Dicks keep growing around me

by body beyond   

Until recently, Myron has been oblivious to the fact that dicks would get mysteriously bigger the longer someone hung out with him. He begins putting the pieces together as his boss, Miguel, and roommate, Ty, start going through all too familiar changes below the belt.

“Dicks keep growing around you?”

“Yes,” I said. “Or at least I think. It's not exactly an airtight theory, but there are some examples.”

“And it just…happens,” responded my supervisor Miguel.

“Apparently.”

“And it's happening to me?”

“Pretty sure.”

So I have a theory. Maybe just a hunch, I don't know. And I'm not doing it on purpose, but I'm pretty sure I'm the cause. For lack of a better way of saying, dicks keep growing around me. And I don't mean chubbing up, I mean literally growing. Like adding on real, tangible inches with no end in sight. It's very slow, and I think it comes down to how often we're in close proximity, but if you spend enough time around me, you may end up with more, sometimes much more, below the belt. I don't have any idea how this works, but I wish I did. I'm still just piecing clues together.

So I guess Exhibit A would be my boss, Miguel. I do a lot of temporary contract work, which isn't ideal, but allows me to string together rent while working on some of my own creative freelance stuff. I was hired onto this project six months ago to restructure the data management system of a small, local startup and they miscalculated the resultant shift in office space. After a series of awkward corners and at least one broom closet, they decided to just stick me in Miguel's office. Miguel requested it actually. He figured I would be of more use working in tandem with him than I would blocking everyone's path to the bathroom.

I was less than pleased to look like his makeshift corner secretary, and honestly I've dealt with much worse, but he didn't mind. In fact, he seemed to welcome the company. Miguel kept a tight beard and even tighter fade, always perfectly put together in what looked like one-step-below-designer business casual, with the cherry on top being the neon purple and green barefoot shoes he tended to wear to work. I would've been annoyed if not for the fact that he was a genuinely nice, thoughtful guy, and more than just a captivating smile. Plus, I came around on his use of a balance ball chair once I was introduced to his tight butt clad in well fitting slacks. Not that I ever really thought about him that way.

So we shared a space and had a congenial enough dynamic. We both had similar tastes in some of the experimental music scene locally and would even go out to some shows together. Also he's a self-proclaimed menswear expert and started systemically giving my wardrobe a much-needed overhaul. So I found it odd when his usual form-fitting, modern pants began to lose their flair.

At one point, he chalked it up to seasonal shifts, trying out some new, looser looks for the spring. Not to mention baggier, boxier styles had been taking the place of slim-fit jeans and tight shirts, at least according to him. A few times he texted me in the morning, saying he was running late because of a 'wardrobe malfunction,' which I never thought much of. I had come to expect him cycling through three or four outfit changes before he finally made it out.

For a while it seemed like he might've just been getting the wrong fit, since he developed a habit of adjusting his crotch often, or even wincing slightly when he sat down too hard. And I had had multiple friends and partners with similar issues, so offered some tailoring tips, but he didn't want to dwell on it.

I got a good idea why when we went to a show together one evening. A DJ we both liked was playing a set at a warehouse on a Thursday night, and we figured we had to go. We'd bring a change of clothes, work late on Thursday, then roll into the office late Friday morning. We could even call it a team meeting, or professional development, or something.

The show was euphoric. I felt like I was rising up and outside of myself as our bodies bounced on the packed dance floor, in so small part due to the haze of surprisingly strong drinks and party drugs. While Miguel seemed to be enjoying it, he was still preoccupied with the constant need to readjust his crotch. I had seen him in this pair of skinny leather pants—his ass alone was unforgettable—but they seemed especially constricting.

“Told you you'd look great in those pants,” came Miguel's familiar voice in my ear. He never missed an opportunity to brag about being my personal stylist, but I had to admit I looked better than expected. However, I didn't expect Miguel's strong hands to linger on my hips, nor did I expect myself to close the rest of the gap between us. I'd been catching guys checking us out all night and I was feeling myself, so I thought Fuck it, as we began grinding to the rhythm. Maybe it was the fantasy of the moment or whatever I was on, but the bulge in Miguel's pants felt major, and his crotch was radiating heat.

