SPH-THEMED EROTICA STORIES

As a child, I would often go walking in the woods behind my house by myself. Once I was secluded enough, I’d strip and run around naked. It was a secret hobby (in fact, this is the first time I’ve ever shared that with anyone).

As I grew older, I became aware that I did not measure up compared to other boys. I learned to keep my shame a secret. I never showered in the locker room. In college theatre, I made sure to get a corner spot in the dressing room, so I could turn toward it and minimise the chances of anyone noticing the lack of bulge in my tighty whiteys. I lived in terror of anyone discovering the truth. At one point, we even had a party where a bunch of folks got naked. I managed to remain covered for the short time that I participated.

But all of that changed when I attended my first Burning Man. My housemate had invited me to camp with her friends (all of whom were gay men) at Burning Man. I arrived a few days before she did, before many people had even arrived. Nudity was more common out there back then (1996), and eventually conversation came around to the fact that I was tempted but afraid to do so myself.

To be clear, none of my campmates were attracted to me. When they encouraged me not to worry about what other people thought and to do what I wanted, the advice was truly for my benefit. And so I did it. I spent entire days naked, went for walks and motorcycle rides, and did not think twice about everyone seeing my tiny soft dick.

It was great. No one pointed, or laughed, or said anything disparaging. I was the only one who cared that my soft dick was as small as a child’s. People commented about my pale skin, which has never seen the sun, but not my babydick. It was liberating. The sensation of sunlight and breeze on my bare dick and balls was incredible. As more attendees flooded in to Burning Man, I’d already gotten comfortable being nude, so I was meeting beautiful women with my secret shame out for anyone to see.

I stopped when my housemate arrived, mind you. It was one thing to be seen by strangers whom I’d never meet again, but someone who knew everyone I knew? I was not ready for that yet.

That was the beginning of my journey. I returned to the playa many times and will share more stories of my experiences there. But finding more places to be naked in front of strangers became a priority in my life.

After returning home from my first Burning Man, where I had for the first time overcome my shyness and fear of people seeing my tiny dick, I had caught the exhibitionist bug. But I still wasn’t about to show people I knew. I still needed anonymity to work up the courage. Luckily, I lived in San Francisco, where I could take a city bus to a nude beach. I didn’t own a car, so this was the only way that I’d have been able to pack a discreet bag and head out without letting anyone else (especially my housemates) know that I was exploring my newly discovered public nudity fetish.

Lucky for me, San Francisco had an annual second summer in mid-September (warmer than the actual summer usually got), so I was able to get my nude on again just a couple of weeks after my first experience the week before Labour Day. I got off the bus, followed the sign to the stairs to Baker Beach, and headed north to the clothing-optional area. I found a spot far enough away from others to avoid feeling creepy (it wasn’t very crowded that day), laid out my towel, and stripped down.

It was exhilarating. I wasn’t so far from home this time, just one bus ride away. This wasn’t some wild festival. This was everyday life. And I was naked. In public. With an embarrassingly small dick. I was doing it, and I loved it. It felt odd, rubbing sunscreen on my dick in front of people (not that anyone was looking), but I wasn’t going to risk sunburn. I couldn’t reach much of my back, so I couldn’t spend very much time lying face down. I just had to keep showing my little penis to anyone who walked by.

But it wasn’t very crowded, and there wasn’t much traffic around me. I was a little surprised, but I realised that I wanted to be seen, so I went for a walk down the beach. My first excitement was a trio of early 20-something women in bikinis. I didn’t want to seem weird, so I didn’t say anything when we passed each other, almost within arm’s reach. I still wonder if they looked and said anything about me after we’d passed. But then came the first great moment of my exhibitionism.

Back then, I still wore a wristwatch. For some reason, I kept it on at the beach. It may seem silly looking back, but I’m glad I did, since a random, fully clothed woman (a bit older than I was) approached and asked the time. I checked and told her, and after a couple of seconds of awkward silence, she looked down abruptly, clearly checking out my tiny soft dick. I was speechless. Unfortunately, she’d swiftly turned and walked away before it occurred to me to invite her to look as much as she’d like and explain that I enjoyed the attention.

