Coming Clean
An SPH Experience by InternationalDig4268.
We’d been together eight months when it slipped out. We were drunk, lying in bed after a party, playing one of those stupid couples games where you confess things you’d never say sober.
“What’s your weirdest fantasy?” she asked.
I laughed it off. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do, though.” She propped herself up on one elbow. Her dark hair fell across her bare shoulder. “Come on. I won’t judge.”
I took a breath. Another sip of wine. Then I told her.
I told her about the locker rooms—the communal showers. The times I’d caught guys glancing down and smirking. I told her about the websites I’d visited late at night, the forums, the stories. I told her that I measured myself regularly and knew exactly where I stood — four inches hard, maybe three and a half on a bad day. I told her that the thought of women knowing, of them talking about it, of them laughing, made me harder than almost anything else.
She was quiet for a long moment.
Then she said, “So you want me to tell people?”
My stomach dropped. My cock twitched.
“I… I don’t know. Maybe?”
She smiled. “I can work with that.”
—
The first time was accidental. At least, that’s what she said.
We were at brunch with her friend Danielle, this sharp-tongued girl she’d known since college. They were talking about ex-boyfriends, comparing stories, doing that thing women do where they dissect every detail of their past relationships.
“What about you?” Danielle asked, gesturing toward me with her mimosa. “Any crazy ex stories?”
My girlfriend — her name is Natalie — glanced at me. “Oh, he’s pretty perfect. Except for one thing.”
My pulse quickened.
“What’s that?”
Natalie leaned in conspiratorially. “Let’s just say he’s not exactly… gifted.”
Danielle’s eyes widened. “No!”
“I’m serious. The first time I saw it, I thought he was still soft. But nope.” She held up her fingers, maybe three inches apart. “That’s it. Hard as a rock.”
Danielle burst out laughing. She covered her mouth, tried to compose herself, failed. “Oh, my god. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh.”
“It’s okay.” Natalie patted my thigh under the table. “He likes it. Don’t you, babe?”
I felt my face burning. My cock, trapped in my jeans, was straining against the denim.
“I… yeah.”
Danielle looked at me with fresh eyes. “Wait, seriously? You like that she’s telling me this?”
I nodded.
“Holy shit.” She leaned back. “That’s fascinating. I’ve never met a guy like you before.”
“Most guys lie about their size,” Natalie said. “He owns it. It’s kind of sweet, actually.”
Danielle was still staring at my crotch. “Can I ask… like, how small are we talking? Because some guys think six inches is small, and that’s just —”
“Four inches,” Natalie answered for me. “On a good day. And skinny, too. I can barely feel it sometimes.”
“Danielle!” Natalie swatted at her. But she was grinning. “But yes. He’s definitely the smallest I’ve ever had.”
“Wow.” Danielle shook her head slowly. “I dated a guy once who was probably five inches, and I thought that was small. Four is… I mean, that’s basically a micropenis, right?”
“Medically, I think it has to be under three to count,” Natalie said. “So he’s technically ‘normal.’ Just… barely.”
They both looked at me.
I wanted to crawl under the table. I also wanted to cum in my pants.
—
After that, Natalie got bolder.
She told her sister over FaceTime while I was sitting right next to her on the couch. She told her college roommate during a wine night I attended, sitting silently in the corner while they giggled and compared notes. She told her hairdresser, for fuck’s sake, while getting a trim.
But it was when she started telling her coworkers that things escalated.
—
The text came on a Tuesday afternoon.
Natalie works at a marketing firm downtown. She’s friendly with everyone — the receptionists, the account managers, the guys in IT. She’s the type of person who brings in donuts on Fridays and remembers everyone’s birthdays.
That day, she’d gone out for coffee with Aisha, a colleague from the creative team.
My phone buzzed around 2 PM.
Having a good day?
I typed back: Yeah. You?
Better now. Aisha and I were talking about dating horror stories.
My chest tightened. Oh?
I may have mentioned your little situation.
I stared at the screen. My thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Then I typed: Babe, did you tell A. that I have a small dick?
Five minutes passed. I watched the typing indicator appear, disappear, appear again.
Then: I actually told her just a few minutes ago how small you are, and she hasn’t stopped laughing.
I read the message three times.
My hand was shaking as I typed back: “What did you tell her exactly?”
She asked if you were circumcised. I said yes. She asked how big. I showed her with my fingers.
And?
She said, “Aww, that’s cute.” Then she asked if it’s enough to satisfy me.
My cock was rock hard.
What did you say?
I said we make it work. I told her you’re really good with your mouth. And your hands. And that we have toys.
Jesus.
She asked to see a picture.
My heart stopped. Did you show her?
No. I said I’d have to ask your permission first. So… permission?
I should have said no. Any normal guy would have said no.
I said: Only if you tell me everything she says after.
Deal.
—
That night, Natalie showed me the conversation.
Aisha’s reaction had been everything I’d fantasized about and more.
OMG, it’s so tiny!
Is that really it? Like fully hard?
My last boyfriend was at least 7 inches. This is like… a completely different experience.
Does it even go in all the way?
I’m dying. I’m actually dying. You’re so brave for staying with him.
Natalie had responded to that last one: He’s actually really sweet. And as I said, he gets off on this. So it works out.
Wait, what? He LIKES having a small dick?
He likes people knowing about it—the humiliation thing.
That’s wild. I’ve never heard of that before.
Next time you meet him, you can tease him about it. He’ll probably get hard right there.
No way. Really?
Try it and see.
