My Roommate Saw Me Naked
An SPH Experience by laprats.
I peeled off my tank top and shorts in my room, tossing them into the hamper. The bathroom was just across the hall, and since I was alone, I didn’t bother with a towel. I liked the feeling of air on my skin, the freedom of walking naked through my own space. My soft dick dangled between my legs, a pathetic little nub no bigger than my thumb tip. That was normal for me—after a hard gym session, everything shriveled up. Blood was in my muscles, not down there.
I stepped into the hallway, heading for the open bathroom door. The showerhead was already spitting cold water, but I’d let it warm up for a minute before getting in. I was halfway there when I heard the creak of a floorboard behind me.
I froze. Turned.
There he was. Leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom, arms crossed, a smirk spreading across his face. He must’ve been in there the whole time, quiet as a mouse, watching me strip down. My stomach dropped.
“Dude,” he said, letting the word hang. His eyes traced down my body, stopping at my crotch. “I had no idea your dick was that tiny.”
I forced a laugh, trying to play it cool. My pulse hammered in my ears, but I kept my hands at my sides. No covering up. That would only make it worse. “It always shrivels up like this when I go to the gym,” I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. “It’s cool, it’s a grower. You know how it is.”
He didn’t stop smirking. “A grower, huh?” He made a show of looking at my soft cock again, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “Man, that’s… that’s really something.”
I felt heat creep up my neck. I needed to regain some ground, say something to defuse the power he had right now. “Whatever, man. I bet yours isn’t much bigger.”
Bad move. The moment the words left my mouth, his eyebrows shot up. “Oh, you wanna compare?” He laughed, loud and mocking. “Alright, fine.”
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and yanked them down. His cock swung out, soft but substantial—five inches at least, thick and heavy, nestled in a bush of dark hair. It hung there, a full inch longer than my erect dick had ever been. My mouth went dry.
“See?” he said, slapping it against his thigh. The sound was wet and solid. “That’s a real soft dick. Not some… acorn.”
I stared. I couldn’t help it. The contrast was brutal. His hanging soft between his legs, while mine was barely a nub. He let his shorts pool around his ankles for a long moment before bending to pull them up, still chuckling.
“Guess I know who’s the bigger man in this apartment now,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder as he walked past me toward the kitchen. “Enjoy your shower, little guy.”
That was three weeks ago. And he hasn’t let it go.
Every day now, he finds excuses to walk around naked. He’ll come out of his room after a shower, towel slung over his shoulder, dick swinging freely. He’ll stand in the kitchen making coffee, completely nude, letting his soft cock hang there like a trophy. If I’m watching TV, he’ll stroll through the living room, pausing to stretch, making sure I see it.
“Just airing out,” he’ll say with a wink.
Sometimes he’ll catch me looking and smile. “Jealous?” He’ll give it a little bounce with his hand. “Don’t worry, maybe if you start doing kegels or something, you’ll get a millimeter or two.”
The worst was last weekend. He had a friend over, and I made the mistake of walking into the kitchen while they were both shirtless. My roommate was leaning against the counter, his shorts hanging low, clearly not wearing underwear. His friend saw me look, then looked down at my crotch, then back at my roommate with a knowing grin.
“Yeah,” my roommate said, loud enough for me to hear, “I told you. It’s like a baby’s finger.”
They both laughed. I grabbed a water bottle and retreated to my room, my face burning.
Tonight, I’m sitting on the couch, trying to watch a movie. He comes out of his room, fully naked, walking with that swagger he’s developed. His soft cock sways with each step, a constant reminder. He stops right in front of the TV, blocking my view, and starts doing slow squats.
“Gotta keep the legs strong,” he says, not looking at me. “Helps with… performance.”
I can see his dick hanging down between his spread thighs, the tip brushing closer to the floor than I’d ever get even hard. He holds the squat, looking at me over his shoulder.
“Hey, you want to see something funny?” He stands up, strokes his soft cock twice, and it begins to thicken, lengthen, rising to a solid seven inches, maybe more. He lets go, and it stands there, pointing right at me. “See? That’s what a real dick looks like. Yours probably doesn’t even double in size, does it? A three-inch hard-on? That’s adorable.”
I say nothing. What can I say? He’s right.
He laughs, turns, and walks back to his room, his erection bobbing with each step before it starts to soften again. The door clicks shut.
I’m left alone on the couch, my soft dick still hidden in my shorts, feeling smaller than ever.
*****
Last weekend, we decided to hit the gym together.
The gym air smelled like sweat, rubber, and cleaning solution. I’d been dreading this moment all week, ever since he suggested we hit the gym together. “Come on, bro,” he’d said, slapping my shoulder. “We can spot each other. It’ll be fun.”
I should’ve said no. I should’ve made up an excuse. But I didn’t want to seem like a pussy—which, ironically, is exactly what he’d been calling me since the hallway incident.
Morning came fast. We drove together in his car, his gym bag in the back seat, mine on my lap. He was relaxed, stretching his arms above his head in the passenger seat. “Good pump today,” he said. “Gonna crush some chest.”
I nodded, my stomach tight.
The gym was a big box place, all chrome and black rubber. We hit the weights hard for an hour, and I had to admit, it felt good to have a workout partner. He pushed me on my last set of curls, calling me a bitch when I wanted to quit. I ground out six more reps because of it.
Then came the moment I’d been dreading.
