The Observer
An SPH Experience by FlummoxedFiend.
The new job required a pre-employment drug screen. Standard procedure, I told myself—nothing to worry about. I’d done this before—pee in a cup, hand it off, go home. Ten minutes tops.
But this testing facility was different from the others I’d been to.
—
The waiting room was sterile and cold, filled with plastic chairs bolted to the floor. A television mounted in the corner played some home renovation show on mute. Three other people sat scattered around me, all of us avoiding eye contact.
When my number was called, I walked up to the counter. The woman behind the desk was maybe mid-thirties, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and scrubs that hugged her figure. Her nametag read “Dana.” She had that bored, clinical look of someone who’d done this a thousand times.
“Number 14?” she asked without looking up.
“That’s me.”
“Follow me.”
—
She led me down a hallway with linoleum floors that squeaked under our shoes. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. We passed several closed doors before stopping at one marked “SPECIMEN COLLECTION.”
“Standard urine test,” she explained, pulling a plastic cup from a cabinet. “You need to fill it at least to this line.” She pointed to a mark on the side. “Don’t flush the toilet. Don’t wash your hands until after you’ve handed me the sample. Any questions?”
I shook my head.
“Good. I’ll be right outside. Come out when you’re done.”
I nodded and stepped into the bathroom.
—
The bathroom was small. A single toilet, a sink with a motion-sensor faucet, and one of those metal mirrors bolted to the wall. The toilet water had been taped off with blue tape—probably so they could tell if I’d tried to dilute the sample.
I stood there for a moment, trying to relax. I’d been holding my bladder all morning, purposely not peeing so I’d have enough for the test. The pressure was there. I just needed to let it out.
I unzipped my jeans and reached into my boxers.
That’s when the door opened.
—
“Oh,” Dana said, stepping inside. “Sorry, I need to—”
“Wait, I’m in here—”
“I know. I have to observe.”
“Observe?” I stared at her, my hand still in my pants. “What do you mean, observe?”
“Policy.” She closed the door behind her and leaned against the sink, crossing her arms. “We’ve had too many people trying to cheat. Using fake bladders, someone else’s urine, that kind of thing. I have to watch you produce the sample.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I was.” She gestured toward the toilet. “Go ahead. I don’t have all day.”
My face burned. “I can’t… I can’t go with you watching.”
“You’ll have to. Or you’ll fail the test.”
—
I stood frozen, my hand still inside my boxers, gripping my soft penis. I’d always been self-conscious about my size—about three inches soft, maybe four and a half hard on a good day. But what made me even more insecure was the fact that I was uncircumcised.
I knew how it looked. The foreskin completely covered the head, bunching up at the tip like a little nozzle. Most American guys are cut, and I’d grown up feeling different. Ashamed, even. I’d been teased in gym class, in the locker room. “Anteater dick,” they’d called me. “Turtleneck.”
And now this stranger wanted me to pull it out and pee in front of her.
“Come on,” Dana said, checking her watch. “I have three more patients after you.”
—
My hands were shaking as I finally pulled myself out.
I tried not to look at her as I held my penis over the cup. But I could feel her eyes on me. The silence in that tiny bathroom was suffocating.
That’s when I heard it.
A small sound. A quiet, stifled giggle.
My eyes snapped up. Dana was looking down at my crotch, her lips pressed together like she was trying not to laugh. When our eyes met, she quickly looked away, clearing her throat.
“Go ahead,” she said, but her voice had this tone to it. Amused. Condescending.
—
I tried to pee.
I really did. I stood there, aiming at the cup, trying to relax my bladder. But my body wouldn’t cooperate. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. My face felt like it was on fire.
And my penis—already small to begin with—had shriveled up even more from the nerves. I was probably down to two inches, the foreskin bunched tightly at the end, looking like a little thumb sticking out of my pubic hair.
Another giggle.
This one wasn’t even subtle. Dana was openly smirking now, one hand covering her mouth.
“Is there a problem?” she asked, and I could hear the laughter in her voice.
“I… I can’t…”
“Can’t what?”
“I can’t go. Not with you watching.”
—
She sighed dramatically, pulling out her phone and tapping something on the screen.
“Listen, I’ve seen a lot of guys come through here. All shapes and sizes.” She glanced down at my crotch again, that smirk returning. “Some smaller than others. It’s not a big deal.”
But it was a big deal at least, to me.
“I’m just… I’m really nervous.”
“I can see that.” Her eyes lingered on my exposed penis. “Believe me, I can see that.”
She was looking right at it at my tiny, soft, uncircumcised dick. And she was smiling.
—
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
I still hadn’t produced a single drop.
Dana was getting impatient. She kept shifting her weight, sighing, checking her phone. But she refused to leave.
“Look,” she finally said. “I’ve got other patients waiting. You have two options. You can try to pee right now, or I can mark this as a failed test, and you’ll have to come back another day.”
“I can’t—”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’m too nervous.”
She looked down at my penis one more time, and I swear she shook her head slightly like she was disappointed. Or amused. Maybe both.
“Fine,” she said, opening the door. “You’ll have to reschedule. But I’ll note that you were unable to produce a sample.”
—
I tucked myself back into my pants, my hands trembling. My face was so hot I thought I might pass out.
As I walked past her into the hallway, she called out after me.
“Hey.”
I turned around.
She was standing in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, that smirk still on her face.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, her voice low enough that only I could hear, “you really don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. I mean…” She paused, her eyes flicking down to my crotch. “Actually, never mind. You kind of do.”
Then she winked and closed the door.
—
I walked out of that facility in a daze.
My ears were ringing. My throat was tight. I made it to my car before I finally broke down, gripping the steering wheel, my whole body shaking.
She’d laughed at me. This stranger, this woman I’d never see again, had openly giggled at my penis. At my size. At my foreskin.
And the worst part? I was half-hard by the time I got to my car.
—
I still haven’t rescheduled the test.
I keep thinking about what she said. “You kind of do.”
She’d probably seen hundreds of guys. Maybe thousands. And she still thought my dick was small enough to comment on. Small enough to laugh at.
I’ve been jerking off to the memory every night since.
The way she watched me. The way she smirked. The way she looked at my tiny, uncut dick like it was some kind of joke.
I failed the test before I even started.
But I can’t stop thinking about going back.
The End.
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