Little Guy with a Big Surprise

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I am Taylor. I was born and raised in a small town in southern Georgia. It’s the kind of place where most people stay and live out their whole lives without ever leaving. Go to school, get a job, get married, make little replacements of yourself… I spent the first 18 years of my life dreaming of the day I could finally get out. No offense to the people of that region, but I never felt like I belonged. I was never much into hunting, fishing or football. I found most of the people there to be closed minded and overly opinionated. I had little in common with them.

I had always been the smallest kid in my class. This had led to being picked on and bullied all through school. I would get pushed and knocked around for no other reason than being small. I was called names, including every homophobic slur imaginable, and laughed at on a daily basis. I developed a thick skin very early on and became immune to their abuse. I never had any real friends throughout my childhood. My parents didn’t understand me either and I never shared with them the torment I would suffer. I decided early on that being the best student I could be was my only hope at getting out.

I am gay. People always ask, “When did you know you were gay?” For me, the answer is – always. Or, at least from the time that the imagination begins to turn sexual. I have only ever been attracted to other boys. Because of the small southern town I grew up in, I never felt free to be open about my sexuality or who I really was. I never even told my family. I was awaiting the day I could finally escape.

My family didn’t have any money so I knew I would have to be self-reliant. I had a perfect school transcript and a high ACT score. I applied to several colleges in the northeast. I wanted to be far away from home, but close enough to make the drive in a single day. My hard work had paid off and I was offered a full ride in the Science department at a good school near Boston based on my academics. I was liberated.

I used the money I had saved from my part-time high school job to buy a used car. I drove up at the earliest date allowed, moved in to my dorm and found a part-time job to cover meals and expenses. This is where life would really begin for me.

My first two years of college were relatively uneventful. My roommate was a nice enough guy, but we hardly saw each other. In addition to my regular classroom time and studies, Science majors also spend hours each week in labs. Of course I still had my part-time job as well. I was too busy for any kind of a social life. I mostly kept to myself. Maintaining my grades was my top priority.

My college has limited on-campus dormitories, so during my junior year I found myself sharing an off-campus housing unit with three other guys. It was still covered in my scholarship, so financially, everything was fine. I had just turned 21 and despite have three housemates, I felt independent for the first time.

My housemates were all big guys, at least compared to me. Chad, Sam and Mark were all involved in sports in some way. They were all at least six feet tall, ranging from 175 to 220 pounds and muscular to varying degrees. I was 5′ 5″, just shy of 95 pounds and didn’t have a visible muscle on my scrawny body. Physically, I still looked like a little boy. The other guys took to calling me Little Guy.

Chad, Sam and Mark were not just well-built, but they were good looking guys too. They seemed very outwardly heterosexual, always talking about girls from around campus and whatnot. I had still never come out of the closet to anyone in my life. I was so busy all the time I just didn’t see the point. It never even came up with my first roommate. Now with these new guys, I’m not saying I thought they wouldn’t be okay with it, but why even bother. There was no reason for these three guys in this situation to be the first people I share my most personal story with.

My schedule was still full and hectic so I wasn’t in the house as much as the others. I would come and go at odd times. When I was there, Chad, Sam and Mark began to tease me about my size. One day Sam asked me, in front of the others, if I bought my clothes in the men’s department or the boy’s department. Chad and Mark laughed and I tried laughing it off too but he wouldn’t let it go.

I answered, “The men’s department.”

Sam said he didn’t believe me. He grabbed me by the hips, spun me around and bent out the back of my waistband. I was like a limp ragdoll in his powerful grip. He announced to the room, “26 inch waist, 28 inch inseam! And he has to cuff the legs!” He pointed down and they all looked and laughed.

Mark asked, “How tall is he?” He took me by the shoulders and pushed me against the wall. He placed his palm on my head and marked a spot on the wall with his finger. He told Sam to get his tape measure. It turns out that I hadn’t grown any more since my last check up more than two years ago. Mark measured and proclaimed, “5 feet, 5 inches.”

Chad said, “Are we in college or are we in middle school?” Another big laugh.

Another gaziantep bayan eskort day, I was reading in the great room in a single chair off to the side. My feet were on an ottoman. The other three were sitting together on the couch playing a video game. When they had a lull in their action, Mark observed, “Hey Little Guy, you’ve got some tiny little boy feet over there. What size shoe do you wear?”

