I wasn’t trying to be weird. I just didn’t want to walk all the way back up three floors in wet underwear. It was past midnight, the laundry room was empty, and the basement hallway lights had already dimmed into that flickering half-dead buzz that always made the whole floor feel abandoned. I figured I’d do it fast: grab the warm stuff from the dryer, toss my wet boxers in the basket, and pull on a clean pair right there in the corner.

I had the door propped open with a bottle of detergent. No one ever came down this late.

I peeled the boxers down, felt the damp waistband flop against my ankle, and kicked them off. The air was cold against my thighs. My dick hung small and soft, no mystery there — just cold, just normal. I bent to grab my folded pile off the machine, foot already lifting to step into the fresh pair.

Then the door creaked.

Not a lot. Not even all the way open. Just enough to let voices in.

— Wait, did he say third floor or second?

— Dunno. You said they were clean already, right?

I froze. Completely, instantly froze.

Two steps later, they were in the room.

I didn’t even move my head. I just stood there — fully naked, one sock on, foot half-lifted, holding a pair of clean briefs in my right hand like a fucking criminal caught mid-act. I could hear one of them stop walking. The second followed, slower.

— …oh.

My heart dropped like a shot animal.

— Shit, sorry, I–

— Are you naked right now?

The voice was low. Calm. Measured like a math teacher correcting a wrong answer.

I turned, instinctively covering myself with the balled-up briefs. It was too late. Way too late. One of them tilted her head. The other blinked slowly, then looked straight down — not subtly.

— Holy shit, he really is.

— Is this… like, your thing? Doing laundry with your dick out?

— No, no, I thought– I didn’t know anyone was–

— Man. I’ve seen bigger panic buttons.

I wanted to disappear. I mean that literally. Just blink out of this plane of existence and leave a pair of socks on the tile where I used to be.

The girl with short black hair — hoodie off one shoulder, track pants tucked into fuzzy slides — squinted slightly. She wasn’t smiling. Just looking. Studying. Her face didn’t even twitch when she said it.

— Are you hard right now?

— What? No–

— Then… damn. Okay.

The second girl — taller, curly brown hair tied up in a messy loop — laughed. Lightly. Not cruel. Just genuinely amused, like she’d found a bug doing something human.

— It’s like, inverted. Like your dick’s hiding from the cold inside itself.

I stood there, still holding the briefs. My arms were shaking now. Not much, just enough that I could feel my own heartbeat in my fingertips.

— Sorry, I was just grabbing clothes– I didn’t think–

— That we existed?

— That anyone would come–

— You really didn’t think this through, huh.

She stepped forward, opened one of the washing machines, and casually dropped in a pillowcase like this was just any other Tuesday.

— Should we leave you to it? Or like…

— No, let him finish. I wanna see how this ends.

The second girl leaned on the edge of the dryer, chin in her hand, elbow on the steel.

— He looks like he’s buffering.

I tried to step back, but I slipped a little on the tile — the wet sock on my left foot caught just enough to make my body jerk, and in that split-second, the briefs dropped from my hand. I instinctively reached down.

That was the moment.

They saw everything. Fully. Up close. No coverage, no distraction, no denial.

I heard a short, sharp inhale.

Then a low whistle.

And silence.

Just me, bent at the waist, fully exposed, both girls staring. No one laughing now. Not yet. That was worse.

I didn’t stand back up right away. I didn’t move at all. My hand was still frozen mid-reach toward the fallen briefs, spine bent, ass out, balls swinging low between my thighs like they hadn’t gotten the memo that this was a life-ending moment. I could feel them looking — not with shock anymore, but with something colder. Calculation. Observation.

The brunette, still propped casually against the dryer, tilted her head again. Her lips curled slowly into something close to a smirk.

— You dropped it.

— Yeah. No shit.

Her voice wasn’t mean. It was quiet. Patient. Like she had all the time in the world to let me stand there and figure out how much worse this could get.

The girl with the black hoodie — Rina, I remembered now. Same floor, Political Theory. I’d never spoken to her. She’d never looked at me. Until now.

She walked one step closer. No rush. No sound from her shoes.

— Can I ask a serious question?

I didn’t answer. My face was still angled down, staring at the floor like I could fall through it if I focused hard enough.

— That’s really… all of it? Like, there’s nothing more coming?

I clenched my jaw. My ears burned. My shoulders tensed.

— It’s not… I mean, I’m not–

— No, yeah, no one’s hard here. We got that part.

