Jack's Little Lesson in Utility

A few days ago I had a real small penis humiliation experience, right out of the blue, a thorough public shaming. I'm still processing it, trying to get my head around the moment, to understand myself better. This is what went down:

Because I constantly sit on my ass during my job, I have chronic piles, which I treated before covid-19 by getting them banded. It was not entirely successful, so a few weeks ago, I made an appointment and yesterday headed to see Dr. Breeze, my gastroenterologist who works at an infusion center. She is in her early 50s, younger than me, but she has also done some work on her breasts, face, and neck, and is pretty hot, imho.

Full disclosure: Yes, I've fapped thinking about her, but that's not really special. I fap about most of the women I know. That's what it's like for me having a penis. I fap and fap and fap. Sometimes I've been caught, but that risk is part of my fapping fun.

The medical assistant who worked with her before the pandemic was now on maternity leave. The new fellow who performed my intake procedure was Isaac, a med student in his 20s. I explained my current state--I was actually fine at that moment--but I did not want the problem to return. After Isaac left, I waited alone a few minutes for Dr. Breeze, who arrived with another assistant, a plain-looking studious girl with curly auburn hair whose mask could not completely contain her constellation of freckles. She was energetic but, I decided dismissively, unremarkable. In a moment, she produced a small Windows notebook, taking the position at the foot of the examination table, which I avoided by taking a chair across the small room.

The doctor asked me questions, while the assistant took notes. Most dealt with my diet, work habits, and bathroom habits. It was awful and embarrassing. A moment later when there came another knock on the door, I was honestly relieved.

A young Latina woman entered, and I guessed she was Colombian, but later I learned she was actually Brazilian. At least thirty years younger than me, there was nothing unremarkable about her. Even in those bland medical office scrubs, I got a sense that everything was just exactly perfect. She took a seat beside the other attendant, and Dr. Breeze addressed me.

"This is Leila, a medical student who has just been accepted in our training program. This is valuable experience for her, but we care about your privacy, Mr. Hopper. If you prefer, we can ask Leila to wait outside."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Leila," I said. "You do not have to leave."

"Thank you," she said, and her accent reminded me of macaws. I caught my breath, and my little fellow twitched.

Incidentally, I was not wearing much: a thin stay-dry shirt and clingy cotton shorts where my little guy could bounce around, commando-style. I wished it were as daring as it sounds, but honestly, aside from the tiny bump the ridge of my glans made against the cloth, I doubt anything could be perceived except the obvious: There was not much to hide when I was flaccid, which is nearly all the time, but that accent... something about the tone of her voice enticed me. Who knows? Those large eyes, her dark lashes, and now my treasonous dick was moving that cloth a little, which I still suspect nobody saw, while the doctor went on about treatment options, all of them unsavory.

"I can't navigate blind," Dr. Breeze said at last. "Time to see what we're dealing with this time." She gave a weary sigh. "So there are two ways we can do this. Either you can lean over, drop your shorts, and hold the examination table or you can lie on the examination table, drop your shorts, and turn away. It doesn't matter to me."

"I'll stand," I said and crossed towards the examination table, not three feet from where the two women were working, and I dropped my shorts. Out flopped my balls and flaccid dick, which in the best circumstances is never imposing (I am a grower and my erect, pressed against the bone, pencil-dick is only 5 inches long so you can imagine when it's soft, right?)

Their reactions were contrary. The studious one made brief eye contact with me, looked down at the screen, and the edges of her lips turned down, but she dutifully ignored me. The Brazilian, on the other hand, was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Eyes brimming with mischief, she opened a space of about three inches between her index finger and thumb and raising her eyes, she shrank the distance to two and awarded me a lecherous wink.

By now the doctor's cold lubricated finger had slid into my butt to perform the examination. She probed along the wall, getting a sense of how bad my situation was (not great), and made incidental contact against my prostate which was enough, when coupled with the attention and (probably) my efforts to avoid an erection to of course produce a pretty strong erection. It bounced in response to the doctor's energetic finger in my anus. At this point I almost felt like laughing at my situation, but I noticed a bead of pre-cum dangling from the meatus, and, I kid you not, both women were also eyes wide focused on that pale oval dribbling from my middling weenie.

