A Micropenis

He was about Sam's age, as near as she could judge. Medium-length hair that was quite colorless, neither blonde or brown or grey but shading from one to another as the light hit it, combed and parted; a button-down white shirt with blue stripes, and a slim black tie with blue stripes, but no jacket; black slacks and dress shoes. Watery blue eyes and the kind of face that might have shown up in any crowd anywhere—in the line at the post office, behind you at a grocery store—not muscular or fat, tall or short. Sam could have gone to school with him and not remembered his name.

She opened the door.

The smile was a little nervous. He stuck out a thin-fingered hand.

"Richard," he said.

Sam took his hand and shook it. Firm enough, and he kept eye contact.

"What do your friends call you?" she said.

It was the wrong question; she could see that immediately as the color fled his cheeks, and he drew back his hand hurriedly. The watery eyes shook, like a small animal trapped in a corner.

"This is a mistake," he said. "Look, I'll just go..."

Sam lurched forward and grabbed his tie. She hauled him into the house and slammed the door.

"I have not shaved my pussy just to get spend the night fingering myself in frustration," she hissed. "So, Dick, you are going to get naked and you are going to fuck me and that is fucking final, do you understand me?"

The last words were growled...and Richard seemed to shrink into himself. He bit his lower lip, squeezed his eyes shut...and then found some inner reserve of courage and met Sam's gaze again.

"I don't...I don't really have any friends," he said. "It was hard at school...the locker room...look, maybe it's easier if I show you."

Sam let go of his tie as Richard fumbled with her belt. In truth, she felt bad about being such a bitch, but she had gotten her hopes up of getting some cock tonight, and now here it was on her doorstep and trying to escape.

The belt came undone. Zipper down. She caught a hint of white boxers, and then they were pulled down too, and...

It was like a pimple. That was Sam's first impression. The pubic hair had been shaved off, and there was a small swelling that was apparently his scrotum, but that cock itself was...wasn't, really. Just the tip of a head peeking out, the rolled-up foreskin around the glans flush with the skin of his crotch.

"They called me Dickless," Richard said.

Sam took a deep breath. This was obviously not ideal, but...she could work with this. Somehow.

"Does it get any bigger at all?" she asked.

"Yes. It...It's a little over an inch. When erect." There was a sound in his voice...tiredness, exasperation, self-recrimination. Sam had the feeling Richard hadn't had many girlfriends.

"Okay, go into the bedroom and get undressed. I'm going to mix a drink. You want one?"

His eyes opened wide. "I mean...sure, yeah. Are we...are we going to...?"

Sam pushed him toward the bedroom.

"Yes. We're going to fuck."

He practically skipped into the bedroom, holding his pants around his thighs. Sam shook her head and wandered over to the liquor cabinet to splash some whiskey in a glass, and then poured another for Dickless.

As she tossed back the first shot, the liquor burning its way down her throat, Sam wondered what life was like for him. People could be cruel, in school, even in locker rooms for adults. She imagined the whispers, the snickers, the jokes told just loud enough so he could hear them. Then there would be dating—the fears of discovery, the moment of truth, the mocking laughter. Medical appointments, parents talking about surgical options. Maybe a few awkward experiments that went nowhere. Until finally, Dickless had been **** enough to use Fuckr...

...as **** as Sam herself. She shook her head and splashed more whiskey in her glass. Sam let her robe fall open as she walked back into the bedroom, a glass in either hand. If his only problem was a micropenis, she could work with that.

Of course, that was not his only problem.