Laughter. The other girl — Lex, I think? — chuckled into her palm.

— Shit. I didn’t even think dicks could shrink like that. It’s like it’s running away from the light.

— I feel like if I blinked I’d miss it.

— Bro, he’s got negative cock.

I stood up too fast, my back cracking as I yanked the briefs from the floor and tried to fumble them on one-handed, still covering myself with the other. The elastic rolled, stuck on my thigh.

— Please just– don’t. Can you not… I didn’t mean–

— Hey, chill. We’re not mad. You’re the one that flashed us.

— I didn’t–

— You did. And it was brave. I respect that.

Lex was smiling now, watching me struggle to pull the briefs up over skin that felt like it was shrinking out of embarrassment. The waistband finally snapped in place, but it was too late. Way too late. They’d seen it. All of it.

Rina sat down on the edge of the laundry cart, her legs crossed at the ankle, fingers tapping idly against the metal rail.

— You ever heard of body neutrality?

I blinked at her.

— Like… not judging yourself, not loving or hating, just… accepting.

— I guess.

— This would be a great moment to try that.

Lex grinned.

— Or radical acceptance. As in, radically accepting that your dick is like, baby carrot-tier.

Rina didn’t laugh. She just nodded once, then added:

— You know what’s weird?

— What.

— It didn’t even move when we came in. Like, not a twitch. Nothing. Flatline.

— Maybe it’s dead.

— No, he’s alive. Look at his face. That’s the look of someone in spiritual freefall.

My throat tightened. My eyes stung. I wasn’t going to cry — not for this. But something inside me cracked a little.

I wasn’t even hard. Not close. But the briefs were light gray, and there was already a dark, slow-growing spot forming at the front. Just a little sheen. Just a little… leak.

Lex saw it first. Her eyes widened.

— Oh my god. No. No way.

She pointed.

— Rina. Look.

Rina leaned forward, squinting slightly. Then sat back.

— Huh. That’s new.

I didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.

Rina stared at me — not smiling. Not angry. Just… tired.

— You’re embarrassed, right?

I nodded.

— And you’re turned on.

Silence. My lip twitched.

— I–

— It’s okay. We get it.

Lex:

— I really didn’t want to know this much about your dick today, man. But thanks for the content.

I turned away. Slowly. Quietly. I didn’t try to explain. I didn’t apologize. I just walked toward the door — still barefoot, briefs sticking damp against my thighs, shirt crumpled under my arm like a sad little towel.

I heard them behind me as I stepped into the hallway.

— What should we call him?

— Something gentle. Like… Sprout.

— Nah. Thumb.

— No. Better.

— Mistake.

The door shut behind me before I could hear if they laughed.

The hallway felt colder than the laundry room. Harder, too — like the walls had turned against me. I kept my head down, one hand clutching the damp bundle of shirt, the other twitching with leftover adrenaline. My feet slapped bare on the concrete floor, and every step echoed like a reminder.

Behind the door: two girls. Inside: the image of me, half-crouched, exposed, shrinking. And now… leaking. They’d seen everything. More than everything. They’d seen what it did to me. And what I couldn’t stop from happening.

Turned on from shame. That’s what it was. I didn’t know I had it in me. I didn’t want it. But my body betrayed me.

I made it halfway down the hall before I heard the door creak open behind me.

— Hey.

I stopped walking. Didn’t turn. My pulse thudded in my ears.

Rina’s voice — calm, even — cut through the hallway like a light switch being flipped.

— We’re not gonna follow you. Don’t worry.

She paused.

— I just wanted to say something.

I turned slightly. Just enough to see her standing there in the doorway, arms folded. The flickering overhead light above her made her hair look darker. Her face unreadable.

Lex wasn’t in sight. Just her.

— You don’t have to be ashamed.

— I–

— But you are. I get it.

I stayed quiet.

— You’re not weird for getting hard. You’re not broken. You’re just… really small.

Her tone was matter-of-fact. Neutral. No edge. No venom. That made it worse.

— And sometimes that’s enough to make people never forget you. Not in a good way.

I blinked. My throat tightened again.

— But also… you didn’t run. You stood there. You felt it. That’s rare.

She paused again. Looked down. Then back up.

— Anyway. I saved your dignity. I didn’t let Lex take a video.

Beat. Then, before I could say anything:

— I did take a photo, though. Just one.

My chest clenched. I stepped back without meaning to.