I can only assume that she saw me and used asking for the time as an excuse to get a closer look at what must have been the smallest dick she’d ever seen. I’d gone from hiding my secret to having an anonymous woman clearly look at my penis.

I went back to Baker Beach many times over the years. Other highlights were the time I overheard a woman saying to a man, “See, that guy’s really small like you, and he’s walking around naked for the world to see.”

Followed by a guy answering, “No way am I doing that.”

But there was one time that I lost my anonymity. In the parking lot above the beach, I ran into one of my buddy’s girlfriends, there with a hot friend of hers. They invited me to join them, and I did. At one point, I was spacing out, and my buddy’s girlfriend turned to me and said, “No offence, dude.”

Stunned back into reality, and realising they had probably been talking about me, I said, “Sorry, I was daydreaming. I didn’t really hear what you said.”

She smirked and said, “Well, if you had been listening, you’d be offended.”

Then they went back to talking shit about lots of stuff, this time with me listening in case they swung back to my dick again. They didn’t. This is the only time there was a direct disparaging remark about my dick at the beach, and I never really heard it. I regret that to this day, and she refuses to repeat it.

*****

When telling tales about my first trip to Burning Man (but leaving out the stuff about my nudity), a couple of friends suggested that if I liked that, then I should go with them to Oregon the following summer and check out the Hippy Festival that they volunteered at. They offered to get me on the crew so that I could go for free. I agreed and didn’t think about it again until nine months later, when they told me to pack because we were leaving the next week. I worked a job that involved school field trips, so my work was wrapping up for the summer anyway, and I went along.

It was a beautiful place. Along a river, in the woods, the food was good and the pot was plentiful. The whole vibe was friendly and relaxed. But I was most surprised to learn about the outdoor group showers. Pretty much every night, almost all of the couple of dozen people on site this early in the setup would gather at one of the fair booths that made its money providing showers, saunas, and a fire pit with live music. They ran showers every night and saunas often for the setup crew. We had to provide our own live music, but that wasn’t an issue for hippies.

The only way to take a shower for the next three weeks was in front of pretty much everyone I would be interacting with for that time. It was awesome. We were all there naked, and I clearly had the smallest dick there by a long shot. Some of the dudes were hung… I heard comments about them, but almost none about me (except for a couple of dudes over twenty years). Pretty much every night, I paraded naked from the changing area to the showers, my little dick pointing forward among swinging cods and buxom women. All of us wet and soapy, chatting like it was a cocktail party while we lathered and rinsed. It was an intentionally non sexual environment, but my memories were not when I got back to my tent.

In addition to exposing my dick to my community at large, I also had some noteworthy personal interactions. I suspect that women invited guys to join them as a way of checking out our dicks before deciding whether or not to hook up with us, as there were a couple of occasions when the dynamic got a lot colder after sharing a shower. But that wasn’t always the case.

One year, I’d become enamoured with an 18-year-old bombshell (I was 27 at the time). I was hesitant because of this girl’s age, but I couldn’t stop flirting with her. I had never made a move past that until one night in the shower, when I heard a voice behind me, “Hey!”

I turned and there she was, rushing up to me with her enormous breasts bouncing. She took the shower head next to me and began lathering her tits like she was in a softcore porn. It took all of my self-control not to get hard watching her. I must have looked ridiculous, with my jaw dropped, staring, and my pointer twitching. I became self-conscious and focused on cleaning myself when she said, “Let’s wash each other’s backs.”

I, of course, agreed.

She stood in front of me first, facing me at the beginning to wet her back. She turned, and I took the soap and began to lather. My hands drifted to her sides, but I didn’t dare to so much as brush up against her tits. “There you go,” I said, and we both turned.

Her hands lingered on my hips after washing me. She pulled them away at the exact second I was beginning to stiffen, avoiding the embarrassing scene. We went for a walk through the woods after (the Netflix and chill of the pre-Fair experience). Clearly, my size wasn’t an issue for her.

I could rarely be sure if anyone had taken a look. There was one occasion where one of the hottest women I’d ever met made a comment about how we’d seen each other naked before (but that one gets its own story), and there were some delightful times when I caught women looking.

