Jack’s Little Lesson in Utility
Because I constantly sit on my ass during my job, I have chronic piles that I treated before covid-19 by getting banded. It was not entirely successful, so a few weeks ago, I made an appointment and headed to see Dr. Breeze yesterday, my gastroenterologist who works at an infusion center. She is in her early 50s, younger than me, but she has also done some work on her breasts, face, and neck, and is pretty hot, IMHO.
Full disclosure: Yes, I’ve fapped thinking about her, but that’s not really special. I fap about most of the women I know. That’s what it’s like for me having a penis. I fap and fap and fap. Sometimes I’ve been caught, but that risk is part of my fapping fun.
The medical assistant who worked with her before the pandemic was now on maternity leave. The new fellow who performed my intake procedure was Isaac, a med student in his 20s. I explained my current state–I was actually fine at that moment–but I did not want the problem to return. After Isaac left, I waited alone a few minutes for Dr. Breeze, who arrived with another assistant, a plain-looking studious girl with curly auburn hair whose mask could not completely contain her constellation of freckles. She was energetic but, I decided dismissively, unremarkable. In a moment, she produced a small Windows notebook, taking the position at the foot of the examination table, which I avoided by taking a chair across the small room.
The doctor asked me questions while the assistant took notes. Most dealt with my diet, work habits, and bathroom habits. It was awful and embarrassing. A moment later, when there came another knock on the door, I was honestly relieved.
A young Latina woman entered, and I guessed she was Colombian, but later I learned she was actually Brazilian. At least thirty years younger than me, there was nothing unremarkable about her. Even in those bland medical office scrubs, I got a sense that everything was just exactly perfect. She took a seat beside the other attendant, and Dr. Breeze addressed me.
“This is Leila, a medical student who has just been accepted into our training program. This is a valuable experience for her, but we care about your privacy, Mr. Hopper. If you prefer, we can ask Leila to wait outside.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Leila,” I said. “You do not have to leave.”
“Thank you,” she said, and her accent reminded me of macaws. I caught my breath, and my little fellow twitched.
Incidentally, I was not wearing much: a thin stay-dry shirt and clingy cotton shorts where my little guy could bounce around, commando-style. I wished it were as daring as it sounds. Still, honestly, aside from the tiny bump the ridge of my glans made against the cloth, I doubt anything could be perceived except the obvious: There was not much to hide when I was flaccid, which is near all the time, but that accent… something about the tone of her voice enticed me. Who knows? Those large eyes, her dark lashes, and now my treasonous dick was moving that cloth a little, which I still suspect nobody saw, while the doctor went on about treatment options, all of them unsavory.
“I can’t navigate blind,” Dr. Breeze said at last. “Time to see what we’re dealing with this time.” She gave a weary sigh. “So there are two ways we can do this. Either you can lean over, drop your shorts, and hold the examination table or you can lie on the examination table, drop your shorts, and turn away. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“I’ll stand,” I said and crossed towards the examination table, not three feet from where the two women were working, and I dropped my shorts. Out flopped my balls and flaccid dick, which in the best circumstances is never imposing (I am a grower and my erect, pressed against the bone, pencil-dick is only 5 inches long, so you can imagine when it’s soft, right?)
Their reactions were contrary. The studious one made brief eye contact with me, looked down at the screen, and the edges of her lips turned down, but she dutifully ignored me. The Brazilian, on the other hand, was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Eyes brimming with mischief, she opened a space of about three inches between her index finger and thumb, and raising her eyes, she shrank the distance to two and awarded me a lecherous wink.
By now, the doctor’s cold lubricated finger had slid into my butt to perform the examination. She probed along the wall, getting a sense of how bad my situation was (not great), and made incidental contact against my prostate, which was enough, when coupled with the attention and (probably) my efforts to avoid an erection to of course produce a pretty strong erection. It bounced in response to the doctor’s energetic finger in my anus. At this point, I almost felt like laughing at my situation, but I noticed a bead of pre-cum dangling from the meatus, and, I kid you not, both women were also eyes wide focused on that pale oval dribbling from my middling weenie.
Let me be clear: I was not afraid of ejaculating. I had been doing Kegels for a while, and my days of premature ejaculation were long gone. Still, I was brimming with situational excitement, and my head churned in a maelstrom of flailing suppression and the prospect of release. All I could do was close my eyes while I sorted it out, but a moment later, her finger exited my rectum, and I exhaled for the first time in a while.
“These nodules on your anus are not actually hemorrhoids,” the doctor continued. “This problem is common with anal skin tags. The nodules are raw. That’s why you were in so much pain. Unfortunately, there is not much you can do.”
“May I please see?” Leila said, rising.
“Yes, of course,” Dr. Breeze said, guiding Leila to my rear. “Glove up, and I will demonstrate how to perform the examination.”
