Max, Nikolai I's whore

I'm Max, a young white guy, with medium-long brown hair, red lips, no body hair, and a micropenis of barely 9 cm when hard. I noticed I had certain complexes because of my virile member, which has meant that my sexual experience has come very late, despite already being 28.

I've always considered myself bisexual; boys and girls attracted me equally. Although I admit I have repressed my gay side quite a lot and have tried to hook up only with girls. Many of the girls I went out with told me the same thing, that I was very handsome, but that they had the feeling they weren't with a real man when they saw my micropenis. Finally, I took it for granted that I would never be a father or start a family. I felt a great emptiness in my life.

This afternoon I decided to go to the park. The fresh evening air always had the ability to calm my mind. I put on my sneakers, shorts, and a blue T-shirt to go running in the park and clear my head of negative thoughts.

With my brown hair moving slightly in the breeze and my headphones on, I advance at a steady pace along the paved path surrounded by trees. The golden light of the last hour of the afternoon bathed the grass and the tree leaves, creating a serene atmosphere that allowed me to disconnect for a moment from my doubts and insecurities. With each stride, I felt my body light and in motion, seeking a steady rhythm to take refuge in.

As I advanced along the path, the sound of laughter caught my attention. To one side of the path, on a grassy clearing, a group of 18-year-old neighborhood brats was playing amid jokes, passing a ball around. Unable to avoid it, I slow down slightly and cast a glance in their direction. I observed them carefully: the ease with which they interacted, the naturalness of their gestures, their masculinity and the confidence they conveyed; what I didn't have.

Inside me came to mind that perhaps I was made to be used by men, an idea I had repressed or tried to push away for years. For the first time in a long time, there was no room for self-judgment; only the simple acceptance of what I felt and the silent desire to be able to show myself as I was, without fear of rejection.

The calm atmosphere of the afternoon seemed to tense for a second. When he noticed that I was standing still and looking, one of the boys in the group stopped passing the ball, turned toward me, raised his voice with a defiant tone, and said point-blank:

-What are you staring at so much? Are you a faggot or what's wrong with you? Do we turn you on, whore?

The other members of the group were silent for an instant, until they started shouting at me and laughing.

At that moment, I felt my stomach flip. It was a situation I had always feared, direct confrontation that used to trigger all my alarms and insecurities with men.

-I was just watching the game. I was already leaving, I said nervously.

The blond boy who had spo...