Suddenly, Miguel's hands tensed up and he pulled away, his hand trailing against my lower back as he turned to leave. I asked if he was doing all right and he sputtered something about needing to piss, quickly disappearing into the crowd. I didn't think much of it, and quickly got lost in the crush of moving bodies, and more than a few lingering caresses just below my hips. To say I was getting hot and bothered was an understatement and eventually I realized that I also needed to relieve myself, aiming in the vague direction of the bathroom but quickly getting lost in the crush of the crowd. Eventually, I stumbled into a back alley, a rush of chill spring night air hitting my lungs as the party thumped through the wall behind me.

I turned my head at the sound of a deep sigh of visceral relief, looking to the left to see Miguel, eyes closed and head thrown back as he pissed loudly against the side of the wall. I wasn't exactly in my right mind, and didn't stop myself from glancing at his cock, which, semisoft, was hanging halfway down to his knees, jiggling comically as he shook off the last drops. It wasn't just massive, it was beautiful, majestic under the streetlight, draped in shadow by Miguel's outstretched arm, the other hand bracing against the wall.

“Sorry,” he said, making me quickly realize that while my eyes were hyperfocused on his schlong, his were on me watching me hyperfocus on his schlong. “There was a line to the bathroom and it was about to be a photo finish,” a slight smile turning up his lips as he saw me finally draw my eyes away from his stunning dick.

“I, uh, was just about to join you,” I replied, deliberately keeping my eyes on his as he struggled to fit his prodigious cock back into his pants, by some miracle getting the zipper up after a few tries.

The awkwardness must've been my own anxious imagination, as the next day at work he actually seemed more relaxed than he had in a while, his bubble butt perched on his exercise ball chair as he sat with a leisurely spread, his bulge plainly visible. I guess the secret's out, I thought. At least between us.

When the summer sun had come to stay, and my contract was wrapping up, he proposed an office hiking trip at one of his favorite trails, a moderately strenuous 3.5-mile track that led to an impressive waterfall tucked away just outside the city. I hadn't been, but was familiar with it because my roommate, Ty, worked in the kitchen at a bar nearby that was kind of the post-hike spot. My apartment, according to Miguel, was “on the way” to the trailhead. I begged to differ, but he insisted on the kind gesture of giving me a lift, until we reached the compromise of me getting a ride home with Ty when their shift ended. So Miguel picked me up from my place, decked out in hiking boots, thick socks, a breezy short-sleeved button-down, and some five-inch linen shorts with a sizable bulge. I had already caught a glimpse of his dick, so I wasn't surprised by what looked like rolled up tube socks tucked into his crotch, but this looked bigger than I remembered.

And I don't think I was the only one who noticed either. Miguel was certainly the center of attention when we met up with the others at the trailhead, albeit delightfully oblivious in his excitement to take us on this outing. And it looked like I may have missed the memo about the dress code. All the other guys were wearing similar short shorts, showing off their own respectable bulges—though not as impressive as Miguel's.

As we set off down the trail, Miguel took an early lead, looking like he had no intention of slowing down. As we settled into a rhythm, I found myself consistently a few steps behind him—admiring more than the view of the scenery—with the rest of the group farther back but still within earshot. I began to think that Miguel should've stuck to the breezy bottoms he had fallen into wearing, because he was constantly adjusting the hem of his shorts as they dug into his meaty quads. At times, he seemed visibly uncomfortable.

As we reached a bend in the trail with a makeshift bench, we decided to take a breather and let the others catch up. Miguel's shirt was glued to the middle of his back by a trail of sweat that ran down to his butt crack. I had trouble noticing anything else as he bent over and rested his hands on his knees, pushing his tight butt in my direction as he caught his breath.

From behind, the crotch of his pants looked overstuffed and straining at the seams. I thought it must have been my exhausted brain and overactive imagination until with a soft rip, the crotch of his shorts gave out, his dick gracefully bobbing two thirds of the way to his knees, definitely bigger than before and paired with some proportionately huge nuts. Miguel, his cock now freed of its constraints, let out a sigh of relief before apparently coming to the realization of the cool breeze on his oversized genitals.

