick than you! And he’s been neutered.”

That remark drew more laughter, a chorus of laughter to be exact. Eventually, Hank lost interest, and Danica clipped the leash back onto his collar. Mrs. Winterborn gave me a quick pat on the shoulder, still smiling. “Don’t make such a fuss. He barely touched you anyway.”

Danica whispered something to her mother, still smirking. I caught only the words “compared to Liam.” Clearly, this ‘Liam’ was her boyfriend. I imagined this so-called Liam as a towering, muscular oak of a man with an impressive, thick cock between his legs. Instinctively, I looked back down at my shame; it was just a hollow puckered-up flap of skin, not at all anything that would resemble something that belongs on a grown man. My ears burned in shame and humiliation as my imagination went into overdrive.

Soon enough, Mrs. Winterborn and Danica waved their goodbyes, the little dog trotting beside them. Their laughter still echoed in my ears as they disappeared down the path.

Jane took a few moments to collect herself, brushing a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye. Then she looked at me with a maddeningly sympathetic smile. “Well, that was quite a show. Playing with the dog like that. I’m glad you made a new little friend.” She spoke to me in that same soft, condescending tone, while maintaining a wide-eyed, bemused smile.

I winced, my pride shredded beyond recognition. I could feel the stares of passersby, their half-suppressed grins, their sidelong looks at my exposed and humiliated state. “You’re adorable just as you are, Timmy. So delicate, so earnest. That’s what makes you special.”

Her words sank into me like lead. And then, as if to drive it home, Jane slipped her arm through mine, tugging me close–not like a partner, but like an adult guiding someone who needed looking after.

“Come along, sweetie,” she said lightly. “It’s late, and you’ve had such a big day. Let’s not push you too hard.”

Each word hit me like a stone. My chest ached with a hollow despair. I desperately wanted her to see me as a man, to acknowledge strength, desire, capability. But instead, her every touch, every word, only underscored the truth I dreaded most: she didn’t see a man standing beside her. She saw a fragile, pitiful little thing–something to be indulged, pitied, perhaps even cared for–but never, ever taken seriously as a man.

I walked beside her in silence, feeling smaller with each step. The air was cool, but my skin burned with shame. And all the while, Jane hummed softly to herself, smiling contentedly, as though nothing at all was amiss.

We slid into her car in silence. The city lights bled through the windows as Jane started the engine; the hum of the road felt louder than it should. I sat stiffly in the passenger seat, every muscle taut. Instinctively, I kept my hands folded over my lap as if that small motion could restore whatever dignity had been stripped away that day.

At one point, Jane glanced across at me with the same soft, indulgent smile she’d worn all day. A calm expression that made me feel like a child being praised for attempting the simplest task. For a second, I thought I might speak, to make a case for myself, to ask for the respect I craved. Instead, I squeezed my hands tighter, feeling utterly exposed from where I sat beside her, aware of how small and vulnerable I must’ve looked from her vantage point.

“What are you trying to hide, honeybea?” Jane asked, her voice almost teasing but laced with that same careful tenderness. “Something you don’t want other people to see?” She leaned back in her seat and smiled completely at ease, as if my discomfort were an adorable quirk.

My heart warmed to a furious heat. I opened my mouth, closed it again. My throat felt raw. “I–” I tried, then faltered.

Jane’s eyes flicked toward my hands and then back to my face, her smile unchanging. “You’re sweet when you worry so much,” she said quietly, her tone more condescending than cruel. “You always try so hard. It’s… endearing.” She let the last word hang like a verdict. I hated how small the world made me feel. Endearing. Not potent, not desirable, not equal — merely pleasant company, worth keeping around but never taken seriously. Heat turned to a dull ache behind my ribs as the car rolled through empty streets. I kept my gaze lowered, counting the cracks in the leather, measuring every inch of distance between us.

Jane reached out and brushed a thumb over my knuckles, a tender, almost possessive gesture. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me,” she said softly. “You know that, right?” Her voice invited trust even as it kept me beneath her.

Inside, my mind was racing. I wanted to be furious. I wanted to stand up and demand a place beside her as an equal. Instead, there was only the slow, painful sinking. I felt as if the day’s events had compressed inside me and collapsed my posture into something smaller, something pliable.

When the car eased into my mother’s driveway, Jane turned to me with a final, light smile. “Come on then,” she said, almost gentle. “Let’s get you inside and comfortable.” The words were an order rendered as an act of care.

Jane led me up the front steps, my movements stiff and awkward as I desperately tried to keep my hands strategically placed. From her angle, though, there was no hiding — she could see everything, and her smile carried that same infuriating mixture of warmth and mockery.

