Mallie and I had been best friends since we were kids. She lived right down the street from me growing up. I never got along as well with boys as I did with girls, and in Middle School, Mallie and I became inseparable. We did everything together. We had the same schedule at school; we would walk home together. Sometimes, we would hang out at hers for a bit, and sometimes at mine. We were besties! And it was good.

When the hormones came, many changes in our relationship came with them. I started to notice Mallie more. I started to look at her a little differently. My eyes opened up to the fact that my “bestie” was a girl. A pretty girl, at that. I wondered if she had similar realizations about me. When we were teenagers and dating became more prevalent in our social circles, we would often gossip about who was talking to whom and share who we had crushes on in our classes. It was around this time that I started to realize who my real crush was – her.

As we got older, the gossip turned from “who is dating whom” to “who did this-or-that sexual act with whom”. It was hard for me to relate to these conversations because I was a virgin. I did my best to play along and act like it didn’t make me uncomfortable. Mallie, on the other hand, had many sexual experiences and, since we were so close, I heard about every single one. I did a pretty good job acting like it didn’t bother me, though sometimes she would pause while telling me certain stories and give me a look up and down, as if to say, “Does he really want to hear this?” But she would always shrug and continue.

The truth was, I enjoyed hearing about her sexual encounters. They turned me on. I lived vicariously through the boys at school who were lucky enough to take a turn with her. Sometimes, when she was telling me about how a date went, I would be struggling not to cum in my pants while she excitedly told me every detail about what she did with the lucky fella. Luckily, she never noticed. I wonder why?

The part I could go without was the relationship-y stuff. “He texted me this after our date. What do you think it means” or “OMG he is such an ass hole, right bestie?” or “Tina says I should dump him, but the dick is TOO good!” It got old fast.

After a while, I learned to just agree with her, and she would move on. It drove me crazy to hear about these douchey guys who got to fuck her, when they acted like entitled pricks the rest of the time. Don’t they know how lucky they are? Don’t they appreciate her the way I do? And even more frustrating- why does she stay with them? The answer was right in front of me. She wasn’t shy about it either. They were good in the bedroom, and that was a priority for Mallie.

I could only smile and nod for so long, though. Eventually, I just had to lay it all out there and see what happens.

It was our first year at college, and we lived in the same co-ed dorm. I thought this would be a new leaf for us. We were adults now, away from home, just two besties taking on the world together! I was feeling optimistic about life and excited to become a new me. More assertive. More pragmatic. I wanted to become a real man. I wanted…. Mallie.

Mallie, however, didn’t seem to be embracing change in the same way. Just like in High School, she quickly found the douche-iest guy in our hall, Dean, and started regularly visiting him in his dorm late at night. And just like before, whenever we hung out, she would complain about how much of a jerk he was. It was driving me crazy! So, one day, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to shoot my shot.

We were chilling in my dorm just like any other day. Mallie perched at my desk, buried in her phone, while I sat on my bed, staring at her. She was short and fit. She sat with one leg pulled up to her chest, the other on the floor. This perched position showed off her surprisingly thick but toned thighs. She tossed her messy blonde hair back and forth as she read her phone. She wore tight athletic shorts with an oversized t-shirt tied back with a scrunchy around her waist, showing just a tiny bit of skin at her midpoint. I could see 4 of her five tattoos from this angle. They were all small, tasteful, and flirty. Counting how many of them I could see at any given moment was one of my favorite pastimes. Her white vans sat by the door, and I watched as she wiggled her toes playfully in pink ankle socks. She was wearing minimal makeup, perhaps even the same makeup from the night before. To me, she looked incredible. Perfect, even.

I had studied her body in this way many times and had been caught staring on more than one occasion. I think I played it off well, most of the time. Today, she seemed to barely notice my presence at all, despite being in MY dorm.

“Ugh! Seriously, bestie!” she began to shout, looking up from her phone. “Dean’s such a dick! Like I sucked his dick for an hour last night, and he can’t even text me back! I literally just want to know when he wants me to come over so I can get ready! He does this every time!” she droned on. “I swear to god, in a couple he’s just going to text ‘come over’ like he never even saw my texts today. God, I am so sick of these assholes. Is it too much to ask for a guy who can dick me down good AND be nice, patient, understanding, and actually want to spend time with me?” she asked the universe, with little ol’ me just happening to sit next to her.

I rolled my eyes and, under my breath, let two words slip out that would change the nature of our relationship forever: “Like me?”

“Yes! Like you!” she interjected, to my surprise. My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t really mean to say that… but I did. I didn’t mean for her to hear me… but she did… and she agreed! Maybe this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I dug deep for a surge of courage and, once I found it, I sat up and moved closer to her.

“So, why not me?” I chirped. It came out a bit more nervous and high-pitched than I had intended, but it was time to take the plunge. I was shooting my shot. “Ahem,” I deepened my voice. “For real. Why not me? You always say you want to find a guy ‘like me’. So why. Not. Me?” For a second, as I drove my point home, I felt hopeful. I felt confident. In the brief moment of silence that followed my proposal, I felt myself begin to daydream that she would simply respond by pouncing on me and we would start ripping each other’s clothes off.