There was a moment of the organization behind me. My eyes sought out the helpful assistant, but her eyes were focused on my glans were, to my horror, a bead of my effusion hung by a tentacle of fluid. Mesmerized by the ordinary, she waited for gravity. Meanwhile, my doctor spread my butt cheeks and traced a finger between my taint and my anus so that Leila could see better.
“These are the nodules I was indicating,” she said. “Now slide your finger into the rectum.”
Her finger felt different, definitely thicker, and her gloved nail was very long. She pressed against the side of my colon.
“What am I looking for exactly?” Leila asked.
“Swollen tissue,” the doctor said. “Follow the contour of the wall, and you should see.”
She slid along the surface until she found my prostate, and I almost gasped but repressed the sensation. If I had not done so many Kegels, I would have spewed everything, but instead, I caught my breath and persevered.
“It’s very swollen,” she said. “I feel a curious sensation, a pulse.”
She pressed harder, and the bead of brimming ejaculate plopped off my glans, replaced by another. My eyes followed the drop to the floor, and I looked up in a panic and caught the eyes of the studious assistant, fingers poised over the keyboard but not typing, just watching, and I can tell what she was thinking: She has guessed I am about to pop and was mildly entertained with my predicament.
“Oh, that’s probably not a pulse,” my doctor said. “That’s the prostate. If you keep your finger pressed and used your other hand behind the scrotum, you can squeeze fluid from the Cowper’s gland. They are analogous to our Bartholin’s glands that provide fluid for vaginal lubrication.”
“And female ejaculation?” Beatriz interjected.
“Negative. Most female ejaculate sources from the Skene’s glands. They are paraurethral,” Dr. Breeze replied.
“I feel it was changing,” Leila said, excited now. She had slid a second finger inside to better experience the sensation.
“You should press harder,” Dr. Breeze instructed and guided Leila’s hand. “Here. Now squeeze it.”
Suddenly my vision went red, blood seemingly filled my brain, and I gasped, feeling a rush of orgasm, but my knees buckled, and so instead of coming to my brains out, I just managed to catch myself before falling. Once I recovered, Leila’s other hand drifted down my testicles, finding my nuts, feeling their shape. It hurt, as you might expect.
“I’ve never seen a scrotum longer than the actual penis,” Leila said.
“Neither have I,” the other assistant said, her voice careless.
“That usually only happens with short penises,” my doctor said. “When Jack’s manhood becomes erect, however, no doubt it grows much larger.”
“I don’t think so,” the studious one countered. “Mr. Hopper’s weenie has been tumescent during almost the entire examination and remains fully erect. It is never going to get any bigger.”
“You should not call an adult man’s penis a ‘weenie,’ Beatriz.” My doctor gave a little laugh. “Even if it is small.”
“It’s not that small,” I said, but nobody paid attention. “Average, really. 35th percentile.”
Leila adjusted her clumsy fingers, pressing hard against my prostate, and I had to pound the examination table to repress the will to ejaculate.
“My boyfriend has a bigger one,” Beatriz said. “Thicker. This one has a little mushroom head, but the edges don’t go far past the shaft, and that’s a thin shaft.”
“In Brazil, we call them canetas,” Leila said, easing her fingers out and back inside again. “Pens.”
“Pencil dicks,” Beatriz said. “Unfulfilled promises.”
“Yeah, you can’t come on this,” Leila said, reaching around with her free hand–the one not in my butt–and giving my hard dick a flick.
“Worthless,” agreed Beatriz.
I swallowed my rage.
“It really isn’t that small,” I said as calmly as I could. “I am quite happy with my penis. My cock has given me a lifetime of pleasure.” Their eyes met, and there was an uncomfortable moment followed by suppressed laughter. “What’s wrong now?”
My doctor sighed again while Leila repositioned her fingers.
“The same way Beatriz shouldn’t call your little guy a weenie, you shouldn’t call your mediocre penis a cock, Mr. Hopper. You may be correct. You may have an average penis, or maybe (if we’re sincere) a little smaller than average, definitely too thin… But you do not have a cock. A cock is a penis that is made to fuck a woman, to give her pleasure.” She made a dismissive gesture to my burgeoning manhood as more cum dribbled out. “Not this.”
“In Spanish, we say he is muy chico,” Beatriz said. She bent towards my erection and took it in her gloveless hands. “When I put my fingers around my boyfriend’s dick, I can’t even close my hand,” she said as she made the same gesture around mine, fingers easily meeting as she pressed. “It’s a short penis, but it’s unacceptable mostly because it’s too thin.”
“My short, too thin weenie is about to burst,” I said, biting my lip.
“Oh, Leila, are you still doing the rectal exam? That’s probably enough.” My doctor was blushing and holding a cloth measuring tape.