I wanted to ignore him, but they all became interested quickly. I was sure these big guys were all at least size elevens. I tried to think of a size that was small enough that they would believe and big enough that they would let the issue drop and not come over to investigate. I tried, “I wear a nine and a half.”

I guess I exaggerated too much. They didn’t believe me. All three were up off their couch and moving toward me. Sam and Mark each grabbed an ankle tugged my Nikes right off without bothering to untie them. Chad bent back the tongue from one of my well-worn shoes and read my size. A big smile spread across his face, “Nice try Little Guy.” He told the others, “He’s a seven and a half!”

They all howled with laughter. They were still holding me by the ankles. With my small feet, when I wear man-sized socks, there is a bunch of empty fabric somewhere. I have to either wear the socks with my toes to the end and the sock heel comes up my calf or I wear the sock heel at my heel and there is poof of extra sock past my toes. I had the heels matched up and my small feet were swimming in the big socks. Chad grabbed for where my toes should have been but only found empty fabric. He laughed again and asked, “Do you even have feet in there?”

They slipped my socks right off and examined me like three doctors consulting on a baffling case. I flushed in humiliation.

Mark asked, “Guys, how old were you when you wore a seven and a half?”

Chad said, “I was in seventh grade, so I guess about 12?”

Sam said, “Dude I was in fifth grade. I was 10.” More laughter all around.

One of them let go of my ankle and wrapped a hand around my foot. I tried to not show a reaction, but I am sensitive and I flinched a little at the touch. Chad said, “Look his foot almost disappears in my hand.” More giggles.

Chad let go of my foot and discreetly swiped my arch with a finger as he did so. I involuntarily jerked my leg back in reaction. Sam and Mark didn’t notice. Chad winked at me.

Sam and Mark let go of my ankles and all three went back to their couch. I bent my knees and tucked my bare feet between the chair and my body. I didn’t want to make a show of gathering my boy-sized shoes and man-sized socks in front of them and subjecting myself to potential further ridicule while re-dressing. As I pretended to return to reading my book, I contemplated why Chad had tickled me, not once, but twice.

It was Chad who asked the group, “When you were a skinny little boy, were you ticklish? I bet he’s still ticklish.”

I flushed as a wave of nervous energy passed through me. I thought, please don’t tickle me.

The others didn’t pursue this track. Sam said, “I was never that skinny, even when I was his weight. Hey? How much do you weigh?”

Having learned my lesson from attempting to exaggerate my shoe size, I decided to tell the truth. If they believed me, maybe they wouldn’t drag out the scale and forcibly weigh me like a bag of apples in the produce department. I replied, “95 pounds.”

They burst out in laughter again. They accepted my answer as truth. Besides, how could that number possibly be an exaggeration?

Mark said, “We should call him Doogie. Even though he’s a 21 year old man, it’s like he’s a little boy off at college.” They all agreed and they called me Doogie from then on.

I had to google it later to find out that Doogie Howser was a television show from about 3 decades ago where a child prodigy graduated from college by age 10 and was a doctor by age 14. I guess I was the 10 year old college student.

I had thought that with leaving my hometown, going away to college and becoming an adult, the bullying would have been a thing of my past. Apparently I was wrong. These guys now knew my height, my weight, my pant size, my shoe size, they had manhandled me a couple of times now…what would be next?

Sam said, “You know, I’ve never seen Doogie here with a girl. Why is that?”

Mark said, “I don’t know. He’s a little guy, but some girls would find him cute, right?”

Chad said, “Sure, some girls might think he’s cute in a boyish way, but cute only gets you so far. If he’s little-boy-sized where we can see, maybe he’s little-boy-sized where we can’t see. They probably think he has a baby dick and he’d never be able to satisfy them.” Chad winked at me again and Sam and Mark almost fell of the couch in hysterics.

I didn’t want to be subject to further examination so I quickly jumped up, gathered sneakers and socks and went to my room.