She held up her phone slightly, then lowered it.

— Don’t worry. I won’t send it anywhere. I don’t need to.

She turned to leave, then added over her shoulder:

— Honestly… I kind of admire you. I mean, if my clit was that small, I’d have stayed upstairs.

She walked away without another word. The door swung shut behind her.

I stood there, barefoot, boner fading slowly under wet fabric, dick shriveled and sticky, with nothing left to defend. Not from them. Not from myself.

And for the first time all night, I let myself whisper it. Just barely.

— I think I liked it.

No one heard. But it echoed anyway.

the crackle of air.

 

The End.

Caught Between Spikes

It should’ve taken ten seconds. One hand on the bar, one on the post, swing the leg, push off, drop down, move on. I’d done it a dozen times. But this time, my foot slipped. My thigh dragged, the metal bit into my jeans, and before I could react, the elastic of my underwear caught on one of the fence’s top spikes. Not snagged — fucking impaled.

The momentum yanked me down and left me hanging — literally — by my own boxers. A sharp twist of fabric clamped between my ass and balls, yanking everything up and back in a single cruel pull. My body jerked, helpless. My hands scrambled for grip. Couldn’t reach anything. I was just… dangling.

I tried to shift my weight, push off with my foot, maybe rip the fabric and fall, but the angle was wrong. And my shorts had slipped down just enough to make it worse. The front of my boxers folded under the pressure, and I felt it — my dick slid sideways and popped out. Not hard. The opposite of hard. Shrunk. Cold. Exposed.

I looked down and saw it hanging there. Small. Stupid. Practically non-existent. Just there, out in the open, the head pressed to the edge of the waistband like it had tried to retreat and failed.

Then I heard them.

Footsteps on the gravel. Then sneakers on pavement. Light. Fast. Laughing. Three of them.

I froze.

The voices got closer, casual at first, then suddenly louder–

— Oh my god, what the hell

— Is he fucking stuck?

— Wait, is that his dick out?

I didn’t turn my head. I couldn’t. I already knew.

Three girls. Jogging clothes. Ponytails. Breathless. Confused. Amused.

One moved closer.

— Dude. You’re… really stuck, huh?

No response from me. I just clenched the fence, legs twitching. The fabric wedged so tight it felt like a hot wire slicing me in half. My dick still out. Still pathetic.

— Yo, is that your whole thing?

— Like… it’s not gonna grow or something, right?

— Fuck, it’s like a pale pink mushroom. Jesus.

I closed my eyes. My thighs were shaking. My arms couldn’t hold forever. The pressure on my crotch felt like it was rearranging me from the inside.

— Should we help him down or

— No, no, hang on. I need a picture of this.

Click. A soft phone shutter sound.

— Smile for the camera, man. Oh wait — never mind, he’s already dying inside.

Laughter. Real, open laughter now. Not cruel — but unfiltered. I felt my face burning. Not red — purple. I wanted to rip my own skin off.

— I can’t believe he’s just… hanging there like a microwaved ball-sack

— What if this is like, his kink or something?

— Honestly, that dick’s not long enough to have a kink

More laughter. The metal pressed harder. My legs slipped lower. My dick was still out, still soft, still small, still theirs to see.

And I couldn’t say a word.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My arms were shaking, my thighs twitching in short, pathetic spasms as I tried to keep myself from spinning on the fucking spike. The pressure from the underwear had split my whole center — like it had found every soft point and jammed itself between. And my dick was still out. No hiding it. No rearranging. Just there, limp and pink, twisted sideways like it was embarrassed to be part of me.

They were standing around me now. Close. The closest one — the tall brunette with black shorts and a hoodie knotted around her waist — bent down a little. Her voice was light, almost thoughtful.

— I mean, I knew it would be small, but not like… that small.

— Seriously, is this like, medically a thing?

— Maybe he’s a grower?

— Babe, if he grows from this it’s still gonna look like a disappointed worm.

Laughter. Not malicious, not exaggerated — just real. The kind that spirals because it’s too absurd not to. I shut my eyes.

— Hey. You good, dude? You breathing?

— Blink if you’re conscious.

— Oh my god, what if he came up here to jerk off and got caught?

— Ew, with that? He’d be here all night and still not feel it.

One of them crouched near my leg. I heard her water bottle hit the ground. Then I felt her finger — just one — poke my thigh.

— He’s trembling. Like full-body trembles.

— From the pain or the shame, though?