Hearing the others approaching, I sprang into action, pushing him off the trail and just behind a stand of bushes, hoping passersby would assume he was relieving himself and keep moving.

“Sorry,” he said. “I brought up a backup pair just in case. Give me one second.”

“A backup pair?” I asked, wanting to respect his privacy but also betraying my own fascination with this super dick that I had now been introduced to twice.

“Yeah, I thought I wouldn't have an issue yet with these pants, but wanted to be careful.”

“What do you mean, issue?” I asked. “And what do you mean yet?”

“I don't know, I think I need to see somebody about this, it's like—” he was cut off by one of their co-workers catching up to them on the trail. He quickly finished changing and stuffed his cock back in his shorts, shooting me a brief look of thanks.

Thankfully, the rest of the outing passed without incident. We actually had a great time, and Miguel was certainly correct about the waterfall being worth the aggravation. A few of the guys even waded in to cool off, inadvertently revealing some very heavy bulges through the thin, wet fabric of their shorts. Miguel hung back.

We got drinks afterward, and it was obvious Miguel was a post-hike usual. As the afternoon wore on to evening, everyone fell away slowly, until it was just the two of us. He insisted on hanging around until Ty could take me home, and I would've staunchly refused if not for how much I enjoyed his company—and how he would've stayed against my wishes anyway.

He hadn't really been drinking—concerned about everyone else having a good time, in typical Miguel fashion—but I had maybe had more than I should. During a lull in the conversation, he leaned in slightly and said, “Thanks for the save back there. Would've never lived it down at work.”

“To be honest, I was not expecting all that,” I said, trying to be careful not to push boundaries too far, too fast.

“Honestly, me neither,” Miguel responded, his eyes widening slightly as he glanced into the distance. “TMI, but I've been kind of having a late growth spurt the last six months. Or something.”

And well, this is when the pieces finally started to come together. I had had hunches and musings over the years about my propensity to meet some truly noteworthy cocks, but something deep in my brain felt compelled to ask, “When did it start?”

With a thoughtful look in his eye, he glanced at me and said, “Around when you showed up. You might be my lucky charm.”

This is when it finally clicked.

“Dicks keep growing around you?”

“...Yes,” Myron said.

I guessed that three drinks in is the point where he's ready to spit out ridiculous theories that congeal in his head. But of course I wanted to play along.

“Ok, so like, how do you do it?” I asked. I thought he was bullshitting, was hoping he was bullshitting, but wanted to see where this fantasy went.

“I…don't. It just happens?”

“Just happens. Like how?”

“I don't really know, but now that I think about it, I've been around…kind of a lot of guys with your similar predicament.”

“My similar predicament…” I have a habit of loosely repeating things back to someone when I don't fully believe what they're saying, which has annoyed all manner of partners, co-workers, and friends. But the gears in my brain were turning and I did just call Myron my good luck charm…

Six months ago, I had been eagerly shaking the hand of our new contract hire. Myron was my first choice for the position and I didn't hide my excitement to have him join us. I only wished we could have brought him on in a permanent capacity, but in retrospect, for the sanctity of whatever can survive of my sex life and trouser seams, maybe it's best we didn't.

But I liked him immediately. There was something about his presence that just felt energizing, so when his shuffle of workspaces was getting unwieldy, of course I had him join me in my office. Due to a fluke in the building design, it was way too big for my needs—and I wasn't a fan of the accidental 'status symbol' of the corner office. I had been wanting to find ways to repurpose it. Plus, I got to work more closely with Myron and, admittedly, catch glimpses of his cute bubble butt. He even let me start giving him tips on how to show off the ass he didn't even know he had.