Over the next several days, as usual, my schedule kept me out of the house most of the time. On Friday night I got back to the house after work around 10:15. The house was unusually quiet and dark for a Friday. They definitely had not all gone to bed. Maybe they all had dates. I reached for the light switch but never made it there. Six hands grabbed at me all at once. It was full-dark and I couldn’t see who was who. There were hands around each of my wrists and ankles, one arm around my waist and one hand (I couldn’t tell if this was accidental or on purpose) right in my crotch. I was being carried into the great room. They laid me down on the long couch and after a moment, the light flicked on.

Mark must have carried me by the wrists because he was standing at the arm of the couch by my head. Sam had carried me by the ankles because he was standing at the arm of the couch by my feet. Chad was crossing back over after having turned on the light. It must have been Chad whose rough, strong hand groped my crotch.

Of course my assailants were my three asshole housemates. What did they have instore for me now? Not only was I outnumbered three to one, I wouldn’t have been a physical match to any one of them alone. Whatever was about to happen, I had no control. My phone was in my backpack, which had been dropped by the door. I had no one to call and I had no allies here. I was a helpless victim. I glanced around nervously. I noticed Sam’s measuring tape on the coffee table. Oh no.

I had a secret. Well, a second secret. And nobody knew this secret either. Nobody. I was very careful. I was private. I didn’t show my naked body. I avoided changing rooms and locker rooms at all costs. I even used public restrooms as little as possible. I figured people would assume I was shy about being so small and skinny. The truth is that I was hiding my huge cock.

Actually, to call it a huge cock is an understatement. It is massive, embarrassingly and uncomfortably so. When I dress in the mornings I have to curl it under and wear tight briefs to keep things secure. Shopping for pants has always been a problem. Finding pants small enough to stay secure around my 26″ waist, but spacious enough for my bulging package is almost impossible. This is why I mostly wear shorts or sweatpants with an elastic waistband and a baggy front. This is fine for a student, but will be problematic later in life when I have to wear professional clothes.

Now, seeing that measuring tape on the table, I was afraid that this secret was about to be revealed. Mark said, “Well Doogie, we know how tall you are, how much you weigh, your waist size and even your shoe size. There is one more thing to size up. One more measurement to take.” This is what I was afraid of.

The way I was carried to the couch by my limbs and dropped down had caused my t-shirt to ride up to my rib cage. The three of them were staring down at me and my exposed belly button was staring back up at them. I felt like a little boy. Sam commented, “My god, how skinny is he? Is there a single ounce of fat on his body?”

Mark said, “Well Chad?”

Chad began, “Look, guys, I’m not so sure we should…”

Mark cut him off. “This was your idea, Chad. We’ve come too far to quit now. Before we get to the main festivities, you said you wanted to see how ticklish he was. Here’s your chance. Go ahead.”

Of course it was Chad who wanted me to get tickled. He’s the one who asked about tickling last week. He’s also the one who tickled my foot and, today, groped my crotch. I noticed now that Chad seemed a little dazed. Like he was distracted or lost in some kind of deep thought. He seemed almost subdued. He was usually the most enthusiastic when it came to tormenting me. I started to think that maybe when he groped me, he felt my secret. Staring down blankly at my smooth pale tummy, be absentmindedly swiped a finger across my lower abdomen. I quivered from the touch and my response seemed to bring him somewhat out of his riverie.

Mark reached out, grabbed the bottom of my shirt and in one neat motion, pulled it over my head and off my body. Next he grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them down in just one hand up over my head. He used his free hand to poke and drill in my armpits. Chad couldn’t resist jumping in and he began to squeeze and stroke my sides and belly.

I tried to show nothing. It wasn’t working. I’d never been tickled like this before and I was losing the battle. The Sam joined in. He knelt on the couch, straddling my knees with his back to me. He flipped off my sneakers and slipped off my socks. With classes and work, it had been a long day. My tired feet had been trapped inside my hot shoes for the past 14 hours. Now my feet were free, but they were freshly bare, slightly damp and extremely sensitive. Sam used two hands and attacked both feet at once. He swiped up and down my arches, danced his fingers all around and even explored under and between my toes. I threw my head back and howled.

With five strong hands on me all at once, my eyes were watering and I was now full out screaming in uncontrollable laughter that racked my body so hard, I couldn’t breathe. I seriously thought I was about to pass out. Just then they mercifully stopped. The tickling felt like it lasted an hour, but in reality it had only been a few minutes. They stopped because the tickling was only the opening act. The main event was about to begin.