Instead, she just stared at me blankly for a beat, then I watched in slow motion as the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile. She burst out laughing! “Hahahahaha! Snrrrk!” she suppressed her laughter. “Sorry! OMG sorry, bestie!”

“B-but… I’m being serious.” My tone changed back to the scared little boy voice.

“Aha! Yeah, sweetie. I could tell from the way you puffed up your chest and spoke LIKE THIS!” She switched to an exaggerated deep voice for those last two words. “Hehe, it was a good impression of a real man, bestie!” I must have looked crushed, because she looked me in the eyes and switched off the joking tone. “Sorry, I’m sorry, hun. You’re so sweet for offering that… but you know why that wouldn’t work, right?”

“N-n-no! You’re always saying you want a nice guy who wants to spend time with you, right? I’m nice to you! I spend time with you!” I argued.

I could hear myself getting more and more whiney as I pled my case.

“Right, right, but I also tell you all of the.. um… other.. things I need from a man. You know what I’m saying, right, bestie?” She stood up, still looking at me with wide eyes, as if I was supposed to read her mind.

I slowly shook my head no, trying to keep my cool. Then I watched as she simply turned away from me and sauntered over to my desk. Her perky ass looked amazing as she strutted across the room. She put her hand on the handle of one of the drawers of my desk. Suddenly, I remembered what I was hiding in there. I bolted across the room to stop her, but I wasn’t fast enough. She opened it, swiped something out of it, and spun around, dodging me perfectly.

“Now, now, now… what do we have here?” she looked at me coyly. She held up the item I most dreaded her ever seeing —a wooden 12-inch standard ruler.

Now, this is a good time to pause our story and give some background on why exactly this ruler was such a dreadful secret. Remember when I said Mallie and I grew up together? Well, let’s just say one of us did more growing than the other. I realized in High School, in the gym showers, that I wasn’t developing nearly as much as the other boys. My penis just never seemed to get any bigger. For a good while, I was convinced that I was just a ‘late bloomer,’ and I became obsessed with measuring my penis, eagerly awaiting the day my growth spurt began. On the first of every month, I would measure my dainty, underdeveloped penis and mark its petite length on a wooden ruler. The marks ranged anywhere from 2.5 inches to just under 3.5 inches, with a heavy concentration of notches right at the 3-inch point. By the time I turned 18, I had essentially accepted that it wasn’t growing anymore, but I continued my tradition of measuring every month nonetheless. I guess I was still holding out hope that my little bean sprout would eventually grow into a healthy stock.

Slowly, my penis-envy-dreams reduced from hoping for a perfect 7-inch snake down to merely earning for that 4-inch mark that felt so torturously out of reach from my straining prepubescent boner. And now, here I am, in the middle of shooting my shot with my dream girl, and she makes a move I’d never expect. The checkmate of all checkmates- she held my biggest shame in the palm of her hand.

I was in shock, and I thought I had done a good job of keeping my little secret hidden from everyone in my life. And to be honest, I was coping HARD. As part of my “new school new me” mentality, I had convinced myself that size didn’t really matter. That I just needed to find a girl with the right preferences. That my 3-inch penis would be enough for the girl that truly loved me- and Mallie and I loved each other! We said it all the time! She was the one for me and my little dick. She had to be, right? Gulp.

“Now what HAVE we been measuring with this, bestie?” she teased. “I see a lot of notches right around the 3-inch mark… how interesting…”

I was frozen. I began to blush bright red, my cheeks betraying any chance I had at playing this off. I started panicking, trying to think of a lie. How the fuck do I explain this away?! I watched as she began to wander around the room, holding the ruler up to various objects. A water bottle. A stapler. A toothpaste roll.

“Nope, not this. Nope, way too big! I just can’t find anything LITTLE enough to match these marks! Hmm, maybe this Chapstick tube? That’s about the same size!” she looked at me, clearly knowing exactly what she was doing. “Or how about this battery? That’s pretty close!” She was openly mocking me.

I was drawing a blank. I just stared at her, silent, unmoving, watching her comedy show where I was the punchline. “No, no, no. Why would anyone be measuring a Chapstick tube or a battery? That doesn’t make any sense!” she continued.

At this point, she was making her way back over to me. She got closer to me than I expected. Here chest was always pressed up against mine. Her face inches from mine, looking slightly up at me (I’m only a few inches taller than her. I look slightly down into her knowing blue eyes. I could smell her shampoo. I felt the blood begin to rush into my penis, just as it had rushed into my cheeks. As a result, I felt lightheaded. Weak, even. Like whatever word she spoke next might just topple me right over. She brought my special ruler up close to our faces, pointing at the 3-inch mark with her pinky.

