The end-of-year office party. Newbie.

My first end-of-year party at my new company. I couldn't wait: I wanted to make a good impression, impress my younger colleagues, seem friendly and bright.
I've never been very handsome, so I had to focus on charisma, my smile, my delivery.

The free and generous glasses of Spritz were a blessing. Every sip was a splash of social lubricant.

I tried a few timid approaches to my younger colleagues.
As I approached, they were already sending each other signals of understanding. I heard a "...tent at two o'clock." Then other whispered phrases I couldn't catch, and a few smiles.
It seemed like a good start, so I acted bright.
They dismissed me with a cold smile. My pride was affected.

I realized I had an inexplicable erection; I felt humiliated, but my body reacted as if I had conquered someone.
Another Spritz.
My heart was pounding, my legs were slightly weak, and I inexplicably felt signs of an excitement I didn't know how to contain.

I wander around the room, trying not to attract attention, probably more stiffly than I should.
I try to compensate by cracking and laughing at jokes that aren't worthy of the name.
I even try a few dance steps, but I change my mind almost immediately.

The more spritz I drank, the more excited I became. At the buffet table, Serena and Giulia were watching me intently, weighing my every move. Their gazes were penetrating, as if they could read my every thought, every involuntary reaction. I couldn't look away without feeling exposed.

It was best to leave that moment alone.
I decide to approach a group of older women, probably married.

They greeted me with smiles and curiosity.
My lack of connection with the young women was obvious, and they had no qualms about signaling it with a series of seemingly innocuous jokes.
"So, no love at first sight?"
"Fortunately, you don't seem at all discouraged."

They laughed among themselves, looking at me as if they were looking at a half-successful experiment.

"Come on, tell us a little about yourself," one of them said, in a tone that made me unsure whether it was interest or pure amusement.
I awkwardly introduced myself, talking about the new job, the transfer, how happy I was to be there.
They all nodded.
"I see you're very happy."

It was then that Cornelia introduced herself. She was the most self-assured, her posture straight, her smile measured. She never raised her voice, and precisely because of this, every word carried double weight.
"It's a pleasure to have a newbie in the company."

When Cornelia introduced herself, some of her colleagues exchanged a quick glance.
"Careful," one said, laughing, "they call her La De Mon here."
"Cornelia De Mon," another added, almost a chorus.
She didn't deny it. She simply smiled slightly and added, "Jealous, I know how to keep dogs on a leash."

I tried to laugh at their venomous jokes, but every time I relaxed my mind, my body betrayed me, making it all harder to disguise.

At one point, Cornelia dropped a handkerchief from her hand. I bent down to pick it up, trying to be a gentleman, but the inevitable happened: an uncontrollable tremor, an accident I could no longer contain.

The ladies, ironic and sadistic, immediately made sure I was okay, but their glances and whispers stung me like knives.
Fragments of sentences reached my ears:

"Oh, it's not...?"
"Oops."
"...and it doesn't stop."
"It's not often you see such... sincere reactions."
"Do you need a moment's silence?"

The voices intertwined in an ironic, mocking chorus, and I felt the shame growing ever greater.
Cornelia reached for my hand and took the handkerchief back. "Thanks," she said, with studied slowness.

Bathroom.
Disaster.
Underwear completely soaked.

I stripped to clean myself.
My dick was still nice and hard in all this, and despite the enormous public explosion, my balls still felt heavy.
I took the opportunity to masturbate, a few strokes and I was already on the home stretch, unprepared, I emptied myself again into my underwear.
I didn't stop, a few more seconds of stimulation and I came again, for a third time in my now soaked underwear.

With the flag at half-mast, I regained my clarity, but I wasn't in a rosy situation.
I understood that there was no way to fix it. I left them there, folded badly, like something to be quickly disposed of. I felt no relief, only the sensation of having passed a point from which there was no turning back.
What would I do now... without it?
Then a stroke of genius.
I used one of the condoms I carry with me for special occasions; tonight I don't think I'll use them otherwise.
I slipped one on, creating a makeshift barrier. A quick, practical gesture, designed solely to buy time and regain some semblance of control.
Better to do two.

The bathroom around me wasn't silent: coughs, running water, the faint sounds of other men struggling with the same need to compose themselves. I wasn't the only one, and that made everything even more bitter.
I finally emerged, tail between my legs—truly hoping I hadn't stayed in too long.

I head for the buffet table, but am intercepted by the group of mature colleagues.
"Ah, there it is."
"Fixed?"
"Intense evening, huh."
The jokes rained lightly, but pointedly. None direct enough to be out of place, all sufficient to remind me that nothing had gone unnoticed.

Cornelia took a step toward me and, with the tone of an external consultant, offered me some professional advice, saying:
"Hold on to your dignity."
She gently took my forearm, guiding my hand to the mouth of my own pocket.
I understood, and automatically did the rest.
Then she pulled back. Nodded. She had done enough.

"Well done, Mon. And don't worry, you're certainly not the only one tonight who's... tense."
"Yeah, look at all those beautiful bulging packages."
"Misery loves company."
"Oh my God, I see a couple of them flaunting theirs with great glee." The comment was accompanied by a rather raucous laugh.

Cornelia took control of the conversation and brought her friends back to a certain level of composure.
"Girls, calm down, we still have a little man here with us."
With that, she looked me straight in the eye, drawing the group's attention back to me.
I was visibly uncomfortable, laughing nervously at their jokes, their forced giggles.

The colleague who had just been reprimanded put a hand on my shoulder and said,
"Sorry, it was just a joke, nothing serious... don't take it personally."

It was then that something gave way.
Not on the outside, but on the inside.
The realization that I no longer had control of the situation—or of the image I was projecting—hit me more than any joke.
My pride was wounded, but I was completely subdued.
A sudden wave of emotion washed over me, too swift to anticipate, too intense to stop.
I try to grasp my dignity, but I lose my grip, and I come.

I keep nodding at the group with the same idiotic smile I've had for several minutes, while my fist is pushed forward by five or six taps. Then it stops.

I stood still, facing them, holding on to the idea that I'd taken at least one precaution, as if it were an invisible armor.
No one said anything.
Maybe they didn't notice.
Or maybe they deliberately chose not to, which was almost worse.

I was relieved.
Then the pressure returns, and I have to go back to the bathroom.

The line for the bathroom was long.
One of the two young women I'd previously awkwardly approached at the buffet table walks past me, slows her pace, and without even stopping, whispers devilishly, "If you wanted to get noticed... you succeeded."
I come there, in line for the men's room, while her colleague is walking away and the line advances a step. I wait a few seconds, until the gasps subside, and then I take a step forward too.

It's not even my turn when Cornelia exits the scene, saying, loud enough for me to hear,
"Gentlemen... I've seen enough here, see you on Monday."

I took the bus home; there wasn't a soul around, so much the better.
Casas.
The thought of Cornelia, of her eyes, of the sarcastic comments from her colleagues, of my explosion of arousal.
I literally wanked myself to death.
I was dry.

In the morning, after a few hours of sleep, I woke up, still tense, headed to the kitchen and made a coffee, fully erect, careful not to burn him.
I drink my coffee like a shot of tequila.
I masturbate a couple of times and, to my immense pleasure, watch my penis begin to sag.
As it is, I rest my head on the pillow and, with a huge sigh of relief, go back to sleep.