What’s Wrong With Me?
Black strands of hair lay limply on my forehead and ears as I stare, with brown eyes, at my laptop screen, evaluating the ‘Who Am I’ portion of my new dating profile:
Growing up, I’ve always been pretty average; 180cm in height, average build, tanned skin, a face that could be confused with any Tom, Dick, or Harry- and hell, I even graduated with a 3.3 GPA in high school. (what’s more average than that?)
Being average is nothing to lose your mind about, in my opinion, and if anything, it’s a blessing more than a curse. Life is simple enough for me, which is what anyone would want. I don’t have to worry about getting caught up with multiple women (or men for that matter), nor do I have to worry about being an ‘Alpha Male’ (a term I genuinely hate even to mention).
Of course, I’m not your COMPLETELY average dude. If I were, I would be something akin to a robot; I’m bisexual, love writing, am an excellent (not to brag) cook, and:
I have a small penis, ha-ha.
No, it’s not funny.
I rapidly hit the backspace on my keyboard and quickly closed my laptop. That was supposed to be funny, but it only made my stomach curl up awfully.
My hands come up to my face, and I sigh a bit as I rub at my dry eyes. After a pause, I grab my now closed laptop to put it on my bedside table for the night to charge. My back muscles ache from being hunched over my laptop for 45 minutes as I re-wrote my profile introduction. I’m lucky my hands haven’t cramped into nothingness, truthfully.
This shouldn’t be so hard. It’s unfair- so goddamn unfair.
I lay back on my bed, and, not for the first time this week, I feel like crying. I’m 22, for fucks-sake, and my cock’s three inches HARD. Maybe it would be even a little easier to deal with my size if this thing was at least thick, but no dice.
What person is going to date someone with a small cock like mine? Well, that’s an easy answer; almost no one. I’m finally in an emotional place where I can open up to people, only to be constantly reminded of my problem.
I don’t like being like this, but who would?
Moreover, I want an active sex life in any relationships I’ll, hopefully, have in the future. I don’t want my relationships to be just like those I’ve had in the past.
I used to tell my exes that I was asexual whenever we would first start talking, which was fine at the time for the most part.
I could never slip up with that excuse and if I ever popped a boner, let’s say while making out, they could never feel it. That’s fact alone is humiliating, but that was then, and this is now. I want things to finally change for me because being an unwilling virgin at my age is downright appalling.
My face heats up as my thoughts continue. I FEEL DISTURBED when I admit this to myself for the hundredth time.
Sometimes, thinking about my small cock gets me hard without much preamble. I don’t know why. I feel guilty and icky every time I finish myself off with these thoughts, but I can’t seem to stop.
Embarrassingly, I don’t think I want to stop, though. Lately, it’s been one of the only ways I’ve been able to get off at all.
As I force my eyes shut and slowly reach into my boxers in shame, I don’t want to stop. The trail is hesitantly made. When my fingers finally graze at my shaft (if you could even call it that), I tightly push my legs together.
It’s so stiff that I feel like crying out for a different reason altogether. After a couple of seconds, I yank on my shame roughly in pure disdain.
I’ve been like this all week. I’ve never been THIS bad, but right now, I can’t stop myself from flicking the tip of my prick through my boxers and jolting at the deserved pain.
I’m never gentle with my strokes either because there’s nothing to savor. I don’t need long strokes because there’s nothing long TO stroke. I have nothing like the guys in my saved porn videos do.
I use only my index finger and thumb to pump myself because of how small my cock is. Roughness is all I deserve anyways, so I squeeze myself tightly to continue the punishing beating.
I am nothing with a prick like this.
The thought alone almost makes me moan aloud, making me throb uncontrollably. Stroking myself like this makes me think of doing things that would make a whore blush. The tip even leaks out a little pre-cum at these musings, and all I can do is stare at my cock in unfiltered disgust.
My imagination usually runs wild with all types of scenarios of differing degrees of hedonism, and tonight is no different.
Speeding up my belligerent stroking, I think about how I want to be humiliated, to have other people witness my small cock being abused as I struggle against restraints. I want cameras pushed in my face as I beg them to turn them off, but they don’t listen to me and abuse me even harder than before. I don’t care where they abuse me, as long as it’s in public. I want them to all think I’m a gross little bitch undeserving of respect. I want to be used so fucking bad, and my cock throbs even harder in agreement.
