The WIMP Test: Diagnosis

"That's right," Dr. H encouraged me. "Don't move your wrist or you'll damage it further... c'mon, baby, get it hard for me..."

I certainly kept trying. "I... I can't!"

"Aww, poor baby..." The doc pouted in mock motherliness. "Are you a li'l limpy wimpy?"

The humiliation was unbearable. "Can I... can I use my hand?"

"No!" She swatted my other hand away. "C'mon. Tell me what'll make you hard... I am timing you, by the way. This IS going on your record." She made some kind of notes on her clipboard.

I wanted to tell her what would make me hard, wanted to tell her to strip down and let me see her slim, hot body, petite freckly breasts and tight ass, but I was stunned thinking about how I would ruin my record with another outlier.

"Well? No wonder you spurt in seconds, you spend a whole hour just getting it up..."

Finally my dick started to stand up and fill the little-- I mean, xtra small-- condom.

A wicked smile crossed the doctor's lips. "Oh?" She stood up in her heels and bent over my handiwork. Reaching behind her, she produced a magnifying glass and watched me intently through it, adjusting her glasses. She frowned a little. "Is it getting bigger? Jana took the ruler with her, I can't tell. Do you need another popsicle stick test?"

My hot nurse's previous test replayed in my head and I sprang to full erection. A full, barely over four inch, not even small, medically problematic erection.

"Oh, is that it? Are you all hard?"

"Y-yes!"

Doctor Hunglovin didn't even set her magnifying glass down, but started poking at scrawling at her touchscreen with the stylus. She stopped once to give me another squint through the lens and remind me, "Took you ten minutes and forty three seconds. Keep going. We gotta study your LITTLE problem."

And I came again, right when she said "little." A pathetically tiny load squirted into the condom.

The doctor smirked and went, "Hmph." And she made another note. "That's fine, you can take that off now and put your dicky tweezers away. And... seriously, put your pants back on." That last bit was said as an order.

I followed her orders. Before crawling back into my jeans, she proffered a wipe, holding it at arm's length without eye contact, and I took it, cleaned myself off, and tossed it. Then I got back into my pants and I sat there in humiliated afterglow for another quiet minute while the doctor tapped away at her screen with her stylus. After a bit, she looked up and said, "Did you know we've already diagnosed you? I submitted your report electronically and the evaluation is in."

"Already?" Somehow that was stirring my loins again already. How something like that could get me aroused so soon after I already came, I had no idea.

"Oh, yes. With a... thing like yours, by now there's no question."

"And..." I hesitated to say it, wondering what the right words were. "Well, what's the diagnosis for... my..." I couldn't think of the word and settled for trying out "Cock?"

The doctor laughed. "Yours? That's not a cock. You can't call that a cock, I'm sorry. That's... you could call it a halfacock, or we might call it a no cock... because it's the kind that's so small, when a woman sees it she instantly says NO."

"H... halfa-- Inst... instantly?" Totally tongue tied, all I could think about was the major penis twitch her words brought on, like it was trying to escape from my pants all on its own again.

"Well... out of rejection or disbelief, one or the other." Behind her thick glasses, she gave me a dead serious look. "Tell me... you never really grew much during puberty, did you? It seemed promising and then, when you were eleven or twelve and all the other boys were still growing, you just... stopped? In height or... anywhere else?" She looked down at the strain in my pants when she said "else."

"I..." Saying I blushed would be redundant at this point. "... that sounds right."

"That's what I thought. You're just short all over, and you'll never, ever get any bigger. You suffer from what we in the medical profession call Shortman's Height Ratio Impairment in Male Progress." Doctor Hunglovin flipped her screen so I could see it. Written across the top was the full medical diagnosis, with S.H.R.I.M.P. in bigger, red letters under it, my printed percentile ranking in the study (5.1%), and computer generated comparisons of my size with the mean, 11 cm vs. 16.51 cm, and the ideal: 20.32 cm. My cock-- uh, halfacock-- unendurably swelled, and I unconsciously reached down to touch myself, feeling a familiar churning in my lower stomach. My hand clamped onto myself through my pants, shamelessly trying to hold off the inevitable, but beneath the main field with my humiliating data was a comment section, still live and scrolling, where nurses from all over the hospital were uploading their thoughts, hot doctors offering concurring second opinions.

"lmao," said one nurse. Even her avatar was laughing. "SO TINY!"

"Diagnosis checks out, TOTAL SHRIMP"

Another from the receptionist, "I knew he was itty bitty when he walked in. Poor guy!"

"At least he's five-point-something... percentile! loooool"

And the stream continued, flooding with LOLs in real-time as all the hot, smart women involved peeped my pertinent medical data.

Even the doctor leaned in from her perch on the swiveling stool and whispered into my ear, "SHRIMPDICK!"

I came in my pants. Doctor Hunglovin saw and laughed out loud, then opened the door and waved for some other nurses to come in and see. "P.P. got his diagnosis and came in his pants!"

They all giggled uncontrollably. Jana was among them and tentatively reached out for the wet spot in my pants, poked at it with her pinky finger. "I knew he had SPEED, too. Daaaang, that's nasty..."

I sat there red-faced and basically defenseless, stuttering. "I-- I thought my medical records were private!"

All the others were too busy laughing and making gestures at each other about how little I was, demonstrating to each other how I looked jerking off with two fingers and going, "Oo! Mm! Ah!" in high-pitched voices. Jana heard me, though, and answered: "We need to share the information here at the hospital. Your medical records are important to us-- we couldn't help without them! But don't worry, shrimp. None of it goes outside the hospital."

I felt a little relief at that. Dr. Hunglovin turned from her colleagues, wished me good luck, and left with the flock, all of them swaying their hips in their tall heels. Everyone of them must have had a thong on that just was barely visible from the back under the material of her skirt.

Only Jana remained. She wrote something down and, when I was fully dressed again, handed me a slip for a prescription.

"Viagra and Shrinkacox," she explained. "Viagra for when you can't get it up... we heard about your trouble with Dr. Hunglovin. And Shrinkacox to get rid that microspace between your hand and the end of your dick. When they're even the pain in your wrist will go away and you can jerk it all you want."

"Shrinka... what? Can't I just get surgery for it to make it bigger? Wouldn't that help?"

Jana tilted her head. "Aww, lookit you. How are you gonna make it bigger if there's nothing there to make it bigger? You have to have SOMETHING to work with. No, your best treatment option is to just rub this cream on there, and your little problem will go away, okay? Just put a tiny dot of this on yourself--" she demonstrated on her pinky finger. "-- every time you tweeze off for the next month or so and keep measuring until you're down to just 4 inches even. Then the wrist pain will go away."

"O...okay."

"And have fun, little guy! I'll see you, Shortly..."

I headed out of the hospital holding my tattered briefcase in front of my crotch, trying as best I could to hide my cumstain of shame. It would be even harder on the bus ride home, and the walk. I tried not to think about it.

When I passed through the lobby, all the ladies waved good-bye to me with their pinky fingers. I tried to reassure myself it would never leave the hospital. At least now I'd be rid of the pain in my wrist.