Sam got up, moved back to the arm of the couch by my feet and grabbed the legs of my sweatpants. He was about to pull them off when Chad, who seemed to be losing his enthusiasm again, tried saying, “I’m not so sure we want to…”

Sam said, “Too late,” and pulled my pants off.

I during all of the touching tickling, I noticed a slight stirring begin in my crotch. It was partly a natural response to physical stimulation, but it was also partly the fact that it was guys doing this to me. These three guys might have been assholes, but they were hot beefy guys. I was gay and I couldn’t help being a little turned on.

Mark chimed in, “Hey hold up a second. Before the big reveal let’s take bets on what we’ll find.”

Sam said, “What do you mean?”

Mark answered, “Let’s guess how he measures up. Who can guess the closest number.”

Sam asked, “Are we measuring him soft or erect?”

Mark said, “Both, but we’ll bet on the erect size”

Sam cracked, “We’ll have to find it first before we can measure it.” They both laughed.

So if we’re measuring him erect, whose job is it to get him hard?”

Mark replied, “We’ll leave that to our leader and instigator – Chad.”

Chad was still quiet. My underwear was still on and Sam and Mark weren’t really looking at my “situation” yet during this exchange. But Chad was. He noticed the bulge in my tighty-whities and he looked as nervous as I did. In the meantime, all this talk about my penis and measuring it was making me stir another degree higher.

Mark said, “I’ll guess he comes in at 4 inches.”

Sam said, “No way. I’ll take the under. There’s no way Pee Wee here cracks 3.5 tops. Chad, what do you say?”

Chad: “Huh? Me? Oh, I’ll take the over I guess.”

Sam moved to grab my underwear but Mark said, “Now Chad, when you start to stroke him to erection, make sure to stop quickly and measure him. If his dick is as ticklish as the rest of his body, he might blow his wad really fast.” Sam and Mark both laughed again.

I blushed and felt another tick up in response.

The moment had finally come and Sam pulled off my underwear. My penis did not so much spring free, rather it unrolled. Like a fire hose. There was an audible gasp among the three of them and someone said, “Oh my god!”

My penis was huge and would be considered huge to anyone. Particularly, though on my short, skinny frame, it looks absolutely monstrous. It’s like walking around with a baseball bat hanging off of your body. It goes beyond porn star big, it’s enormous. It’s hard to find the right adjectives to do it justice.

As they continued to ogle and comment, I continued to grow. Good looking guys talking about my manhood was causing a rise. My partial erection was getting closer to becoming a full. One of them grabbed my shaft with both hands. I gasped from the sensation. This was the first time in my life someone’s hands besides mine touched my penis. It was electrifying. My hands were small. These hands were big and strong with much more coverage and a powerful grip. And he did grip me, like a baseball bat. He said, “Look two hands don’t even cover him. There’s still room to choke up!” He gave me a twist before letting go and I groaned in pleasure.

That grab and twist had finished the job. I was now fully erect. Mark said, “What are you waiting for, Chad? Measure it.”

I had never measured myself before. I never saw the point. I knew I was bigger than most. Being a 21 year old closeted gay virgin, I didn’t have any real-life experience with other penises. I had googled it though out of curiosity so I knew that it was said that the average erect penis measured a little less than 5.5 inches. I was actually now interested to know my real number. I felt the cloth end of the tape measure get pressed and held to my base. Next, they ran it up my length and curved around to the slit at the tip.

There was a moment of silence before a collective, “Holy shit! 11.5 inches!”

They were awestruck and I couldn’t blame them. I knew it was shocking. As I continued to lay there with my pole pointing straight up to the ceiling, they couldn’t take their eyes away. Like I was the most popular exhibit at the museum.

Like a moth to a flame, their hands were pulled to my throbbing member. All three of them stroked me up and down and I moaned involuntarily. After a minute, the rubbing felt wet and slippery. I realized that my own pre cum was providing lubrication. This was the first sexual experience of my life that didn’t exist only as a fantasy in my head. I didn’t know if they had intended to jerk me off or if they were just so mesmerized by my impressive organ that they weren’t even aware of what they were doing and they seemed powerless to stop it. At any rate, those strong hands were giving me a pleasure I’d never felt before and I too was powerless to stop what was about to happen.

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