“Alright, let’s hit the showers,” he said, slinging his towel over his shoulder. He was already pulling his shirt off right there in the locker area, not giving a damn who saw.
I hesitated, holding my towel in my hands.
“Come on,” he said.
Already, the morning air was still cool when we pulled into the gym parking lot. I hadn’t slept well, replaying that moment in the hallway over and over—the way he’d laughed, the way his dick hung soft and heavy while mine was barely a nub. Now he wanted to shower together. At his gym. The one with the open showers.
“You ready to get swole?” he asked, slapping my shoulder as we walked through the doors. He was already hyped, bouncing on his heels. “Then we hit the showers. Trust me, the cold plunge after is killer.”
I hesitated, glancing toward the locker room. “I’ll just shower at home. Less hassle.”
“Oh, come on.” He stopped, turning to face me fully. “I already saw your little cock, remember? What’s the big deal? It’s just a shower. Guys shower together all the time. You’re not shy, are you?” He grinned, that same teasing smirk he’d worn for weeks.
I wanted to argue, but the words stuck in my throat. He’d already made me feel small in our apartment. If I backed down now, he’d never let me forget it. So I nodded, forcing a casual shrug. “Fine. Whatever.”
We worked out hard—chest and triceps. By the end, my muscles were trembling, sweat dripping off my chin. He was in good shape, stronger than me, lifting heavier weights and making it look easy. I tried not to stare at his arms, his chest, the way his gym shorts hugged his thighs.
When we hit the locker room, my stomach tightened. Long rows of benches, lockers lining the walls, and at the far end, the open shower area—a tiled room with showerheads sprouting from three walls, no dividers, no curtains. Just men, water, and exposed flesh.
I stripped down slowly, keeping my towel wrapped around my waist. He had no such modesty. His shorts came off first, then his shirt, and he stood there completely naked, tossing his towel over his shoulder. His soft cock hung down, thick and relaxed, swinging slightly as he moved. Five inches at least. Maybe more. It had a weight to it, a presence that made my own hidden dick feel like a joke.
He caught me looking and grinned. “Eyes up here, buddy.” He tapped his own chin. “Or just enjoy the view. I know you’re jealous.”
I muttered something incoherent, clutching my towel tighter. My heart was hammering. I could feel it—the blood starting to pool downstairs despite my best efforts. Seeing him naked, knowing what was about to happen, the humiliation of the comparison—it was turning me on. I hated it. I also couldn’t stop it.
We walked toward the showers. I made a beeline for the corner stall, the one farthest from the main spray, tucked away behind a tiled pillar. He took the one right next to it, directly in my line of sight. Of course he did.
“Hey, don’t hide,” he said, turning on his water and letting it spray over his chest. “We’re all friends here.”
I kept my back to him, fumbling with the knob. The water came out cold, then warm. My towel was still wrapped around my waist, but I couldn’t drop it. Not yet. Because underneath, I was rock hard. My little dick had stiffened to its full three inches, straining upward, tenting the fabric like a guilty secret.
He must have noticed I wasn’t undressing. I heard his footsteps on the wet tile, and then he was right behind me, his voice low in my ear. “You gonna shower with your towel on? That’s kind of weird, man.”
“I’m just—” I started.
He reached past me and tugged the towel loose. It fell to the floor in a wet heap.
I stood there, naked, exposed. My cock stood straight out, three inches of hard, thin flesh, practically pointing at him. And there he was, still soft, his dick hanging down, already dwarfing mine even in its relaxed state.
He looked down. His eyes widened. Then he burst out laughing.
“Oh my God,” he wheezed, doubling over, one hand on his knee. “You’re—you’re hard? Right now? And it’s still—” He couldn’t finish. He just pointed, shaking his head.
My face burned. I wanted the ground to swallow me. My hard-on was pathetic compared to his soft cock, and we both knew it. I could feel the eyes of other guys in the shower flicking toward us, hearing his laughter echo off the tiles.
He straightened up, still chuckling, and stepped closer. “Alright, hold on. We need a side-by-side for this.” He moved until his hip pressed against mine, his soft cock swinging inches from my hard one. He reached down and wrapped his hand around his own shaft, lifting it slightly. “Look at that. Look at the difference.”
I couldn’t help but look. His soft cock was thicker than mine, longer, heavier. The head of his was already past the base of mine. He let go, and it hung there, bobbing gently, a full two inches longer than my desperate little erection.
“Buddy,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, “you’ve got a three-inch hard-on. That’s adorable. That’s like a baby’s thumb with a boner. And I’m not even hard yet.” He shook his head. “Imagine what it’s gonna look like when I actually get turned on.”
He took a step back, letting his comparison sink in. I stood there, frozen, my hard-on starting to wilt from the shame. He noticed and grinned wider.
“Aww, look, it’s hiding already. Guess even your dick knows when it’s outmatched.”
He turned and walked back to his shower, whistling, leaving me standing in the corner, naked and humiliated, with the water streaming down my face. The other guys had gone back to their own washing, but I could feel their glances, their smirks.
I finished my shower in record time, scrubbing mechanically, avoiding eye contact. When I finally wrapped a fresh towel around my waist and headed for the locker, he was already dressed, leaning against the lockers with a smug look.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, grinning.
I didn’t answer. I just pulled on my clothes and walked out, his laughter following me into the parking lot.
The End.
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