I’ve even thought about being cucked while my hands are tied so that I couldn’t do anything other than watch my partner being wrecked by a true man. They would be filled to the brim with cum, and I would be forced to clean it out of them with my tongue.
Jesus, being this hard is getting ever-so more painful.
I’m as useless as my little prick. I flick the tip again so hard that I flinch violently against my bed. My eyes can’t help but widen in pain and pleasure.
But it’s not enough. I need something more.
Without truly processing it, my unoccupied hand comes up under my shirt and starts to play with my chest roughly. The aggressive twisting motions will leave me painfully sensitive when I wake up.
I can’t believe I’m playing with myself in such a womanly fashion. I’m milking myself in more than one way like a bitch in heat. My ass even lifts off the bed as my back arches against my mattress.
The room starts to spin, so my head starts to bounce in different directions until something catches my eye.
I pause my abusive strokes as my eyes wander over to the window positioned in front of the outside world. The blinds are closed tight because I haven’t gotten around to buying curtains yet.
Shaking my head a bit, I try to force myself to turn away unsuccessfully as another depraved thought enters my mind.
I’ve been tempted all week to go over there and jerk off as unsuspecting people walk down the street. They’d be unaware of the pathetic fuck with the small cock cumming on the window.
I’m on the second floor of my apartment, surrounded by buildings. Someone could see me seeing as my lamp radiates throughout my room, but it’s also almost two AM. I see as I look over at my digital clock and dark outside.
After some more internal debating, I get up out of bed, one hand still in my boxers with the other now away from my chest, to walk over to the window. My boxers are only on for a second before I briskly drop them altogether to avoid losing my nerve. The cool air circulating my room hits me ten-fold, making my cock twitch in shock. Flicking my tip yet again makes me groan internally.
I peek out the window through the blinds, still pumping myself with my free hand with an intensity unrivaled by anyone or anything.
I can see a few people out, three max, down the street. I wonder what they would think if they were to look slightly upwards and witness me furiously pumping my little prick.
The thought alone almost pushes me over the edge, but I hold myself back. I just got over here, after all.
I get closer to the window with my cock almost shaking against my hand in excitement and fear. Mostly fear.
I spot a woman leaning against a brick wall talking to what I think is a man. I raise my blinds entirely to the top with my unoccupied hand and continue my jerking.
Once my other hand is free again, I squeeze my balls to heighten the pain I deserve for doing something this fucked up.
After a second, I temporarily remove both of my hands to take off my nightshirt, and then I put them right back on my cock and balls after the shirt hits the ground.
Shit, what if they look over right now and see me? It wouldn’t be hard to see me at this point as my lamp light is decently bright and illuminating my figure well. They’d probably laugh at me or pull out their cameras to show the world how perverted I am.
My hand moves away from my balls, for the last time, to punish my chest once again. I switch between roughly twisting and jaggedly pulling at my aching nipples.
I’m panting like a bitch as I stare out my window to look at the girl directly in the eyes without her knowledge.
I can’t hold back the moans that slip through my mouth this time as I press my prick against the window even harder as I continue to speed up my violent stroking with inhuman velocity.
I’m such a dirty shit-bag. I know I am, yet I couldn’t care less if I tried right now.
Whenever my cock hits the window, I can hear a dull thumping, and I feel a soreness only achieved from my constant abuse.
Oh God, I don’t deserve love! Nobody is going to love someone this fucked up.
I’m such a sick fucker, a freak.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m so damn close.
Without realizing it, tears slip down my face as I start to reach my peak. Not once have I taken my eyes off of the people in front of me, though.
I have to keep myself upright with my free hand pressed against the window as I lean forward unsteadily.
Everything feels hot, and my little prick won’t stop it’s jumping and twitching and- and- I can’t-
I painfully yank on myself as hard as possible and then let go of my cock, which successfully ruins the orgasm I don’t deserve.
I only see white as I cum onto my window pitifully. Even my cumshots are small, with only a thimble hitting the window as I sink to my knees into a pathetic heap. Cum drips down my window slowly, and a sob pushes through my lips before I can stop it.
I need help.
I was so distracted by my own self-loathing and reckless jerking that I failed to notice the phone facing my window until the last second as I raised to close my blinds for the ‘night.’
*This story has been edited to fix spelling, punctuation, & basic grammar, but the narrative and plot have remained the same. Remember, even with limited editing. It doesn’t mean any possible major flaws in this story were fixed. That’s up to the author to do.