Exposed at Lunch

I don’t know how it started. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe I wanted it to happen. Maybe I needed it to.

I sat at the café table, knees pressed tightly together, my hands resting in my lap, trying to make myself as small as possible. Across from me, my female friends laughed and chatted, carefree, their voices light and confident. I forced a smile, nodding at their conversation, hoping to blend in.

Then it happened.

"Are those… women’s socks?"

The words hit me like a shockwave. My stomach clenched. My breath caught.

I should’ve laughed. Shrugged it off. But I froze. Just for a second. And that was enough.

Their eyes flickered to one another. Smirks widened. They sensed something.

I swallowed, my throat dry. "Uh… yeah. I mean… they just fit better. I’ve got small feet, so… why not?"

Too much explanation. Too defensive. It didn’t sound casual—it sounded guilty. And they knew it.

"Ohhh, I see," one of them hummed, dragging out the words. My stomach tightened, my hands pressing into my thighs to stop the trembling.

"Sooo, what else fits better? You borrow Sandra’s stuff too?"

Laughter. Giggles.

I wanted to disappear. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears.

I forced a weak laugh, shaking my head too quickly. "No, no, I just—it’s just socks."

"Mmmhmm. Just socks," one of them echoed, eyes flashing with amusement.

And then—the question that sent my body into a freefall.

"Wait… isn’t foot size supposed to be, like, related to… you know… other sizes?"

My stomach dropped.

The air shifted. I could feel them watching me, studying me. My face burned. My ears burned. My hands clenched uselessly in my lap.

"Oh my god, look at him! That was such a guilty reaction!"

I tried to speak. Tried to deny it. My lips parted, but nothing came out. My mouth was dry, my throat locked up.

"No way! So it’s true for you, huh?"

"Awww… that’s kinda adorable."

My thighs pressed together so tightly it hurt. My shoulders curled inward. I felt tiny, helpless, exposed.

The café felt too bright. The voices around me too loud. The heat of their attention suffocating.

And it wasn’t over.

"You know… Sandra just seems so… satisfied lately," one of them mused, tapping her finger against her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. "Hmmm. Now that we know more about you, I wonder…"

Excited glances. Stifled giggles.

My stomach twisted into a painful knot.

"Oh my god. It is someone else, isn’t it?"

"Of course it is. Look at him."

"I bet he lets it happen. I bet he just sits there and takes it."

My head was spinning. My body felt heavy, burning under their words. My throat tightened, my skin prickled, a nervous sweat forming at the base of my neck. I felt feverish, lightheaded—like the moment before a fall.

I wanted to run. To disappear. To laugh and wave them off and deny everything.

But I couldn’t.

Because they were right.

And I knew it.

I felt my throat tighten. My breath came shallow and uneven. My fingers twitched in my lap.

My head dipped. My voice barely made it out.

"Yes."

Silence.

And then—chaos.

"Oh. My. God!"
"I knew it!"
"Holy shit, I cannot believe he actually admitted it!"

Laughter exploded around me, sharp, ringing in my ears. My face was on fire.

A nearby table went quiet. A man glanced over, brow furrowed. A woman leaned toward her friend, whispering. My stomach clenched. Were they talking about me? Had they heard everything?

I wanted to take it back. I wanted to disappear, to rewind time, to do anything but sit there while they owned me with their laughter.

"Sooo… tell us everything. How does it work? What do you do while she’s out? Do you just, like, sit there? Or do you, you know… help clean up after?"

A sharp, full-body shudder ripped through me.

One of the waitresses passed by. She slowed. Just for a second. Her eyes flickered toward me—just the briefest glance—but something about it made my stomach drop. Amusement? Pity? Did she know? Did she hear? And if she did… would she tell someone else?

I kept my eyes down. I couldn’t look up.

The café felt too small. Their voices too loud. The heat of their attention unbearable.

I was drowning in humiliation, my body locked in place, my stomach twisting with an ache I couldn’t escape.

I hated it.

I loved it.

And worst of all… I knew I would relive it.

Later tonight. Alone.

Sitting on the edge of the bed. Knees pressed together. My little penis throbbing with frustration.

Knowing I could never undo this. Knowing that from now on, when they looked at me, they would see me differently. When they laughed, I would wonder—are they remembering? Are they picturing me sitting here, small and exposed?

Sandra wouldn’t even have to tell them. They all knew now. The girls. The waitress. Maybe even the strangers at the next table. And the worst part?

They wouldn’t forget.

Next time we met, next time we laughed together, next time they looked at me… I’d wonder if they were picturing me right here, squirming, knees together, exposed.

And so would I. Forever.