Not that I was into him like that. I like to think I'm pretty serious about professional decorum, which made it all the more uncomfortable when my dick began to constantly feel slightly chubbed up. I thought that maybe I had been too good at being Myron's menswear guide and he was starting to finally show off his ass on purpose. Except a couple of weeks into our new arrangement, I began to realize that that slight chub never really went down, even outside of work. In fact, I began to notice that often, it wasn't a chub at all, I was totally soft. Just…bigger.

Which didn't make any kind of sense. I'm 35, my dick was respectable, but I had been familiar with its form for quite some time now. Except whenever I would jack off, it would feel just slightly more substantial in my hand. I thought it must've been something I was eating. I was getting harder than I had in years, not to mention some unusually deep orgasms. And as they would calm down, with me breathing into a glob of my own cum splashed against my lips, it seemed like my dick wouldn't quite go down all the way. There was just a little more of that slight chub, which wasn't a chub at all.

It took me about a month to realize that I was genuinely getting bigger down there, not that I was complaining or really needed an explanation. Frankly, I was excited. If the Universe wanted to grant me a little extra meat, there must be a good enough reason. The only issue was getting used to a package that was getting slightly and slightly and slightly more prominent, with a juicy pair of balls that were following suit. The bulge I decided to play off, but it was getting less and less comfortable, especially in anything fitted or tailored. As it became a distraction at work—for me and everyone else—I switched to looser pants. Not my favorite, but some back of closet pairs that would suffice while I got things fitted again.

But eventually, it wasn't just the fit of the pants that was the problem; it was the embarrassing need to start keeping an extra pair around. Whenever I was aroused, I started leaking precum like a faucet, and now how much I would try and ignore it, the slight movements in my crotch would slide my cockhead through more and more of my gooey juices, starting a positive feedback loop of horniness.

Not to mention that when this thing got going, it really got going. I had been having the most mind-blowing orgasms of my life, but needed to relieve myself more and more often. And once all the blood started heading to my now definitely big, starting to look disproportionate dick, there was only one way out. I would sneak off to one of the single-stall bathrooms at work, even bringing a small prostate massager for my hungry hole, holding back a scream of pleasure that would've alerted the entire office to a bathroom stall covered in globs of semen. I began to fall into this routine fairly easily, purposefully walking out of the room and whatever folder or shoulder bag or colorful vase was nearby as camouflage for an enormous, pulsing bulge. This whole orgasmic routine had worked beautifully, until I met an ironic, erotic fate on the morning train.

I was still half asleep, trying to sip enough coffee to undo the effects of having been out past 2 a.m. for a show I wanted to see, and resolving—yet again—that this was a habit I would one day decide to break. But it had been a good show, not the least of which because of a fitness twink with the juiciest bubble butt. We hadn't spent all that much time eye fucking each other from across the venue before he was grinding his ass against my crotch. The look on his face when he realized what I was packing was almost enough to send me over the edge right then and there. We moved through the pleasantries at the beat of the music—his name's Winston, halfway through grad school, etc.—but alas, we both had early mornings and ended up parting ways, ships passing in the night.

That is, until I got caught up in the reflection of the train doors, leering at an ass that looked all too familiar, and even juicier in the early morning light. If I wasn't mistaken, you could see it jiggle with the rumble of the tracks. His pink gym shorts looked painted on and his matching tank top accentuated his succulent pecs. I recognized his ass before I recognized his face, but couldn't miss the deep brown eyes staring directly back at me. He tilted his head and gave me a playful wink in recognition, proceeding to indulge in the sight of the bulge in my pants that was about to be difficult to hide.

I covered myself with my backpack, incredulous that this man had me rock hard in rush hour and noting with mild annoyance that my dick was snaking even further down my left leg than it had last night. Winston only looked more bemused by my embarrassment, and his adorable scruffy smile wasn't helping the fact that the pressure of my backpack and rumble of the rails were driving me to the point of no return. I began mapping out the path from the train to the office building to the most-likely-to-be-empty-bathroom for when I reached my eventual stop, but wouldn't even be that lucky.