Let me be clear: I was not afraid of ejaculating. I had been doing kegels for a while, and my days of premature ejaculation were long gone, but I was brimming with situational excitement, and my head churned in a maelstrom of flailing suppression and the prospect of release. All I could do was close my eyes while I sorted it out, but a moment later, her finger exited my rectum, and I exhaled for the first time in a while.

"These nodules on your anus are not actually hemorrhoids," the doctor continued. "This problem is common with anal skin tags. The nodules are raw. That's why you were in so much pain. Unfortunately, there is not much you can do."

"May I please see?" Leila said, rising.

"Yes, of course," Dr. Breeze said, guiding Leila to my rear. "Glove up, and I will demonstrate how to perform the examination."

There was a moment of organization behind me. My eyes sought out the helpful assistant, but her eyes were focused on my glans where, to my horror, a bead of my effusion hung by a tentacle of fluid. Mesmerized by the ordinary, she waited for gravity. Meanwhile, my doctor spread my butt cheeks and traced a finger between my taint and my anus, so Leila could see better.

"These are the nodules I was indicating," she said. "Now slide your finger into the rectum."

Her finger felt different, definitely thicker, and her gloved nail was very long. She pressed against the side of my colon.

"What am I looking for exactly?" Leila asked.

"Swollen tissue," the doctor said. "Follow the contour of the wall, and you should see."

She slid along the surface until she found my prostate, and I almost gasped, but repressed the sensation. If I had not done so many kegels, I would have spewed everything, but instead I caught my breath and persevered.

"It's very swollen," she said. "I feel a curious sensation, a pulse."

She pressed harder, and the bead of brimming ejaculate plopped off my glans, replaced by another. My eyes followed the drop to the floor, and I looked up in panic and catch the eyes of the studious assistant, fingers poised over the keyboard but not typing, just watching, and I can tell what she was thinking: She has guessed I am about to pop and was mildly entertained with my predicament.

"Oh, that's probably not a pulse," my doctor said. "That's the prostate. If you keep your finger pressed and use your other hand behind the scrotum, you can squeeze fluid from the cowper's gland. They are analogous to our Bartholin's glands that provide fluid for vaginal lubrication."

"And female ejaculation?" Beatriz interjected.

"Negative. Most female ejaculate sources from the Skene's glands. They are paraurethral," Dr. Breeze replied.

"I feel it changing," Leila said, excited now. She had slid a second finger inside to better experience the sensation.

"You should press harder," Dr. Breeze instructed and guided Leila's hand. "Here. Now squeeze it."

Suddenly my vision went red, blood seemingly filled my brain, and I gasped, feeling a rush of orgasm, but my knees buckled, and so instead of coming my brains out, I just managed to catch myself before falling. Once I recovered, Leila's other hand drifted down my testicles, finding my nuts, feeling their shape. It hurt as you might expect.

"I've never seen a scrotum longer than the actual penis," Leila said.

"Neither have I," the other assistant said, her voice careless.

"That usually only happens with short penises," my doctor said. "When Jack's manhood becomes erect, however, no doubt it grows much larger."

"I don't think so," the studious one countered. "Mr Hopper's weenie has been tumescent during almost the entire examination and remains fully erect. It is never going to get any bigger."

"You should not call an adult man's penis a 'weenie,' Beatriz." My doctor gave a little laugh. "Even if it is small."

"It's not that small," I said, but nobody paid attention. "Average really. 35th percentile."

Leila adjusted her clumsy fingers, pressing hard against my prostate, and I had to pound the examination table to repress the will to ejaculate.

"My boyfriend has a bigger one," Beatriz said. "Thicker. This one has a little mushroom head, but the edges don't go far past the shaft, and that's a thin shaft."

"In Brazil, we call them canetas," Leila said easing her fingers out and back inside again. "Pens."

"Pencil dicks," Beatriz said. "Unfulfilled promises."

"Yeah, you can't come on this," Leila said, reaching around with her free hand--the one not in my butt--and giving my hard dick a flick.

"Worthless," agreed Beatriz.

I swallowed my rage.

"It really isn't that small," I said, as calmly as I could. "I am quite happy with my penis. My cock has given me a lifetime of pleasure." Their eyes met, and there was an uncomfortable moment followed by suppressed laughter. "What's wrong now?"

