I wasn’t even nervous at first. It was just a student wellness program — they sent out emails about it every two weeks. Free 30-minute massages, sign up online. I figured, why not? Midterms were frying my brain, and the signup sheet still had open slots. I didn’t think it’d be weird.

The room was warm, with dim yellow light, plants in the corners, and a white noise machine in the background. The table in the center was clean and padded, draped with a folded towel and a soft sheet. Everything smelled like eucalyptus and that faint, sterilized linen scent you only find in medical offices.

What threw me off was that there were two of them.

I’d expected one massage therapist. One professional. Instead, when I walked in, two girls were waiting by the corner desk. Early twenties, both in black leggings and loose white polo shirts with the university health logo printed on the chest. They were clearly students — probably doing practical hours.

One of them smiled and stepped forward.

— Hey. Nick, right? You’re our four o’clock?

— Uh. Yeah.

— Cool. I’m Clara. That’s Kenzie. Don’t worry — she’s just observing. I’ll be the one working with you today.

Kenzie waved without saying anything. She had dark curls tied back in a loose bun, pale freckled arms, and a huge bottle of sanitizer in one hand. Clara was taller, more angular. Her hair was a blunt blonde bob, and she looked like she used the gym regularly. There was a faint red pressure mark on the side of her nose like she’d just taken reading glasses off. She had a clipboard in the other hand.

— First time getting a massage?

— Kinda. I mean, yeah.

— No worries. You’ll just undress to your comfort level, lie face down under the sheet, and we’ll knock on the door before coming in.

That phrase — to your comfort level — always confused me. How naked were people actually supposed to get? I just nodded and gave a weak smile. She gestured toward the curtained changing corner, then walked out, Kenzie following.

I stood there for a second, alone, and stared at the table.

I wasn’t planning to get totally naked, just down to my underwear. But the thing was — I’d worn these awful old black boxer-briefs today. The elastic was shot, the fabric thin and pilled, and I could already feel the waistband folding when I moved. Plus, I’d biked here. They were… damp. Slightly. Not great.

Lying down in those felt worse than nothing.

So I hesitated. Then, like an idiot, I peeled them off and tossed them onto my jeans on the chair. I grabbed the sheet, wrapped it once around my waist, and climbed up onto the table, lying flat, chest down, adjusting my arms under the cradle.

The sheet covered most of me. My back was bare. My ass felt… aired out. But it was fine. They’d knock.

Except they didn’t.

The door clicked open without warning—there was no knock, no heads-up—and the next second, I heard Clara’s voice.

— Okay, we’ll start with–

She paused.

So did I.

I realized, in that breath of silence, that when I’d adjusted the sheet… I’d tugged it up slightly. Too far. The very base of my spine was visible — and beneath that, the top curve of my ass. Maybe more.

Worse — I could feel a draft on my balls. Not fully exposed, but enough that the sheet clearly wasn’t doing its job.

I didn’t move. Neither did they.

Clara cleared her throat. Calm, but clipped.

— Just relax. We’ll get started in a moment.

Kenzie didn’t say anything, but I heard a soft exhale from behind her. Like a breath held in and then slowly let out.

Their feet shuffled on the floor. I stayed frozen.

And that’s when I realized: the sheet had slipped way lower than I thought.

And I was completely, unmistakably… naked.

I tried to stay still. Completely still. Maybe if I didn’t move, they wouldn’t see everything. Maybe they’d just assume the sheet had shifted a little. Maybe I was imagining the breeze licking along the crease of my thighs. But the room wasn’t cold — I was. Every muscle in my back had locked tight with panic.

Behind me, soft latex gloves snapped. Then silence.

Clara spoke again, professional and clean.

— I’ll begin with light compression along your upper back. If anything feels uncomfortable, let me know.

I nodded — or tried to. My face was already jammed into the cradle.

Gloved hands pressed into my shoulder blades. Her touch was firm, steady. Nothing inappropriate. It was textbook, clinical. But that only made everything worse. The pressure felt good, yes — but all I could think about was the way the sheet barely clung to the top of my butt. One twitch, one breath too deep, and it’d slide off completely.

Kenzie was somewhere behind her. Still silent. But I could feel her there. Standing. Watching.

Clara moved lower mid-back, then to the base of the spine. Her hands paused, and I felt her shift position.

— The sheet’s slipping a bit — do you want me to adjust it for you?

Her voice was neutral. Totally controlled.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out at first.

— Uh… y-yeah. Please.

She reached down, tugged the fabric. I felt it move over my skin. Too smooth. Too far. The edge of it grazed under my balls and pulled back up — but I knew. In that one moment, she saw everything.

Kenzie made a sound — not a laugh. Not a gasp. Just… a breath with a shape to it. Like she’d tried not to react and failed halfway.