“Aww, sweetie! Are you still trying to hide your delicate little friend?” she asked in a singsong tone, tilting her head at me. “Don’t be shy. I’ve seen it already… lord knows your mother has….” My face burned crimson as I suddenly realized I was barging in naked. My mother, who hadn’t seen me this naked since childhood, would undoubtedly get a nasty eyeful. My cheeks burned in shame and humiliation as the front door opened.

I gasped in absolute shock and terror as my mother stood in the foyer, her eyes flickering to me and then to Jane. She immediately smirked. “Well…. I take it you had an eventful day?” she said whilst shooting Jane a side glance.

Jane smirked before adding, “He’s been a handful today,” her voice smooth with amusement, “but he managed…” In response, my mother tilted her head and chuckled with light amusement.

In my angst, I didn’t notice it at first, but as we stood in the cold open foyer, I could hear it…voices drifting from the living room. Warm laughter, teacups clicking. My stomach suddenly dropped as I realized my mother was hosting her weekly book club. In desperation, my eyes darted towards the stairs as I contemplated making a run for it, “Would you like to join us, Jane? I’ve just got a few ladies over this afternoon. You know most of them anyway…”

“I’m not intruding?” Jane asked.

“Oh heavens no! Just come in for a little,” my mother responded warmly as I slowly crept towards the staircase.

Before I could successfully retreat, my mother gave me a gentle nudge, “Timmy! Don’t be rude, come and say hello!”

The color left my face as my eyes darted over to Jane, who simply smirked at me. An almost sympathetic smirk laced with mockery. She could tell I was eager for an escape, and she didn’t care. “Mother…. Can I get dressed first? Please?” I pleaded with her in utter desperation.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Most of these women have known you since you were in diapers! Come now!” she said, almost autocratically.

Jane chimed in, placing her hand on the small of my back, almost encouragingly, “Don’t be shy, honeybee!” It felt as though I were a child, being coaxed into a room of adults. Needless to say, it left me feeling more vulnerable and emasculated than I ever had in my entire life. With my hands pressed against my groin, I waddled forward, reluctantly.

Every head turned as I entered the living room. Four women were seated in a semi-circle of armchairs and sofas, books on their laps, wine glasses at their side. The chatter hushed for a brief moment as they all paused to look me over. My heart sank as I realized I knew every single woman in this room.

Firstly, there was Mrs. Sampson, a shapely, blonde-haired woman in her late fifties, who used to babysit me when I was a child. Then there was Miss. Wedland, an intoxicatingly beautiful woman in her late forties who lived a few blocks away. Following Mrs. Orian, an elegant older lady with grey hair, dressed to the nines, long retired, she was once my English teacher back in the ninth grade. And lastly, there was Becky Jones, a thirty-something goddess who attended the same high school as me. She knew me, but only by reputation. Unfortunately, in this light, I’m certain this would be far more memorable for her.

My stomach churned as I stood there, naked, shivering, exposed, and morbidly embarrassed.

Their eyes collectively swept over me as my mother smiled almost apologetically at her friends. “Well, Timmy…. What do you have to say?” she said, her tone suited to a child rather than her adult, grown son.

“He… hello everyone….” I responded, meekly, desperate, and eager to retreat.

Jane chuckled lightly behind me, “We had quite the outing today, didn’t we, sweetie?” she said as she playfully looped her arm through mine. “he was such a little trooper!”

I tried to mumble something, anything, but I simply couldn’t fathom any sort of response. The women then leaned forward, each with morbid curiosity about my situation. My nudity was not explained; it was just… accepted. And it amused everyone, especially my own mother.

Mrs Orian leaned over to Becky and whispered, almost loud enough for everyone to hear, “Isn’t he just the sweetest little thing?”

Stifled laughter ensued as I stood there, red-faced. “He’s always been sensitive about his dainty little penis. Poor little thing never really developed properly,” my mother said aloud, garnering more shocked murmurs and amused gasps. I stood there, mortified, glancing up at Jane, who also seemed to be amused, covering her mouth, trying to be discreet. “Always so small. Got teased by all the other boys in the locker room. My poor little Timmy never really measured up… down there,” she added as my cheeks burned.

“He really did try so hard to act all grown up today,” Jane chimed in, her tone light and chirpy.

My face burned scarlet, the weight of their eyes, their soft chuckles, the way Jane and my mother spoke about me, about my lack of masculinity. It all pressed down on me, making me feel even smaller. Emasculated. Completely stripped of my manhood.

To drive her point home, Jane reached down gently and tugged my hands away, “Now, now, honeybunch!” she said in a syrupy tone, “No need to be so shy. We’re all adults here, hands away!” Her tone was patronizing, emasculating, and utterly eviscerating.

My mother, with a glass of wine in hand, looked me over before glancing back at her friends. “He’s always been so self-conscious of that silly little thing,” she said casually, as the ladies looked on, chuckling almost politely. Needless to say, it still stung.

