The Holiday Party

An SPH Experience by TraditionalBackspace.


It was Christmas at my aunt’s house, about four years ago. Fifteen or so family members packed into that old colonial, drinking eggnog, eating cookies, pretending to like each other’s gifts. The usual holiday chaos.

I’d been dreading it for weeks, not because of the family drama, but because my ex-girlfriend Stephanie was going to be there. We’d broken up about eight months earlier, amicably enough, and somehow stayed friends. She was still close with my cousin, so she always got invited to these things. I’d convinced myself I was over it. I wasn’t.

Stephanie knows everything about me. Every insecurity, every weakness, every shameful little secret. Including the size of my dick.

I’m 3.5 inches when I’m hard. On a good day, with perfect blood flow and no nerves. Usually, it’s closer to three. Soft, it’s barely an inch and a half, practically disappears into my pubic hair. I’ve always been small. Always known it. Always been ashamed of it.

Stephanie never complained outright during our relationship, but I knew she was unsatisfied. I’d catch her looking at my crotch with this disappointed expression sometimes, like she was hoping it would have grown since the last time she saw it. She’d always need extra lube. She’d always want to be on top. She’d never let me go down on her because she said it “took too long.”

I should have known she’d talk.

The party was in full swing. My aunt had decorated the whole house with those tacky inflatable snowmen and blinking lights. Christmas music was playing from a speaker in the corner. Kids were running around. Adults were getting drunk.

I was nursing a beer in the kitchen, trying to avoid conversation, when I saw Stephanie walk in with her new boyfriend. Tall guy. Broad shoulders. Confident. They’d been dating for about three months, and I’d heard through the grapevine that he was “well-endowed.” Stephanie had never been subtle with her hints.

I felt my stomach turn. My little dick shriveled even smaller in my jeans just from seeing them together.

I needed air. I stepped out onto the back porch, but it was freezing, so I came back in after a few minutes. I wandered through the living room, past my uncle arguing about football, past my cousins playing video games, past my mom gossiping with her sisters.

Then I saw them.

Stephanie and my younger cousin’s girlfriend, Rose. Rose was twenty-three, a petite blonde with a reputation in the family for being “wild.” She’d slept with half the guys in town, or so the rumors went. She wore tight dresses, talked loudly, and wasn’t afraid to say exactly what was on her mind. My mom always called her “that little slut,” but she was family now, so we had to tolerate her.

They were standing in the corner of the dining room, near the punch bowl, their heads close together. Stephanie was laughing. Rose was leaning in, whispering something.

I should have walked away. I should have turned around and gone back to the kitchen. But I saw Stephanie glance at me, then look away quickly, and I knew they were talking about me.

Curiosity is a dangerous thing.

I walked toward them, casually, like I was just getting more punch. I was about ten feet away when I heard Rose’s voice, low but not low enough.

“So what’s he packing? Be honest.”

I froze. My heart stopped. I kept walking, because stopping would have been suspicious, but my legs felt like lead.

Stephanie didn’t even look around to see if anyone was listening. She was drunk, probably, or just didn’t care.

“He’s got a babydick,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact, like she was describing the weather. “It’s fucking tiny.”

Rose’s eyes went wide. She let out this little gasp that was half shock, half amusement.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Like, I’m not exaggerating. It’s maybe three inches hard. Barely. And soft? You can’t even see it. It just disappears.”

I was standing right there. Right next to them. They both turned and saw me, and for a second, there was silence.

Then Rose looked at me, up and down, and said, “God, I always thought he had small dick energy.”

She said it like she was confirming a theory. Like she’d been studying me for years and had finally found the missing piece of the puzzle.

I felt my face flush. My dick, which had been soft and hidden in my jeans, seemed to shrink even more, retreating into my body like it was trying to escape.

“Hey, Reece,” Stephanie said, totally casual, like she hadn’t just humiliated me in front of her friend. “How’s the party?”

“Fine,” I managed. My voice cracked.

Rose was still staring at me. She had this look on her face, a mixture of pity and curiosity and something else. Something darker.

“So is it true?” she asked. “You really only got three inches?”

I wanted to lie. I wanted to say Stephanie was exaggerating, that I was actually average, that she was just being mean. But I couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come.

“It’s… yeah. About that.”

Rose let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s rough.”

Stephanie laughed. “Told you. It’s like fucking a thumb.”

I stood there, my hands shaking, my little dick completely dead in my pants, while these two women discussed my penis size like it was a piece of gossip.

“How does it even work?” Rose asked. “Like, can you actually fuck with something that small?”

“Barely,” Stephanie said. “You have to get creative. Lots of oral. Lots of toys. His dick is basically just for show, and not even good show.”