“What’s that for?” I asked, catching my breath as Leila’s fingers eased out of my rump.
“Science,” my doctor said, as Beatriz held my penis in place as the doctor wrapped the tape around my dick’s base, a measurement I’ve done myself a thousand times.
“Ten-centimeter base,” she said, and Beatriz dropped my dick, picked up a pen, and wrote the number down.
“Here. I got the other pen,” Leila said, winking at me, and my hard penis mostly disappeared into her gloved hand.
“Thirteen centimeters around the glans,” my doctor announced. “And pressed-bone length is eleven centimeters.”
“I’m sure it’s longer than that,” I said. “I’ve measured it at fifteen many, many times.”
“No. It’s only ten centimeters,” Leila argued. “Almost 11.”
“I know it’s longer than 11 centimeters! Are you pressing against the bone?” My voice was desperate, pleading.
“It’s not quite five inches,” Beatriz said and sounded satisfied. “I didn’t think it was average.”
The doctor took off her gloves, washed her hands at the sink, and pointed to my shorts on the floor. I reached to draw them up and afterward remained standing because my butt was still filled with lubricant and the memory of probing. Upfront, my small erection continued to poke against my shorts, and a little wet spot had formed where my meatus rubbed against them.
“Thank you for letting me assist,” Leila said, and she shook my hand with the same fingers (happily washed) that had so recently been inside my derriere. I swallowed and remained silent as I tried to ignore the urgency of my continued erection that strained against the soft cotton of my shorts.
My doctor opened the door.
“Ready?” she asked, and my stomach thudded. My erection–and the fact my endowment was inferior–was obvious. Of course, I was chastising myself, wishing I had worn underwear.
“Do you think I could have a moment or two to recover?” I asked my doctor and pointed at the small tent that preceded me.
“I’m sorry. I have other patients to attend. Have a good rest of the day, Mr. Hopper.”
She headed off to another examination room, Beatriz in tow. Only Leila remained, and her eyes did not waver much from the erection straining against my shorts. I was sweating, thinking of her fingers against my prostate, and the mere thought almost drove me over the edge again.
I took a shallow breath and tried to clear my head.
“I can’t exit like this. Everyone in the office will know, the people in the waiting room too.”
“Sorry. What will they know?”
I pointed at the object of my concern.
“Oh. You are afraid they will know about your small penis?”
“Usually, you would be wrong. Nobody would notice your small penis flaccid but erect as it is. I think you are right. Your piruzinho presses very hard against the fabric, and see? The little one is leaking. It’s wet all over here now too.”
Her fingers indicated where more cum had dribbled out and rolled down to my thighs. She pressed me back against the wall, one accusing finger tapping my chest.
“You don’t really care, though. Do you? Kind of fun, your little pee-pee? You like that game. Yes? You pathetic shrimp-man. See? I know-how. Medical students need to pay their bills.”
My erection gave a little spasm, and more cum crested.
“If I could just get some release,” I begged, and the door opened for another staffer, a full-figured black woman with enormous tits that I had noticed when I entered the office earlier. Big tits aren’t really my thing, but her arrival triggered an unconscious response, the awareness that somehow I was now very wrong, and I had been caught. I covered my erection with one hand, but her eyes followed them to the focus of my problem.
“Lord have mercy,” she said.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“You sho’ are.” She turned to Leila in faux-horror. “What happened here?”
“He became aroused during a rectal probe. None of us noticed his state until the exam was nearly complete. Now he needs to leave the clinic, but he was very naughty today and forgot his undies at home.”
“And that there is his erection?”
“All of it?”
“4 inches long in all its glory, Renée. We measured it for him.” Her face took on a curious, peaceful expression, and I lost my temper.
“I measure my penis at least once a week, and it never changes. I know it’s five-and-a-half inches long,” I insisted, but (again) nobody was really listening to me. “It’s not really small. It’s average.” They did not react at all. “You must have a backdoor to the building. Some way I can escape discreetly.”
“If I understand rightly, it was the back door that got you into so much trouble,” Renée said. “Show me the problem.” I looked at Leila, expecting her to reply to Renée’s request, but she did nothing, so I lowered my shorts, holding them between my knees.
Another head popped in, the dude who had done the intake.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought the room was ready for another patient.”
“You can come in, Isaac,” Leila said. “There is a small delay with Mr. Hopper. We have to wait until his erection passes, so nobody else discovers his piruzinho.”
In response, she pointed at my erection.
“Oh,” he said, eyes-rolling. “I hate to generalize, Leila, but isn’t it always the little ones? I’ll go prep another room.”
“I need to come so bad,” I groaned, and, in truth, my balls were lodestones. “Maybe I can use the bathroom?”