Mrs. Orian leaned forward, adjusting her spectacles. “Oh my goodness…. It looks like a baby bird coming out of its nest,” she said, and more laughter ensued.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Jane suddenly felt it necessary to recant the details of the day. I, getting an embarrassing erection and messing up a pair of underwear. Being stripped bare and waddling through the shopping mall. The park, running into Mrs Winterborn and Danica… that damned dog. The humiliating encounter at the bistro and the long, embarrassing ride home. It was all too much for me. All the ladies listened intently, all amused, all taking it in as I just stood there, ashamed and embarrassed as if I were some sort of punchline.

At one point, Mrs Sampson gasped, wiping a tear from her eye and exclaimed, “Oh, Timmy!…. you’ve always been good for a laugh. Such a sweet little thing, I always thought so…”

Miss Wedland leaned into my mother and commented, “I bet you have your hands full with him!”

My mother nodded in agreement, her lips twitching with amusement. “he’s always been sensitive and delicate,” she declared, followed by more muffled laughter.

In desperation, I once again attempted to cover my shame as the women’s laughter built around me. No matter how I moved, I couldn’t cover myself. The act itself makes me look even more ridiculous.

“Look at him!” Becky called out, “he doesn’t know what to do with his hands!”

Jane chuckled, amused, further humoring me with a strong tone of mockery and condescension, “Go on, honeybee! Show them how good you are at hiding your widdle friend!” My knees wobbled, my chest hollow, my ears ringing as their laughter intensified.

Then, cutting through the laughter, my mother intervened in the worst possible way, “Alright… that’s enough excitement for one day. Perhaps it’s time for Timmy to have a bath and get ready for bed.” The room erupted again, in deep howls of amusement, and my ears rang with it.

My mother, unflinching, rose from her seat before looking around at her guests, “Would any of you ladies like to help? I’m sure he could use a little assistance!”

The suggestion hung in the air like a thunderclap. Every face turned to face me, their smiles wide, their laughter merciless. Jane squeezed my arm gently, her eyes dancing with cruel amusement, “Wouldn’t that be nice, honeybunch? All of us helping you get clean before bed.”

My legs wobbled beneath me, my face burned red in hot shame and humiliation. My heart raced with that unbearable sense of inadequacy. In desperation, I shook my head, trembling, “No, please… no….”

My protests fell on deaf ears. Before I knew what was happening, Jane gently took me by the wrist and guided me to the nearby downstairs bathroom. “Come on, babydoll. Listen to your mommy,” she said as all the women rose, trailing after us, laughter bubbling behind me.

Moments later, my mother had filled the bathtub, chatting over her shoulder about the temperature as if her thirty-three-year-old son being stripped naked before her friends was nothing out of the ordinary. Jane gently guided me towards the bath, peeling my hands away from my groin, once again exposing me to the group, “no need to hide, sweetpea,” she said tenderly as she guided me into the water, “we’ve all seen your delicate little friend. It’s so sweet… but he needs a wash!”

My knees buckled as I was maneuvered into the tub. Almost immediately, the women crowded by the edge, each one of them peering into the water with mocking amusement. Jane knelt beside the tub as my mother proceeded to lather up a sponge. I sat there, mortified as she proceeded to lather me up, rubbing my chest, my arms, my belly in slow circles, almost tenderly. “See? Isn’t this nice?” my mother said aloud as she continued to wash me before an audience.

The women at the edge of the tub looked on and laughed openly at my display.

“Such a good little boy!” Jane commented as my mother continued to wash me, “Holding so still, so nicely while you get clean.” I wanted to scream, I wanted to run. But my body betrayed me.

I was trembling, shaking, turning beet red in hot shame and humiliation. So much so, Becky commented aloud, “Look at him blush!”

Mrs Sampson chimed in, “Oh, that’s so adorable!”

Mrs. Orian leaned over, glancing back down between my legs once more. “Poor thing. His manhood isn’t very manly,” she commented aloud, almost clinically. “Perhaps you should take him to see a doctor? That is most unusual!” she added.

My mother pondered for a brief moment before adding, “What a splendid idea! Doctor Peters hasn’t seen you since you were nine years old.” She caught my gaze and smiled at me, “I’ll make the appointment tomorrow…. Just so we can make sure everything is….normal, down there….”.

The group chuckled at that remark as my chest further sank.

“Does it work?” Mrs Orian continued before gazing up at me, “Does your little pee-pee ever get hard?” she asked me curiously.

Before I could fathom a response, Jane chimed in, “Not the way it’s supposed to.”

Everyone looked down at me, still amused, but all sympathetic to the situation between my legs. They all pitied me. It was clear as day. As this unfolded, my mother continued to fuss over me with her sponge, reaching down toward my tender area. I sucked in a deep breath, humiliated beyond words, “don’t wriggle!” she commanded, scolding me lightly as she forcefully scrubbed my delicate privates before an audience of smiling women.