—
The next day, Natalie went out for lunch with another colleague — this one named Kendra, a tall, athletic woman who played recreational volleyball and had a reputation for being blunt.
When she got home that evening, she told me everything.
“I mentioned your size,” she said casually, hanging up her coat. “Kendra asked if you were the jealous type. I said no, because there’s nothing to be jealous of.”
I swallowed. “What did she say?”
“She laughed. Then she asked if I ever wished you were bigger.”
“And?”
“I said sometimes. I said I miss that full feeling, you know? The stretching. But I told her you make up for it in other ways.”
My face was on fire. My cock was leaking.
“She also asked if you know that I tell people. I said you do. She said that’s either the most confident thing she’s ever heard or the most pathetic.”
“Which did she mean?”
“Both, I think.” Natalie walked over to where I was sitting and straddled my lap. “She said she wants to meet you. She wants to see if you’ll blush.”
—
A week later, I picked Natalie up from work.
I was sitting in my car in the parking garage when I saw her come out of the elevator. She wasn’t alone. Aisha was with her, and Kendra, and two other women I didn’t recognize.
They were all looking at me. Smiling.
Natalie opened the passenger door and slid in. She leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“Ready to go, baby?”
“Who are they?”
“My coworkers. They wanted to see who I’ve been telling them about.”
Through the windshield, I watched Aisha whisper something to Kendra. Kendra laughed. One of the other women — a blonde in a pencil skirt — made a measurement gesture with her fingers, holding them barely apart.
“They all know?” I asked.
“Pretty much everyone in the office by now.” Natalie put her hand on my thigh. “Is that okay?”
My cock was straining against my zipper.
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
“Good.” She squeezed. “Because I have a work dinner next week, and I promised I’d bring you.”
—
The dinner was at a nice restaurant downtown—fourteen people, including Natalie and me.
We were seated at a long table. I was placed between Aisha and Kendra, with Natalie directly across from me.
The conversation started normally. Work stuff. Projects. Deadlines.
Then Aisha leaned in close to my ear.
“So,” she said quietly. “Four inches, huh?”
I felt my face heat up.
“That’s what Natalie says, anyway.” She pulled back and smiled. “Is she exaggerating? Or being generous?”
“I… no. She’s accurate.”
“Wow.” Aisha’s eyes dropped to my lap. “I have to admit, I’m curious. I’ve never seen one that small before.”
Kendra, on my other side, had been listening. She leaned in too.
“What about soft?” she asked. “How small does it get?”
“Maybe two inches. Sometimes less.”
“Less?” Kendra laughed. “What, does it disappear?”
“Almost.”
They both giggled. Across the table, Natalie was watching with a satisfied smile.
—
Dessert came. The conversation at the table had moved on, but Aisha and Kendra kept whispering to me.
“Have you ever been cheated on?” Aisha asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Mmm.” She nodded slowly. “I dated a guy with a small dick once. Not as small as you, but maybe five inches. I cheated on him constantly. I couldn’t help it. I needed something more.”
My stomach twisted. My cock throbbed.
“That’s mean,” I managed.
“It’s honest.” She shrugged. “Size isn’t everything, but it’s something. You know?”
Kendra nodded in agreement. “I had a one-night stand with a guy who was maybe three inches. I literally couldn’t feel anything. I had to finish myself off in the bathroom after he fell asleep.”
“Did you ever tell him?”
“Hell no. I ghosted him the next day.” She paused. “But I definitely told my friends. We all had a good laugh about it.”
I thought about all the women at Natalie’s office who had heard about me. Who had laughed. Who probably looked at me now and saw nothing but a punchline.
My cock was so hard it hurt.
—
On the drive home, Natalie asked, “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She reached over and rubbed my cock through my pants. “Because I promised them I’d bring you to happy hour next Friday.”
“Who’s ‘them’?”
“Everyone.” She squeezed. “The whole office wants to meet the guy with the shrimp dick.”
I groaned.
“They’re calling you ‘Shrimp’ now, by the way, behind your back. Or they were. Now they’ll probably say it to your face.”
“Jesus.”
“Is that too much?”
I thought about it. About the dinner. About the whispers. About the way Aisha and Kendra had looked at my crotch like it was a curiosity, a joke, a story to tell.
“No,” I said. “It’s not too much.”
“Good.” Natalie unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock. It stood hard and small in her hand, barely filling her palm. “Because I have a lot more people to tell.”
—
It’s been three months since I first confessed my fantasy.
Natalie has told her sister, her cousins, her college roommates, her hairdresser, her Pilates instructor, and virtually everyone at her office.
When I pick her up from work now, I see the looks. The smirks. The whispered conversations that stop when I get close.
Last week, a new girl started at the office. Within two days, she knew about me.
“How?” I asked Natalie.
“Someone showed her a picture of a micropenis and said ‘that’s what Shrimp’s boyfriend looks like.'”
“That’s not even me.”
“I know. But she got the idea.” Natalie smiled. “She asked if you’d be at the company retreat.”
“Will I?”
“If you want.”
I thought about it. A whole weekend with thirty people who all know my secret. Who’ve all laughed about it. Who’ll all be watching.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be there.”
Natalie kissed me.
“Good boy.”
—
I’m writing this from the parking garage of her office building.
She just texted me that she told the IT guy about me. He apparently made a joke about “hard drive” and “external storage.”
She’s on her way down now.
I don’t know who she’ll tell next. I don’t know how many people know, or how many more will find out.
What I do know is that I’ve never been harder in my life.
And I wouldn’t change a thing.
The End.
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