Clara didn’t acknowledge it. Her hands returned to my back like nothing had happened.

I wanted to vanish. Evaporate. My face was burning inside the padded cradle. My thighs were tensed so hard my knees were hovering. My dick had shrunk to a pathetic clump under me, tucked and panicked. I was sure it had curled into itself like a snail trying to escape.

Then Clara stepped to the side.

— We’ll be moving to hamstrings now. I’ll need to uncover your legs.

Before I could answer, the sheet peeled down again. This time deliberately, diagonally — one leg exposed, then the next. But the fabric stopped just above my ass. My cheeks were clenched so tight I was shaking. And yet — she didn’t cover them. Not fully. Not anymore.

I heard a whisper. It was Kenzie. I couldn’t make out the words, but Clara didn’t respond.

Fingers pressed into my thigh. Kneaded upward, slow and rhythmic. Each pass came closer to the edge of my bare ass, never touching it, but threatening to. Each pass made it clearer: the girls had seen me. Fully.

Seen what wasn’t there.

What barely counted.

Seen how my balls sagged under me like dead weight, and how my dick — limp, shy, ridiculous — had curled backward from its shame.

I tried to breathe.

Kenzie shifted again. I heard her put something down on the desk.

Then her voice — the first time she actually addressed me.

— Hey…

Silence.

— Sorry, just… a question. You don’t have to answer.

Clara’s hands paused.

— Is this like… what you look like usually? I mean — when you’re… y’know. Not cold.

The floor dropped out from under me.

I said nothing.

Clara said:

— Kenz. Not appropriate.

Kenzie murmured something like “sorry,” but she didn’t sound sorry. She sounded curious. Too curious.

And that’s when I felt it.

That awful, slow ache. The kind that comes not from touch, but from exposure. The kind of arousal that isn’t desire — it’s a survival instinct. It’s betrayal.

My dick twitched. Just once. Enough for me to feel it shift against the towel. Still small. Still laughably soft. But alive.

Alive in the worst moment possible.

The twitch wasn’t even real. I mean–it didn’t get hard. Not even close. But it moved. That tiny, involuntary flex that shifts your weight just enough to make everything worse. And I knew they saw it.

I felt the sheet rise a fraction. Just barely. My dick now resting against terrycloth, warm from body heat, slightly sticky at the tip. It wasn’t arousal. It was panic. But it felt the same on my skin.

Clara’s hands paused again. Still professional. Still steady.

— Would you like me to continue with glutes, or would you prefer we skip that portion today?

It was a lifeline. An out. But I couldn’t grab it.

My voice cracked, barely audible.

— It’s… okay. You can.

She nodded, or maybe just assumed, because a moment later, her gloves touched the top curve of my ass. Broad strokes, slow, down each cheek, firm pressure into the muscle. My whole body tensed.

And still–Kenzie said nothing. Didn’t move. But her presence was everywhere. Behind me. Above me. In my spine.

Then she cleared her throat.

— Sorry, uh… It’s just weird, right? Being the only one naked in the room?

I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t answer.

— I mean… most guys I’ve seen, even soft, have something going on. You know? A shape. A hint. But I honestly couldn’t tell you where yours starts.

Clara snapped, not loud.

— Kenz.

But Kenzie just kept going, voice mild. Almost playful.

— Like, it’s impressive in a way. You’re like, physically unthreatening. Spiritually soft.

The words sliced deeper than yelling ever could. My mouth went dry. I felt a drop of sweat slide down my ribs, but I didn’t wipe it. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t defend it — him — any more than I could pretend it hadn’t all just happened.

Clara stepped back. Her tone was quieter now.

— That’s the end of the lower-body sequence. If you’d like, I can give you a moment to turn over before we continue with chest and arms. Or we can end here.

Turn over. With a sheet that was already halfway off. With my dick still faintly leaking, barely visible, and probably already the subject of a mental group chat.

I didn’t turn. I couldn’t. I whispered:

— I’ll stay like this.

Kenzie snorted under her breath.

— Good call. Mystery’s kind of your only advantage.

My eyes burned again. I gripped the table edges with both hands and focused on breathing.

Clara moved to the sink, peeled off her gloves, and washed her hands. The sound of water running made everything else louder—my pulse, the air vents, the white noise machine, and the nothing between my legs.

She returned, voice gentler this time.

— That’ll be all for today. Please feel free to dress when ready. Take your time.

The two of them moved toward the door.

Right before it closed, Kenzie turned slightly. I saw the motion in the corner of my vision.

— Sorry if I was rude.

Pause.

— I just didn’t know something could be that… unassuming. Like, respectfully absent.

The door shut.

I stayed face down. Still naked. Still soft. Still small.

And worse:

Still… harder than I should’ve been.

The crackle of air.

 

The End.

 

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