My doctor sighed again, while Leila repositioned her fingers.

"The same way Beatriz shouldn't call your little guy a weenie, you shouldn't call your mediocre penis a cock, Mr. Hopper. You may be correct. You may have an average penis, or maybe (if we're being completely honest) a little smaller than average, definitely too thin... But you do not have a cock. A cock is a penis that is made to fuck a woman, to give her pleasure." She made a dismissive gesture to my burgeoning manhood as more cum dribbled out. "Not this."

"In Spanish we say he is muy chico," Beatriz said. She bent towards my erection and took it in her gloveless hands. "When I put my fingers around my boyfriend's dick, I can't even close my hand," she said as she made the same gesture around mine, fingers easily meeting as she pressed. "It's a short penis, but it's unacceptable mostly because it's too thin."

"My short, too thin weenie is about to burst," I said biting my lip.

"Oh, Leila, are you still doing the rectal exam? That's probably enough." My doctor was blushing and holding a cloth measuring tape.

"What's that for?" I asked, catching my breath as Leila's fingers eased out of my rump.

"Science," my doctor said, as Beatriz held my penis in place as the doctor wrapped the tape around my dick's base, a measurement I've done myself a thousand time.

"12 centimeter base," she said, and Beatriz dropped my dick, picked up a pen, and wrote the number down.

"Here. I got the other pen," Leila said, winking at me, and my hard penis mostly disappeared into her gloved hand.

"13 centimeters around the glans," my doctor announced. "And pressed-bone length is 12 centimeters."

"I'm sure it's longer than that," I said. "I've measured it at 14 many many times."

"No. It's only 12 centimeters," Leila argued. "Almost 11."

"I know it's longer than 11 centimeters! Are you pressing against the bone?" My voice was desperate, pleading.

"It's not quite five inches," Beatriz said and sounded satisfied. "I didn't think it was average."

The doctor took off her gloves, washed her hands at the sink, and pointed to my shorts on the floor. I reached to draw them up, and afterwards remained standing, because my butt was still filled with lubricant and the memory of probing. Up front, my small erection continued to poke against my shorts, and a little wet spot had formed where my meatus rubbed against them.

"Thank you for letting me assist," Leila said, and she shook my hand with the same fingers (happily washed) that had so recently been up my derriere. I swallowed and remained silent as I tried to ignore the urgency of my continued erection that strained against the soft cotton of my shorts.

My doctor opened the door.

"Ready?" she asked, and my stomach thudded. My erection--and the fact my endowment was inferior--was obvious. Of course I was chastising myself, wishing I had worn underwear.

"Do you think I could have a moment or two to recover?" I asked my doctor and pointed at the small tent that preceded me.

"I'm sorry. I have other patients to attend. Have a good rest of the day, Mr Hopper."

She headed off to another examination room, Beatriz in tow. Only Leila remained, and her eyes did not waver much from the erection straining against my shorts. I was sweating, thinking of her fingers against my prostate, and the mere thought almost drove me over the edge again.

I took a shallow breath and tried to clear my head.

"I can't exit like this. Everyone in the office will know, the people in the waiting room too."

"Sorry. What will they know?"

I pointed at the object of my concern.

"Oh. You are afraid they will know about your small penis?"

I nodded.

"Usually you would be wrong. Nobody would notice your small penis flaccid, but erect as it is I think you are right. Your piruzinho presses very hard against the fabric, and see? The little one is leaking. It's wet all over here now too."

Her fingers indicated where more cum had dribbled out and rolled down to my thighs. She pressed me back against the wall, one accusing finger tapping my chest.

"You don't really care, though. Do you? Kind of fun, your little pee-pee? You like that game. Yes? You pathetic shrimp-man. See? I know how. Medical students need to pay their bills."

My erection gave a little spasm and more cum crested.

"If I could just get some release," I begged, and the door opened for another staffer, a full-figured black woman with enormous tits that I had noticed when I entered the office earlier. Big tits aren't really my thing, but her arrival triggered an unconscious response, the awareness that somehow I was now very wrong, and I had been caught. I covered my erection with one hand, but her eyes followed them to the focus of my problem.

"Lord have mercy," she said.

"I'm so sorry," I said.