“You think our bathrooms are for burping your wee worm?” Renée said. “Where is your dignity, sir? If you would just stop thinking dirty thoughts, you will be fine,” she said as if I had no control any longer.
“You just don’t understand,” I squeaked at the edge of my patience. “I’m going to come hard. I’m barely hanging on.”
I sighed, relaxing into myself, and those familiar throes kindled within me, but before I surrendered irrevocably, Renée gave a loud bark of laughter.
“You juice this floor, mister, and you’ll be on your hands and knees scrubbing it up. I’m sure not going to do it.”
“Please.” I hated the pathetic tone of my voice.
“Please, what? You do know you are in a doctor’s office, don’t you? This is where I work, sir, so have some respect. We are medical professionals, not your hos, and you must follow the rules. You can’t just spew your cream anywhere you choose just ’cause it pleases you.” She shook her head again and handed me a single piece of tissue. “Wipe it off right now!”
“I can’t.” I exhaled and tried to regain control. “If I touch it, I will come. There is nothing else. It’s my truth.”
“Poor little man,” Leila said, and she leaned over to wipe my earlier spillage from the tile.
Again, scrubs seem designed to make anybody unattractive, but Leila contested every curve, and it drew up past her shanks to her knees and thick thighs. My laser-like eyes attempted to follow, but no more eye candy was forthcoming. Still, my imagination was enough, and I would have lost it if Renée had not been hovering so near. I was afraid of what she might do if I jizzed. Leila finished and neared me again. My eyes moved from my glans, from where another drop of my fluid had gathered, to Renée’s hand, still holding the tissue, and I had another moment of difficulty.
“I just really need to come,” I said.
“Because you are so excited?” Leila’s voice encouraged me.
“Oh, God, yes.”
“You like your little pee-pee to get caught out? That’s why you left your underwear home.”
“So we would have no choice?” Leila asked. “You decided to force us to deal with your small penis.”
“It’s not like that,” I said. “I mean, it ended up like that, but it wasn’t my plan.”
Renée’s brows arched, but she said nothing.
“One of the only good things about having a small cock is that it feels great commando. It’s not so big that it bounces around, and it’s seldom hard, so people rarely see, and nobody can tell it is so small. I took a chance, and I’m sorry.”
“What is your job, Mr. Hopper?” Renée asked.
“I’m a mechanical engineer.”
“Good. You must have some brains then, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a dumb-ass white boy, and that’s saying a lot. When someone looks at your crotch, sir, you may be right. They don’t just see much of a bulge, but aren’t you missing the logical point? People also perceive the lack of bulges, and every woman can tell at a glance what you are not packing.”
“Yes, sir. We are rarely surprised,” Renée said. “And this worm ain’t one of them. Go on and pull up your shorts, and next time, wear some goddamn underwear.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I said, and my eyes watered. My little erection had been poking forward, but now it bent up.
Renée put her hand on the door.
“Mr. Hopper, we do not have time for your small inconvenience,” Renée said. “Outside, patients need this room for examinations. I have two patients hooked up to the dialysis machines. Two others are getting infusions. These are people with real problems, sir, not tiny issues of self-esteem. Get over yourself, get dressed, and get out of this office before I call security.”
I opened my mouth and closed it, imagining the headlines, but my generally unreliable erection showed no sign of wilting.
“You have five minutes to compose yourself, sir,” she said, slipping out. “Use your time well.”
“Wait,” Leila said, and something was calculating in her voice, and that animal deep within me still lusting for her turned wary.
“You must be very ashamed,” she said.
“Mortified,” I agreed.
“Because you are afraid all the women in the office will know you have a little weenie?”
I nodded and shook my head.
“Yes, I’m afraid they will all know I have a little weenie. Then they will tell everyone, and one day, I’ll be out with my wife and catch someone laughing at me. Maybe some man will come on to her.”
Renée leaned forward, and her cleavage was almost in my face. I did not turn away.
“A man with a bigger penis than you?” she asked.
I nodded emphatically.
“That’s easy to imagine,” Renée said. “Ok, What are we doing here?” The question was directed to Leila.
“If you ask Julie, Lucinda, Chrissie, and Heart to come to witness Mr. Hopper’s genitalia, every woman working in our office will then be aware of his shortcoming. Once it’s done, we can have the men come in too if he needs to. Mr. Hopper, do you need the men to see your piruzinho too, or is it enough for all the women to know how unmanly you are?”
“I’m not gay,” I stated, my voice hard. My dick gave a little jump.
“Is that yes or no?”
Renée crossed her arms.
“No, you want the men to see, or no, you don’t want them to see. You realize everybody probably knows already anyhow, right?”
“Beatriz probably told everyone already,” Leila said.
“Absolutely,” Renée said. “There is an unofficial office pool betting pool. You probably got some bets.”