“I can think of one thing that a lot of boys LOVE to measure! I’ve even had some boys let me do the measuring for them!” she giggled a bit as she spoke softly directly to me. “But… you couldn’t be measuring THAT, could you? Three inches seems just way… too… I don’t know…” she leaned even closer, her cheek almost against mine. “…small?” she whispered right in my ear. She started giggling in my ear, before shifting her weight back, still close but less intimate. She allowed herself to laugh louder, like she had been holding it back. I just stood there frozen, red-faced, and aroused.

All of a sudden, my fight or flight finally kicked in, and I made a swipe for the ruler. I thought I could catch her off guard while she cracked up at my expense. She was too quick for me, though. Immediately, she pulled her hand with the ruler back, holding it up behind her. She knew I was going to pull that move. “Now, now, bestie! Don’t be so hasty!” she coaxed. “We haven’t solved the 3-inch mystery quite yet, haha!” she joked.

“C’mon, Mallie! I get it, okay. I’m sorry I said anything. Let’s just forget this whole conversation happened. Give me the ruler.” I tried to assert myself.

“Whoa! Relax, big guy! We’re besties! You’re secret is safe with me. And so is your special little measuring stick here. If it’s okay, I’m just going to hang onto it for a while,” she ordered. “Besides, you don’t need this little reminder of your shortcomings lying around for any ol’ girl to find. Imagine if anyone else found this, bestie! That would be SO embarrassing for you. In a way, this is the best case scenario for you. Someone you trust, who loves you, is the one to discover your itty bitty secret. We are in this together now, bestie. In fact, this is mine now. You shouldn’t be measuring yourself so much anyway; it’s not like it’s going to grow anymore. You’re a grown man now… or, as grown as you’re gonna be. It’s time for you to accept that. Tell me I can have it.”

As she lectured, a new feeling emerged in me in that moment. Despite the humiliating words and emasculating tone, her firmness enveloped me like a comforting blanket. Whether it was my dainty, throbbing penis or my unfaltering adoration for her, I felt the urge to comply. I nodded in agreement, “You can have it.”

“Good boy! Glad you get my point! So no more of this ‘but I’M a guy like me’ talk!” she lectured. “I’m only looking for a guy ‘like you’ in a few ways. Certainly not in EVERY way.” She looked at the ruler, then back at me. I blushed even harder. “But in all seriousness, you are an amazing friend, and I always want to have you in my life. That said, I’ve noticed a change in your attitude lately. Like, just because we’re in college now doesn’t mean you’re not the same adorable, nerdy, sweet, gentle, boy-next-door, you were when we met. Some things never change, sweetie. Anyways, I should get going. I’m supposed to meet Dean tonight.” She paused, tucking the ruler into her backpack. “Bye bye, bestie! I’ll text you later!” She hugged me goodbye. My whole body tingled as she touched me, my underdeveloped stiffy still raging.

“Bye, Mallie,” I choked out, “Oh, and sorry again!” I shudder with shame as I involuntarily found myself apologizing again for even insinuating that I and I might be together. In just one 5-minute conversation, all my newfound confidence was drained, and I found myself, once again, entirely codependent on my pretty, popular, best friend.

She stopped at the doorway, turned around, and leaned against the doorframe. “Don’t be sorry, dude. We were bound to have the conversation eventually. I was just waiting for you to build up the nerve, finally. I found that silly ruler in your room years ago. I think it’s cute that you want your baby dick to grow so badly. Now that it’s out in the open, I can help you work through that, figure out your place in everything, and be yourself. It’s you and me against the world, bud. Okay bye-bye!” She promptly turned around a walk away, slamming the door behind her. The sound of the door made me jump back into my body.

I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. It all happened so fast. Was that a dream? A nightmare? Has she really known about my three-incher for years? Did she keep it a secret that whole time? Does anyone else know? What did she mean by “figure out my place”? …and why was my tiny penis rock hard in my shorts?

Eventually, I decided to engage in the activity that seemed to most reliably calm me down- tugging on my wiener with my patented two-finger technique. I got comfortable, pulled up some of my favorite porn- a petite blonde getting fucked by a big cock- and tried to clear my mind by focusing on the pleasure. About 5 minutes into this activity, however, a notification banner appeared at the top of my phone screen that sent a jolt of electricity through the top of my head down all the way down into my 3-inch erection. A text from Mallie! I couldn’t open it quickly enough.

My anxious gaze was met with an image. I have a blood-chilling image. One that would be ingrained in my brain for the rest of my life. It was Mallie’s small, pretty, manicured hands holding up my special ruler with its array of 3-inch notches. Only she was holding up next to the biggest fucking cock I have ever seen in my life. A cock that reached FAR past all of my little marks. My eyes traced this monster cock up just passed the 9-inch mark.

I look at the big cock. I looked at my 3-inch marks reaching about one third of the way up his shaft. I looked down at my itty bitty peepee in my thumb and point finger. It looked smaller than ever before, even fully hard. I looked back at the image, at Mallie’s beautiful hand wrapped around his monster cock, unable to fully close her fingers around it. And before I could fully process what I was seeing, a message popped up below the image that said, “Just in case you didn’t get the point.” My three-incher immediately started squirting into my two fingers uncontrollably.

 

To Be Continued…?

 

 

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