— Both. Definitely both.

— What’s your name?

Silence.

— Okay. Call him… Button.

— No wait — Shrimp.

— What about Bean?

— No no. Stubby.

They lost it again. My legs were slipping lower, my body starting to sag. One of them moved behind me, real quiet, and I flinched when her voice landed right by my ear.

— You know what’s crazy? Your balls are actually kind of normal. It just makes him look even sadder.

Her breath hit my skin. I couldn’t tell if I was sweating or just cold to the bone. My face felt numb. The air between my legs was like open exposure. I couldn’t shift, couldn’t hide, couldn’t fix it.

Another girl circled in front of me, squatting until we were eye level. Dirty blonde, freckles, ponytail. Her face was half amused, half… curious.

— So. Real talk. You ever had a girl laugh at it before?

— Don’t lie.

— Wait, let me guess — no one’s seen it before, huh?

She tilted her head. I tried to say something, anything, but my mouth stayed clamped shut.

— Jesus, you’re shaking so bad.

— I think he’s gonna cry.

The third girl — shorter, broader shoulders, hair in a messy bun — leaned against the post and crossed her arms.

— Let him cry.

— If I had a dick that size, I’d cry every morning.

Another round of giggles. My throat burned. My hands were gripping the cold metal so hard my fingers ached. My whole lower body pulsed with a dull, rising shame that felt physical — not emotional anymore — like it was pushing heat out of my skin.

— Hey, Stubby. Be honest. On a scale from 1 to 10… how humiliated are you right now?

I swallowed. My lips parted. I barely heard myself.

— Ten.

The girl in front of me smiled — wide, amused, like she’d been waiting for that.

— Good boy.

And then she pulled out her phone again.

The sound of the second photo being taken hit harder than the first. Not because of the click — but because I didn’t even try to stop it. I just hung there. My legs were jelly. My stomach twisted. And that last line — good boy — echoed louder in my head than the laughter that followed it.

My fingers started slipping on the metal. Not all at once — just enough that I lost any hope of pulling myself back up. I shifted, winced, and finally gave in. The fabric gave out with a loud tearing pop, and I fell. Hard. Right onto the gravel below.

Everything hit at once — spine, elbows, palms, knees. The scrape on my leg reopened. My vision blurred. I stayed still, too dizzy to breathe for a second.

And then I realized I hadn’t pulled my shorts up.

My dick — that shriveled, helpless, defeated piece of nothing — was still out.

Still small.

Still fucking visible.

I scrambled to turn over, dragging my body like I was crawling through war mud. My fingers clutched at the waistband, trying to yank the fabric back up, but it was half-torn, useless, hanging crooked. And the three girls were still there. Watching.

No one said anything for a second. Then one of them — the ponytail girl — whistled.

— Still tiny. Just in case anyone was wondering.

The tall one walked around in front of me, leaning down slightly, hands on her knees. I didn’t look at her. Couldn’t.

— You okay, Shrimp?

— Oh wait. No, don’t answer. Your balls are jiggling. I think that means yes.

Laughter. A little softer now. Like they were starting to calm down — but still riding the wave.

I finally managed to yank my underwear halfway over myself, clutching both hands between my legs as tight as I could. The material barely covered anything, and I knew — knew — it made it worse. Now it just looked like I was hiding a secret that wasn’t worth hiding.

— Don’t stress, man. It’s not like anyone else saw.

— Yet.

— Unless we forget and accidentally upload it somewhere. You know. For science.

I stood up slowly, legs wobbling, arms locked in front of my crotch. I didn’t make eye contact with any of them. My face was soaked with sweat and dust and shame.

One of them — the girl with the messy bun — lifted her phone and typed something with her thumb. Then she looked up and grinned.

— Don’t worry. I didn’t post it.

— Yet.

They turned to leave, giggling again, bumping shoulders, stepping lightly like they’d just come from a party. I stood there like I wasn’t real. Just a body. Just a red-faced idiot in torn shorts with nothing worth covering and no dignity left to lose.

Right before they disappeared behind the bleachers, one voice floated back to me. I don’t know which one it was. But I’ll never forget the sound.

— You made my night, little guy. Seriously.

And they were gone.

And I was still standing there.

Still small.

Still humiliated.

And still fucking hard.

the crackle of air

 

The End.

 

*The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) are those of the author and do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech. This story has been previously published on other free sites and is now public domain, which is why we can publish it here.