They both laughed. I laughed too, because what else was I supposed to do? Cry? Walk away? I was trapped.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Stephanie continued, “he’s good at other stuff. He’s got a great tongue. But his dick? Useless.”

Rose looked at me again, and this time her expression changed. She licked her lips.

“Can I see it?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Your dick. Can I see it? I’ve never seen one that small before.”

I felt my face burn. “No. No, I’m not—”

“Oh, come on,” she said, grinning. “It’s just curiosity. I won’t tell anyone.”

Stephanie was watching me, amused. “Go on, Reece. Show her. It’s not like you have anything to be proud of anyway.”

I looked around the room. Fifteen people. Family. Friends. My mom was in the next room. My dad was watching football in the living room. Any of them could walk in at any second.

But there was something about the way Rose was looking at me. That curious, hungry look. And the way Stephanie was smirking, like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

My dick started to get hard.

It was involuntary. I didn’t want it to happen. But the humiliation, the exposure, the sheer degradation of it all—it was getting to me. I felt my little cock start to swell, pressing against my jeans, a pathetic little bulge that barely made a difference in my pants.

Rose noticed. Her eyes dropped to my crotch.

“Oh my god, is it getting hard? Are you getting hard right now?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

“That’s so pathetic,” Stephanie said, but she was smiling. “You’re actually getting off on this, aren’t you? You little pervert.”

I wanted to deny it. I wanted to run away. But my body was betraying me. My tiny erection was pressing against my zipper, and I knew they could see it.

“Show me,” Rose said again, her voice softer now. “Please. I promise I won’t laugh.”

She was lying. I knew she was lying. But I also knew I was going to do it.

I looked around the room. No one was paying attention to us. The party was loud, chaotic, everyone distracted.

I undid my belt. Unbuttoned my jeans. Pulled down the zipper.

And I pulled out my hard, pathetic little cock.

It stood up, all three and a half inches of it, thin and pale and completely inadequate. My pubic hair was messy around the base. My balls were tight against my body.

Rose stared. Her mouth fell open.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “It’s really that small.”

Stephanie was nodding, her arms crossed. “Told you.”

Rose reached out, and before I could stop her, she touched it. Her finger brushed against the tip, and I flinched.

“It’s so tiny,” she said, almost reverently. “Like a little baby dick.”

“Babydick,” Stephanie corrected. “That’s what I call it. It’s not even a real cock.”

Rose laughed. “Babydick. That’s perfect.”

I stood there, my little dick exposed, two women staring at it like it was a curiosity, a freak show exhibit. I should have been mortified. I should have put it away and walked out.

But I was hard. Harder than I’d been in months.

“You know what you need?” Rose said, looking up at me. “You need to be with a guy who’s actually big. So you can see what a real cock looks like next to yours.”

Stephanie snorted. “He’d probably cum just from seeing it.”

“Probably,” Rose agreed. “You’d probably cum just from being in the same room as a real man’s dick, wouldn’t you, babydick?”

I couldn’t speak. I just nodded.

They both laughed. Stephanie reached down and flicked my little erection, hard enough to hurt.

“Put that away before someone sees it,” she said. “It’s embarrassing.”

I tucked myself back in, my little dick still hard, straining against my jeans. My face was on fire. My heart was pounding.

Rose was still watching me, a smile playing on her lips.

“You know,” she said, “if you ever want to see what a real cock looks like, I know a few guys who’d be happy to show you. Big guys. Real men.”

Stephanie laughed. “Don’t tease him. He might actually take you up on that.”

I turned and walked away. My legs were shaking. My hands were shaking. My tiny little cock was still hard, pressing against my zipper, a constant reminder of what I was.

As I walked past the kitchen, I heard them start laughing again. I heard Rose say, “Babydick. I can’t believe that’s a real thing.”

And I felt my dick twitch.

I didn’t leave the party. I stayed. I ate dinner with my family. I opened presents. I smiled and laughed and pretended everything was normal.

But every time I looked across the room at Stephanie and Rose, they were whispering. Every time I caught their eye, they’d smirk.

By the end of the night, I’d heard “babydick” whispered under Rose’s breath at least three times. Each time, my little cock got harder.

I drove home alone that night. Sat in my car in the driveway for twenty minutes, my tiny dick in my hand, jerking off to the memory of Rose’s finger touching my tip, of Stephanie’s casual cruelty, of the way they both looked at me like I was less than a man.

I came in about fifteen seconds. A weak little spurt that barely made it past my hand.

And then I sat there, in the dark, my little dick softening in my palm, and I wondered if I’d ever feel anything that intense again.

I’m still wondering.

 

The End.

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