"You sho' are." She turned to Leila in faux-horror. "What happened here?"

"He became aroused during a rectal probe. None of us noticed his state until the exam was nearly complete. Now he needs to leave the clinic, but he was very naughty today and forgot his undies at home."

"And that there is his erection?"

Leila nodded.

"All of it?"

"4 inches long in all its glory, Renée. We measured it for him." Her face took on a curious peaceful expression, and I lost my temper.

"I measure my penis at least once a week, and it never changes. I know it's five-and-a-half inches long," I insisted, but (again) nobody was really listening to me. "It's not really small. It's average." They did not react at all. "You must have a backdoor to the building, some way I can escape discreetly."

"If I understand rightly, it was the back door that got you into so much trouble," Renée said. "Show me the problem." I looked at Leila, expecting her to reply to Renée's request, but she did nothing, so I lowered my shorts, holding them between my knees.

Another head popped in, the dude who had done the intake.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "I thought the room was ready for another patient."

"You can come in, Isaac," Leila said. "There is a small delay with Mr. Hopper. We have to wait until his erection passes, so nobody else discovers his piruzinho."

"What's that?"

In response she pointed at my erection.

"Oh," he said, eyes rolling. "I hate to generalize, Leila, but isn't it always the little ones? I'll go prep another room."

He exited.

"I need to come so bad," I groaned, and, in truth, my balls were lodestones. "Maybe I can use the bathroom?"

"You think our bathrooms are for burping your wee worm?" Renée said. "Where is your dignity, sir? If you would just stop thinking dirty thoughts, you will be fine," she said, as if I had any control any longer.

"You just don't understand," I squeaked, at the edge of my patience. "I'm going to come hard. I'm barely hanging on."

I sighed relaxing into myself, and those familiar throes kindled within me, but before I surrendered irrevocably, Renée gave a loud bark of laughter.

"You juice this floor, mister, and you'll be on your hands and knees scrubbing it up. I'm sure not going to do it."

"Please." I hated the pathetic tone of my voice.

"Please what? You do know you are in a doctor's office, don't you? This is where I work, sir, so have some respect. We are medical professionals, not your hos, and you must follow the rules. You can't just spew your cream anywhere you choose just 'cause it pleases you." She shook her head again and handed me a single piece of tissue. "Wipe it off right now!"

"I can't." I exhaled and tried to regain control. "If I touch it, I will come. There is nothing else. It's my truth."

"Poor little man," Leila said, and she leaned over to wipe my earlier spillage from the tile. Again, scrubs seem designed to make any body unattractive, but Leila's contested every curve, and it drew up past her shanks to her knees and thick thighs. My laser-like eyes attempted to follow, but no more eye candy was forthcoming. Still, my imagination was enough, and I would have lost it, if Renée had not been hovering so near. I was afraid of what she might do if I jizzed. Leila finished and neared me again. My eyes moved from my glans, from where another drop of my fluid had gathered, to Renée's hand, still holding the tissue, and I had another moment of difficulty.

"I just really need to come," I said.

"Because you are so excited?" Leila's voice encouraged me.

"Oh, God, yes."

"You like your little pee-pee to get caught out? That's why you left your underwear home."

I nodded.

"So we would have no choice?" Leila asked. "You made the decision to force us to deal with your small penis."

"It's not like that," I said. "I mean, it ended up like that, but it wasn't my plan."

Renée's brows arched, but she said nothing.

"One of the only good things about having a small cock is that it feels great commando. It's not so big that it bounces around and it's almost never hard, so people rarely see, and nobody can tell it is so small. I took a chance, and I'm sorry."

Leila giggled.

"What is your job, Mr. Hopper?" Renée asked.

"I'm a mechanical engineer."

"Good. You must have some brains then, but I don't think I've ever seen such a dumb ass white boy, and that's saying a lot. When someone looks at your crotch, sir, you may be right they don't just see much of a bulge, but aren't you missing the logical point? People also perceive the lack of bulges, and every woman can tell at a glance what you are not packing."

"Really?"

"Yes, sir. We are rarely surprised," Renée said. "And this worm ain't one of them. Go on and pull up your shorts and next time wear some goddamn underwear."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," I said, and my eyes watered. My little erection had been poking forward, but now it bent up.

Renée put her hand on the door.