“Really? Wow!” My weenie gave another jump. “You have a pool for betting on who has the smallest cock!”
“No,” Renée said. “The pool isn’t for the smallest penis, but the most pathetic man of the month. I should have bet on you too. Might have gotten a free lunch out of your trouble.”
“Give me a few minutes to clean this thing up,” Leila said. “Then bring the others.”
“Such a useless excuse for a man,” Renée muttered. “People are busy doing their jobs. It’s so disrespectful, but…” She glared at me. “So typical for an entitled little man. You need eight women to humiliate you, and you don’t even have a half-inch for each of them.”
“It is too longer than four inches,” I said, stomping my feet, and my shorts fell from my knees to my ankles.
“I’ll return,” Renée said with a toss of her head, leaving me alone with Leila, who pointed at my shorts and put on a new pair of disposable gloves.
“We clean these examination rooms daily and between patients, but that floor is dirty with months of grime,” she said. “If you hand me your shorts, I will pass a wipe on the outside and also try to clean where your piruzinho has leaked.”
I doffed them for her at once and stood, my penis rising, no longer than before, but arching higher.
“It’s kind of cute how it tries so hard,” Leila said, and she leaned down until her face was just in front. If I blew now, I would cover her with a flood of desire. “How much bigger are they?”
“In that fantasy, you were telling us just now, how big were the men fucking your wife?”
My mouth went dry.
“Pretty big,” I said.
“Six inches long? Eight? Thick too?”
“You licked them too. Didn’t you? Those thick-veined shafts plunging in and out of her hole. You must have tasted her pussy on them.”
I nodded, my mouth even more parched if possible.
“It’s a nightmare. He is thick inside her vagina, and she is screaming with delight. She presses my face against her vulva, and my tongue is going wild, licking her clit. Licking.” I looked up at her, meeting her gaze. “Licking everything.” I swallowed again. “Sucking.”
“That doesn’t sound like a nightmare for her. Were you sucking him too?”
“Imagine how much worse it would be if you were really gay. So you have her lover’s fat cock inside your mouth, you are about to gag. Can you imagine his hot load shooting down your throat?”
“It never happens like that.”
“But you do eat his cum.”
“From inside of her,” I confessed.
“That’s a very boring cuckold fantasy,” she said. “If it ever happens in real life, you must ask him for a Lucky Pierre. You liked my fingers in your butthole. I could tell.”
“I did not,” I protested. “Besides, it’s not a fantasy for me. It’s a real problem. If my wife ever knew how much larger other men are, I could never keep her.”
“Don’t look so astonished. Yes, she is middle-aged, but younger men find her desirable. She is so curvy and vivacious. Despite the abundance of evidence to the contrary, I’m a fortunate man.”
“No, no. My surprise was because you think your wife doesn’t know how small you are. You are an engineer? Do the math. If she slept with two other men, they would both be larger than you. That’s what the 33 percentile means. Now, if she slept with ten other men, you may have two smaller, even three if you are lucky, but all seven others would be bigger. My point is that what you most fear isn’t a real thing. Your wife is a lot smarter than you think she is, and she already knows all about your piruzinho. If you think I’m wrong, though, we can ask her. Give me her number.”
She had so much honey on her tongue that I almost did.
“That hesitation defines the conflict between your fantasy life and the real-life you are pretending to live. That’s the life where your wife doesn’t know you came commando to the doctor’s office so you can shove your, uh, weenie in other women’s faces without consequences.”
A knock on the door interrupted us. Renée entered with the receptionist, a young plump Hispanic girl with braces.
“This is Lucinda,” she said by introduction. “Don’t cover it up, Mr. Hopper. The whole point is for everyone to see what you have to be so excited about. What do you think, Lucinda?”
“Well, I don’t really like penises,” she said. “This one is way too small, though. Every one of my toys is bigger. This is an entirely useless waste of human flesh, like you-shouldn’t-have-children useless.”
I closed my eyes and sighed.
“If you do, I hope they’re girls,” she said and left with Renée.
“Harsh,” Leila said. “Look at you. Still hard, though.” She turned my shorts inside-out and indicating the places where my cum had spilled over. “You look like you came enough actually to have an orgasm. You just kind of leaked it out.”
“No,” she said, and using a wood applicator, she scooped a dollop of my jism that still hung from inside, just above the pocket. “This is your cum.”
“I know. I know,” I said. “I’m really sorry, Leila.”
“Open your mouth.”
“Shut up and open your mouth to receive the gift from that thick cock pounding your wife.”
I did what she told me.
“Do you like how it tastes?”
I shook my head.
“You forgot to say thank you.”
“Here. Have some more.” It fell on my tongue at the same time the door opened, this time without knocking.
