You kind of HAVE to follow Rebecca.

Both your faces are reddened as you walk with Rebecca toward the bustling sidewalk. Nervous, mortified, humiliated; the words barely begin to describe your embarrassment, but the only way you’ll end your abasing stint of public nudity is to get a new swimsuit. Even if you’ll probably be **** to wear something embarrassing like a skintight Speedo.

Your misbegotten strategy to hold onto to some dignity when you and Rebecca hit the crosswalk is to pretend nothing’s wrong. Arms at your sides, you endeavor to remain calm as your teeny-tiny, itty-bitty erection catches the attention of several female motorists and pedestrians. You hear a few of them giggle, point, and whisper to each other. One 6’ tall chick starts laughing openly at your dick, and a lady blows you a mocking wolf-whistle from her car window.

Good God, this is mortifying…

But a quick glance to either side shows Zoe, and your smoking hot date Rebecca biting their lips in salacious joy as they ogle your naked body. You definitely want to make Rebecca happy, but they’re hardly the only women gawking at you right now, and another glance into the crowds shows you a mortifying sight. A small group of ladies with their phones out, all looking straight at you. The skinny, A-cup chested redhead standing at the front of their little squad is laughing at your crotch, and showing her phone’s screen to her equally-mocking friends.

“Check this out, Elli! Ain’t this the funniest litt’l thing you’ve ever saw?”

“Sure is, emphasis on ‘little’! Hahaha!”

“Ohh~ ‘tiny’ is right! Teehee!”

“Ahahaha! Or, or maybe, ‘wee’!”

The nail in the coffin is when the entire group flashes you the ‘small penis’ hand sign, before going back to giggling at the skinny girl’s phone. She wiggles her little finger at you just to rub it in, even as her friends erupt into giggles.

Your face is burning so hot, you could make a charitable comparison with a steam engine. You suspect that giggling redhead must’ve snuck a lewd, nude picture or two, and slam a hand over your pinky-size private parts as you wonder whether it’s possible to die of embarrassment. Deeply regretting that you let any of these ladies see your willy, you fume in humiliated silence, and follow your cheerleader across the street, into the heart of the shopping district.

Knowing that you’re only going to enter larger, more careless crowds, you interlace your fingers with Rebecca’s. Despite the insouciant look on her pretty face, the cheerleader squeezes your hand softly in response; almost as if she wanted some reassurance too.