As Winston turned to leave at the next stop, shooting me an almost regretful wink, the twitch back and forth of his perky cheeks was enough to send me over the edge right then and there. My whole body tensed as I struggled to not reveal the sheer power of this orgasm to everyone around, my dick pulsing in its confined space as I shot ropes of cum into my now ruined slacks. Holding my backpack gingerly in front of my crotch, I got off at the next stop and power walked to a department store that I knew was nearby, texting Myron to let him know I'd be late.

So I was a little preoccupied when I returned to the same club a few weeks later with Myron. I was caught up in the fantasy of my subway crush making a repeat appearance, and I could still manage to shove my unruly dick into a tight pair of leather pants. As we lost ourselves to the music, I thought less and less of my random encounter bae, my attention turning instead to enjoying a night out with my friend, who seemed to be a locus of attention himself. Not that he'd noticed, still reliably, delightfully oblivious, but I had to take some credit for putting a look together that would make his ass really stand out—even more than I had hoped.

I leaned in for my now typical fashionista gloating, slurring “Told you you'd look great in those pants,” in his ear. Except I had not anticipated being slightly off balance as I did this, and suddenly I found my hand settling on Myron's waist and staying. Before I could finish the calculus on how long was too long to linger, he gracefully closed the gap between us, his cheeks coming to rest against my crotch.

My suddenly hard dick was surging against my pants, and sent what felt like a jolt of electricity to my brain as it brushed up against Myron's ass. It settled into a consistent heat in my head that clouded my thoughts as I returned the favor, settling into a rhythmic grind. Sweaty and intoxicated, a voice, soft and distant in the recesses of my brain, worried how professionally appropriate this was. But I was in the moment.

The dull heat started to pound at my temples, reverberating into a feeling of discomfort against the fabric of my tight clothes. I rested my head in the crook of Myron's neck as it reached a fever pitch, until suddenly the sensation shot down to my dick. It felt weird, like it was full to burst and pulsing against the seams, even weirder than usual. It felt…too big.

I made up an excuse about having to piss, and before I could register that Myron even heard what I said, I was making a beeline to the back alley. As I dodged expertly among the bumping crowd, having made this exact trek at many a show on many a night, I almost tripped over myself suddenly making eye contact across the room with none other than Winston, my weekday morning bubble booty subway crush. I was brought back to a full speed power walk by the code red emergency signal coming from my cock, and for a second I thought my missed (and found) connection could also see and hear the sirens and flashing lights just below my waist. His eyes were locked onto my junk in what, in the dim lighting, appeared to be some combination of disbelief and ravenous hunger, mouth agape and subtlety long gone.

I made it to the alley, which was, thankfully, empty. As I pulled out my dick, it almost felt stuck, and when I added some extra elbow grease I hauled out something even I wasn't expecting. I had gotten used to the growth—at least I thought I did—but this was noticeably bigger than it was even an hour previous.

“Jesus…” I whispered.

“...Christ,” exclaimed a voice from the doorway, backgrounded by the resonances of untz untz that wandered into the alley with Winston, my flabbergasted crush. I guess my dick was approaching sight to behold territory, but Winston looked almost reverent, biting his lip in anticipation.

This fantasy had already played out in my head multiple times, but I didn't think the circumstances would be quite like this. As another throb of fullness sent a shiver of too muchness, I tried as casually as I could to settle into something resembling a relaxed pose, resting my right hand on the brick wall of the club, and realizing that the booming base inside was only exacerbating the throbbing coming from my groin.

“That's even bigger than I thought,” said Winston.

“Yeah, same,” I replied with a wry smile.

“Can I?” asked Winston.

“Thought you'd never ask,” I said, my whole body tensing as another pang of too bigness pulsed through my body, my dick rising to just below parallel, drooping under its own weight.

Winston seemed to float across the gap between us, gracefully dropping to both knees and resting a hand gently along my shaft. My dick was painfully sensitive and I was driven almost to the edge, fighting a losing battle against the entrance of Winston's nose, sniffing hungrily along my glans, followed by his juicy lips. I couldn't tell if it was three minutes or three hours while he slurped hungrily at my cock, swallowing as much of me as he could as I burst ropes and ropes of thick, endless cum.