Two women entered Renée, a tall, youthful blonde with a glorious figure recanting the sweaty story of a hundred hours a month in the gym. I had never seen her before. The other woman I recognized, Chrissie, the office manager. She glared my way.
“Well, well,” Renée said. “Only half-mast now, sailor?”
She was right. My erection was no longer full, but of course, that only meant my weenie was more pathetic. I mean cock. Penis. Whatever.
“Why is there a naked man standing here?” the blonde asked.
“Mr. Hopper is a man with a public shaming problem,” Leila replied. “I don’t believe I’ve met you.”
“Jess Flood. I’m with Pendocro Marketing. I worked with Miss Fields detailing a kidney drug when Renée scooped her up to see a penis. I came along because I’m a connoisseur.”
“A cockoisseur,” Renée joked to general approval. Even I laughed nervously, and my erection was gone.
“I’m not an expert,” Chrissie said. She pointed at my little fellow. “But this is a disappointment by any standard. Right?”
“I call these the catch-and-release type,” Jess said. “This is a small, thin penis, but an inventive woman can do a lot with it anyhow. My baby finger is a lot smaller, but I can bring myself to ecstasy within two minutes, just by teasing. This penis’s biggest problem is it is attached to this man.” She waved in my direction.
“You don’t even know me.”
“Oh, I do,” she said wearily. “Six-figure income. How much? 200K? You have a sports car or a pickup truck?”
“It’s not like that,” I protested.
“Tell me the truth.”
“20 grand a month, a pickup truck, a boat, a big house, some rentals.”
“How many guns?”
“A small collection.”
“How many?” she persisted.
“Can we just leave? I’m actually busy.”
It took another five minutes before Julie appeared. She was Dr. Akmed, an endocrinologist. She listened to Renée and Leila explain my situation.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” she asked me. By now, I had shrunk to my flaccid two inches.
“Only that I’m very sorry.”
“Renée brought me here while I was on my five-minute break. I have to see a patient with stage-four kidney disease and tell them that their GFR rating has slipped to 10. Pull up your pants and go home.”
After she left, tears welled into my eyes.
“She’s right,” I said. “You have so many sick patients, people who really need help, and I monopolized all your attention for my little penis.”
Leila handed me my shorts.
“They are mostly clean,” she said.
I slipped them on without a word.
“I suppose I’m ready to go.”
“No,” she said. “You haven’t seen Heart yet.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does so. Wait.”
A moment later, a tall flat-chested woman with an air of androgyny entered.
“Heart!” Leila exclaimed. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“Well, I’m here about a dick,” they said by way of introductory.
Leila pointed at the offending tissue.
“He just covered it up, Heart, but if you give even the slightest excuse, the smallest hint of request, Mr. Hopper will happily show it to you. He is quite fond of his little guy.” She moistened her lips with her tongue, and I realized she was enjoying my suffering. “They will give you a unique perspective.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Well, show me then,” they said.
I took my shorts off, folding them beside me this time, and sat on the examination table. Heart slipped on gloves and lifted my member from my pubis by the glans. It twitched in response.
“For an older penis, it seems in good health,” they said. “What is your medical issue?”
“He says it is too small,” Leila said.
Heart searched my eyes and then, holding me tighter, rolled my glans into my foreskin, pushing everything inside back into my pubic mound. They let a little of the glans peek out, about a centimeter long.
“My clitoris looks about like this,” they said. “Next March, I’m transitioning to a man. At the moment, I’m deciding between metoidioplasty and phalloplasty. The first option means my erect clitoris tissue will be used, in which case I will still orgasm, but I won’t have enough phallus to penetrate my girlfriend–physically, I mean. The second choice requires mechanical inflation to enter her vagina. I would love to have your little penis, Mr. Hopper. Tell me. Does it get erect?”
“Mostly when it’s very inconvenient,” I said, relaxing a little.
“No issues ejaculating?”
I shook my head, and their eyes lifted to mine.
“It’s not erect now.”
“It was earlier,” I said, a little anxious, irrationally worried I could not achieve another erection.
“Make it hard.”
It should have been easy, right? Not five minutes before, I had almost been busting out of my skin, but sex is situational, right? And being evaluated by a transitioning woman was not on my little fellow’s bucket list, so it remained flaccid, resisting against all my efforts to get it turgid.
“It’s not working,” I said at last.
“I can fix that piruzinho,” Leila said. “Stand up, Mr. Hopper. Good. Now turn away towards the examination table and bend over.”
“Oh my God,” Heart laughed. “Are you going to fuck his ass?”
“Yes!” she said, two of her lubed fingers sliding into my rump, but not like an examination. She was indeed finger-fucking me, this time without any pretense of a medical exam. “It’s what he likes best,” she told Heart, her tone both conspiratorial and much too loud.
“Oh, I like that too,” they said, cupping my little guy in their hands. “It’s still a tiny and soft penis, but he is reacting to your method, Leila.”