Her friends took turns leaning forward as she scrubbed and scrubbed my delicate little flaccid penis.

At one point, Becky locked eyes with me and gave me a sympathetic grimace, “How does it feel to be getting cleaned by your mommy?” she teased.

I shuddered in shame as laughter continued at my expense.

When the bathing was finished, I was made to stand dripping wet before them. Jane and my mother worked in tandem, each armed with a towel, patting me down as if I were fragile porcelain. My mother’s book club looked on, amused, each sipping their wine as if this were all part of the evening’s entertainment, every whispered comment sliced away at my already crumbling sense of manhood.

And then…. It happened.

Overwhelmed. Trembling with shame. Desperately willing myself to remain still, to hold it in… alas, my body betrayed me. A sudden warmth spread down my thighs as a yellow stream trickled down to the floor, pooling by my wet feet.

Everyone gasped in shock, looking down at the mess I’d just made. This was followed by stunned silence. I’d just involuntarily emptied my bladder before an audience, completely losing control. I hung my head in shame as laughter followed. Not cruel, but devastating nonetheless.

Miss Wedland winced in disbelief, “Oh dear!”

Becky covered her mouth, trying hard to keep from erupting once again, “dude! Aren’t you potty trained!?” she joked.

In desperation, I glanced over at Jane. She pressed her lips together, trying and failing not to burst into laughter. “Maybe we should have you wear diapers around the office!” she teased, merciless with her amusement.

My mother scowled at me before bending down to wipe the mess from my trembling legs. “Accidents happen… Clearly someone still isn’t quite grown up yet, hmm?” my mother said with a sharp tone, disappointed, irritated, and annoyed.

The women continued to giggle as I stood there, beyond mortified.

“Well… I suppose you should get him into bed. Seems as though he’s not ready for late nights!” Jane quipped, grinning from ear to ear.

My stomach twisted further. I wanted to argue. To insist I was a man. But every time I tried to speak, nothing came out, just a croak and a whimper. In shame, I covered my face with my hands, desperate to disappear. “Right!” my mother declared, “Enough is enough, it’s just after six. Well past your bedtime, isn’t it?”

Horrified, I whimpered, “Mom… please… I uhh…no,”

She silenced me with a look I hadn’t seen since I was nine, “Don’t argue with me! You’ve embarrassed yourself enough for one evening!” She turned to the women before her, “It’s clearly been too much for him today. Sorry, ladies.”

Gasps of delighted amusement filled the room. The idea of a thirty-three-year-old man being marched to bed like a naughty child was almost too much for them to handle. Jane slipped her arm through mine, gently tugging me towards the door, “Come on, sweetpea, I’ll help you,” she teased softly before adding, “Let’s get you all snug and cozy before I head off for my date with Anton.”

Jealousy burned in my chest, tangled hopelessly with shame. As I shuffled forward, naked and diminished, the women’s laughter trailed behind me; every chuckle was a reminder that I was not a man, in any way whatsoever.

At my bedroom door, my mother clapped briskly, “Right! Hop into bed! Chop-chop!!”

I hesitated, but Jane simply tugged back the covers with a smile, “come-on honeybunch. In you go. Don’t make a fuss.”

Defeated, I slid in between the sheets. The fabric felt far too light, barely concealing me. My mother smoothed the blanket over me, tucking it in at the sides. Jane leaned in and pinched my cheek, “Don’t pout. You’ve had a big day. Rest now.” Her words dripped with sympathy. Then, I looked with a pang of jealousy and longing as Jane glanced over at her wristwatch, “I should really get going. Anton is waiting for me,” she leaned over, before giving me a tender peck on the forehead, “Sleep tight, little one. Try not to wet the bed.”

With that, Jane disappeared.

My mother flicked off the light switch before shutting the door.

My mind reeled. Here I was. In my thirties, bathed, naked, tucked into bed uselessly while my dream woman, my ultimate crush, was going out on a hot date with a real man. I clenched my blanket as my heart burned with jealousy, the image of Jane walking out the door with Anton… Anton, who is no doubt a strong, capable, confident, muscular oak of a man. No doubt the kind of commanding, masculine man Jane would laugh with, admire, and swoon for. I imagined them in the throes of passion, him experiencing pleasures with her I could only fantasize about.

I shuddered as I realized that my humiliation and embarrassment were far from over. The following day, my mother would be making an appointment for me to see Doctor Cassandra Peters, someone I hadn’t seen in decades. A pediatrician. I whimpered and groaned in shame, feeling every little bit vulnerable and emasculated. I knew it was going to be a memorable visit to the doctor’s office…. But that’s a story for another day.

To Be Continued…?

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