There had been one younger woman, we’d known each other for years (I was in my late 20s at this point). There was some sexual tension, but the age gap stopped me from pursuing her. After knowing each other for years, I saw her waiting for a free shower and said hello as I walked up and stood next to her, off to the side, where we all waited when it was crowded. After chatting for a bit, the conversation hit a lull, and I looked off in the distance. In my peripheral vision, I saw her eyes dart down, and then quickly up again. She looked panicked, like a deer in headlights. My reality was clearly not what she expected.

But my favourite was the recent college graduate, of Finnish heritage, who had started flirting with me the moment we’d met the day before. She was waiting for a shower as I was heading back to the dressing area. We made eye contact as I approached and smiled at each other. Then her grin widened, our eyes still locked until hers drifted down. She was blatantly looking at my dick, and wanted to make sure that I saw her do it.

I regret what happened next. While I was growing ever bolder, showing my little dick to all and sundry, I had almost never actually said anything about it to anyone. If I could do it over, I would have stopped in my tracks, waited to see her response, and offered to get her back for her. Instead, I looked away before I could see her reaction. But I was afraid to confront the likelihood of rejection. The flirting stopped after that night.

*****

New Part…

After discovering the joy of exposing myself to strangers at my first Burning Man, followed by trips to the nude beach and the communal showers at the hippie fair, I was excited to return to the playa, where my journey had begun.

While the beach and the showers were expressly nonsexual environments, Burning Man was edgier. It still wasn’t okay to just walk around stroking yourself (you would need the consent of every observer before sexualizing their experience), but things were more playful there.

I leaned in hard to the nudity that year. I was camping with folks that I knew and trusted, so I was naked most of the week that we were there.

There were a couple of camps in particular that facilitated public nudity. The first was Camp Sunscreen, where massage tables were set up. Anyone could hop on a table and get free sunscreen; you could choose to have it applied by someone who came with you, or a group of people would gather around one table, and we would all apply it to each other. Only once did a stranger touch my little dick, but it was a dude, and it was a very uncomfortable situation for me. But rubbing lotion on the woman more than made up for that one occasion.

Then there was the Human Carwash, also known as the Carcass Wash. Everybody stripped down and got in two lines. One person at one end got between the two lines and proceeded to walk through the assorted stations; wetting, lathering, rinsing, squeegeeing, and drying. You worked your way down the line as a washer before getting your turn being washed. After watching all of the other guys get their cocks stroked by strangers, at best, I got a hand run over my withdrawn nub (happens when I’m nervous). There was one occasion (though not that second year) where the woman lathering my lower half just shrugged, as if to say, “I’d stroke it if I could find it”. The guy working my upper half laughed, “You’ve been cold cocked!”

But that was the year I discovered something special. Long naked walks. In my previous explorations of my new fetish, I’d never been more than a few minutes away from my clothes. I always had an escape plan if I chickened out. But once I was half an hour away from camp, it was as if I had completely surrendered. I was committed to not hiding. It was liberating. I’ll never know how many people have seen my tiny dick.

One highlight of that year would have to be the camp next door, however. I was in my late 20s at the time; this pair of women was probably in their mid-30s. Both were generally topless, and they didn’t see me with clothes on until a few days after we’d met. The shorter one (I’ll call her Debby) was nice and friendly, the other (whom I found more attractive) was cold and distant. Debby and I chatted a bit every day, but her friend usually walked off when I arrived.

Late one afternoon, Debby came up and asked if I had a hair tie that she could borrow (I had long hair at the time). I found an extra in my tent and handed it to her. There was a silent moment, where it seemed like she was debating whether or not to say something, when her friend called for her to hurry up or they’d be late. She dashed off with a quick thank you.

It was only recently (decades later) that I realised that the spot where I’d held the hair tie when I offered it (while it felt natural and this was unintentional) made it so that looking at the hair tie meant that she was also looking straight at my dick. I regret not realising that sooner.

Finally, it turned out that my exposure didn’t stop there. Without my conscious consent (fine print on the ticket included a photo release), a picture had been taken of my camp playing naked croquet. One of the pictures ended up on the front page of the LA Times’ living section. Some of my SF friends also saw it. It was humiliating at the time, but now I look back and get turned on thinking about the fact that probably hundreds, if not thousands, of strangers saw that photo showing me with my very small cock. I wish that I could find a copy myself.

 

To Be Continued…?

 

 

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