“Are you enjoying my fingers in your ass, Mr. Hopper?”
“Of course not,” I moaned, gritting my teeth.
“If only I had my strap-on,” Heart said.
“I wish you did too,” said Leila. “My hand is already fatigued. Would you like me to stop, Mr. Hopper?”
I saw red again.
“No. Please don’t stop,” I managed.
“How would you like me to put a big fat cock in your butt, Mr. Hopper?” Heart’s voice so urgent struck an anew hidden erotic note with me, and all at once, I was fully erect again.
“Yes. Yes,” I managed through gasps.
“Now that’s more like it,” Heart said. “Leila, did you measure it before?”
“Ten centimeters,” said Leila, now hitting my prostate rhythmically.
“No. It’s. Not,” I growled, my brain in heaves of delirium in response to the penetration.
“Looks more like eleven, I would say,” Heart opined. “It’s not great, but good enough for me. You can stop, Leila.”
She was out of my butt all at once, leaving me empty inside and groaning internally, a sea of vestigial cum crashing like waves on my brain.
“May I also call you Jack?” Heart’s voice had unexpectedly dropped a half-octave.
“I really like your penis, Jack. Funny how it goes. There are so many penises, but it’s a lot more complicated when you look for an unattached one. Here is a little contract and a card for you to always carry with you. It gives me priority for your penis, should some accident befall you. It also affirms that someone besides you needs your…”
She waited for me to finish the sentence.
“My head hurts. My balls hurt. I’m full of cum again.”
“Say it,” Leila said, her hands kneading my brimming balls.
“Weenie,” I moaned as another glob arose from my glans.
“Well, it says ‘DICK’ on the contract, but call it what you will. A rose is a rose is a rose.”
I took the card, scanned briefly the contract where, sure enough, my dick was referred to as DICK, all in caps.
“Hold on. Give me that card back a minute.”
They made some edits.
“I’m going to want your scrotum too. Those nuts are huge. It’s no wonder that you leak everywhere.”
They gave me back the card, and I signed without much deliberation.
“God willing, I will do amazing things with your penis,” they said.
“See?” Leila giggled. “What you don’t appreciate others can use. Did you just learn that?”
“Can I please have an orgasm now?” I asked, handing it back to Heart. They took it, and behind her mask, I could tell they were smiling as they stood.
“Do whatever you want, but don’t lose that card. I hope you never need it, but if the Fates harvest misfortune for you, at least some good with come of it.”
I nodded. They were right.
“This is also for you,” they said, handing me two copies of papers filled with legalese. “You can change your mind at any time, but before you do, think how nicely I would treat it in your stead. I would review it, but now… Now it’s my lunch break. Thank you, Jack, for being so helpful. A new procedure for a penis transplant has a high success rate, but it is costly. If by some miracle I get the chance, though, this little fellow would work great for me.”
After I signed both copies and gave her one, Heart left us. As I slid my shorts over my rigid weenie, I realized I was in the same situation as before, my little guy poking straight out, championing my small size like a field banner.
“Will you fix it?” I begged Leila. “I have…” I withdrew my wallet from my back pocket and looked through my cash. “47 dollars. Would you please fix it?”
She set her teeth.
“Mr. Hopper, you give me so many options to be insulted, but I have decided to ignore you propositioning me like a streetwalker for less than the cost of a mediocre dinner. Instead, let me walk you to the street.”
I nodded and shielded the view of my little pecker poking by covering it with my hands.
“About that.” She pointed at my vain attempt to safeguard my pride. “Your hands draw more attention than your little pee-pee,” she advised. “Leave your piruzinho alone. Stop thinking about it, and nobody will notice anything amiss.”
It was still hard when we exited into the corridor, though. Leila led me past the nursing station, where familiar faces watched my shameful exit.
A woman wearing a bright t-shirt with a rainbow inscribed with the message “I am female. What’s your superpower?” scowled, and then, catching the eye of some of the nurses, a shared nervous titter arose. It followed me to the exit to the waiting room.
Leila opened the door for me. Six sets of patients’ eyes turned as one, and I knew Leila was wrong. My little hard-on had caught their attention.
“I never!” one woman said.
“That’s pretty small,” an old fellow said. “Ouch. What’s that for?”
“Well, it’s working better than yours,” his wife giggled, which exploded into a long belch.
I was never so happy I had a mask on.
“You have already made your copay,” Leila said. “Finish your checkout over the phone when you get home.”
I leaned towards her and whispered, “As soon as I get to my car, I’m going to drain my balls, and I’m going to be thinking of you.”
She gave a panicked look.
“Your eyes, your hair, your breasts…”
“Can you help me imagine what I cannot see?”
“I have a shaved cunt, but I’m in the middle of my period, so if you’re imagining, get it right.”
My lips opened to speak, but there came now words.
“I mean, it’s very bloody,” she said.
“That doesn’t matter to me.” My member twitched. “Please.”
I grasped her wrist, but she peeled away.
“Mr. Hopper, you are a better man when you are silent. Presley?”
The security guard looked up. He was not a big man, but he had thick biceps, and I knew he could kick my ass without much effort.
“Trouble?” Presley asked.
“No, but could you walk Mr. Hopper to his car?”
Outside he whistled loudly.
“What did you do? I ain’t never seen her so angry.”
I did not answer.
Back in the car, my one-eyed one-and-only gave a jolt to let me know it was still rattled. I adjusted my seat and let the side of my hand graze my aching glans, but now I held my release firm, its unwavering strain a source of power more than vulnerability. I straightened, and some errant cum slithered into my butt crack.
I trembled, my need beckoning, and I wondered whether I would be spotted. That thought excited me anew, and my little fellow begged now for the open air, and how was I to deny him?
I stopped a few minutes by the lake. It was deserted, so I was able to clean myself up a little. I was a real mess, you see. So much cum had leaked from my urethra that my balls were immersed in gooey jizz. I tested it with my finger and decided it had more-or-less the same consistency as snot. It tasted a little saltier than my usual effusion, and as I fiddled with the tiny bead of elastic cum, my little fellow gave a twirk.
“You are so naughty,” I told it. “Are you excited that you may outlive me? Hanging out in front of Heart instead of me.” It arched a little higher. “Fucking treasonous dick,” I growled accusingly. “You’ve no loyalty.”
My wife was leaving the neighborhood as I arrived, so I managed to sneak past the bedroom where my wife’s niece slept and take a shower without getting caught. After I finished, I edged until my balls ached and exploded, at last, imagining Leila’s face sprayed with my jism. At last, I slept, belly drenched in the spoils of my lust.
When I awoke, the first thing I did was a search for Heart’s card, but it was not in my wallet, and after I also could not find the contract I remembered signing or even the receipt for my pre-pay, I wondered whether I had imagined some of the experience. I called up the clinic and learned I had been scheduled for three sessions of banding. Feeling daring, I asked for my doctor, and Beatriz answered. I explained my theory about how I had imagined everything.
“I’ll add a note in your file,” she said.
“I want you to know I really liked when you called it a weenie.”
“Also noted. Have a wonderful day, Mr. Hopper.”
All night long, Heart’s missing card drove me insane. I worried how, when discovered, its words might incriminate me. That potential ate upon my peace, haunting me because I will forever remember the truth of my hesitation, that space between my imaginary world and the real world where I portray my needy role. It’s a lot of space, a lot of explanation required.
This morning I learned what happened. Maria, my sister-in-law, had not been sleeping. She watched me masturbate, listening to my constant dirty-talk as I chided my “little fellow,” “weenie,” “tiny dickie,” and, ahem, “Tinky Winky,” all the while insulting my size, my stamina, and so forth. She took pictures of me putting my little fellow behind my legs, fingerfucking my own butt, pretending I was Leila. I honestly have no idea what I did or said leading up to that orgasm, but once I finished and fell into the void, Maria found the contract and office paperwork crumpled in my pocket and Heart’s card in my wallet. She gave them to my wife.
“I’m really sorry about this,” I said when they confronted me. I had just finished swallowing a load of cum that had built up again. “It was all an accident.”
Maria pointed at my dwindling erection.
“I am surprised it is so small,” she confided. “His hands are quite large. I always thought…”
“For what it’s worth, I’ve never complained,” my wife said, which was not entirely true. Without a word, she returned the card to me. I hung my head abashed, and it’s even worse than before because now I judge my inadequacy beside Heart’s real need, and it pales, meaning I’m even more pathetic.
“I’m sorry,” I said, almost begging.
“Are you apologizing for being an organ donor?”
I realized she was giving me an escape valve.
“I didn’t want you to be angry.”
“You know it’s only your secrets that anger me. Did you do something wrong, Jack?”
I nodded. “I’ve been naughty,” I said.
“Well, go wait for your punishment in the bedroom. I’ll be a while, though. I need to make some arrangements.”
I went back to the room, measured myself–somehow, it’s only 10 cm long now–and coddled my little treasure of blood and lust. I thought of Heart and buried my little guy under its foreskin, letting the tip of my imaginary clit poke out, pink and wet. I thought how Heart measured differently this small wonder hanging between my legs, how they gave it more value than I ever had.
Despite everything, I’m pretty lucky, I guess.
*This story has been edited to fix spelling, punctuation, & basic grammar, but the narrative and plot have remained the same. Just remember, even with the limited editing we do, it doesn’t mean any possible major flaws in this story were fixed.