I must've peaced out to another dimension for a bit, because suddenly Winston was holding me up with his strong arms, taking advantage of my lapse in balance to go in for a cum-flavored kiss, sensually exploring the inside of my mouth as I caressed his bubble butt, which felt even bigger up close.

He broke our kiss to gingerly pull my phone out of my pocket and shoot himself a text. “Forgot to do this last time,” he said, with a quick roll of his eyes. “My friends are going to start wondering where I ran off to, but you should call me,” he said, slipping the door back open and disappearing inside.

As I came back to reality in the crisp night air, I realized that I actually did have to pee, relieving my softening dick behind a dumpster, and letting my eyes drift up to the full moon above, lavishing in the residual orgasmic pleasure. I heard the door open and began a lazy smile, thinking Winston had come back for seconds, and instead saw Myron staring agape at the appendage that I had tried—and failed—to hide from view. I made up something quick about the line to the bathroom as I somehow got my dick back into my too tight pants without breaking eye contact with Myron's incredulous expression.

I wasn't enjoying becoming familiar with that look, but the initial shock does die down, I guess. We were back to work the next day like normal, chatting here and there about the show the night before, not talking about the elephant in the room, but also not worrying about it. Honestly, I felt more comfortable in the office after this, knowing that Myron is aware of, and apparently cool with, my mysteriously expanding cock, surprising myself with how much tension I'd been holding over weeks of carefully controlled movements and positions. I guess the secret's out, I thought with relief. At least between us.

So when Myron's contract was reaching its end, I proposed a send-off at one of my fave hiking spots. I'd been promising to take him there for a while—not that he was all that enthusiastic about it—after he mentioned he was familiar with it but never went. As I was leaving to pick him up, I caught myself in the mirror, admiring my very cute, but maybe less practical, outfit, and seeing my own eyes bug out at the bulge in my hiking shorts. I don't think I had worn those since the previous summer, and by the looks of it they were not prepared to handle my growth spurt. At this point, I was getting used to the stares in public and just wanted to look cute, but by the look of the seams on the thin material, I decided to pack a backup just for peace of mind. I reasoned that it might be it for these shorts but they could easily get me through a hike with no mishaps.

Turns out I was comically wrong. Maybe I started off too intense and too fast, but I could almost feel the fabric fighting for its life, stretched tight around my junk. Myron and I took a strong lead early on, though I was gradually getting slowed down by the discomfort in my crotch. We took a breather at a bend in the trail, deciding to wait for the others to catch up. As I caught my breath, I gave myself a moment of respite, resting my hand on my knees and appreciating the cool breeze across my face and, distressingly, along my cock, bobbing lazily in the open air.

Myron sprang into action while I was still registering the situation, shooing me off the trail and away from prying eyes. Much to my grim satisfaction—and his surprise—I whipped out my backup pair and slipped them on, getting the zipper over my prodigious cock just as our coworkers rounded the corner.

The rest of the hike was thankfully uneventful, and I was perked up by being proven right about the waterfall at the end. When we got drinks after, I stayed with Myron until his roommate, Ty, could take him home. I thought it was the least I could do, seeing as I had now accidentally flashed him twice. At some point, with sufficient alcoholic lubrication, we finally did address the elephant in the room. I felt comfortable enough around him to address my recent changes, but I hadn't expected his response. I thought it was just him messing around, but as I reminisced over the past six months, it really felt like the gears were starting to slide into place.

“But the other guys in the office,” I said, still in mild disbelief. “I mean, they look like they're decent, but I don't think anyone's got all this,” I said, gesturing at my overstuffed crotch.

“Might be like, a proximity and time thing?” offered Myron. “I'm just as confused as you are.”

“Proximity and time…right, we share an office eight hours a day and a dancefloor all too often. So if you had a roommate or something—”

“Well.” Myron's eyes widened in epiphany as I remembered that he does in fact have a roommate who's supposed to be taking him home. In fact, I guessed that must be Ty approaching from behind Myron, their heavily tatted stoner look an interesting foil to Myron's more restrained appearance. I assumed it was them by the work uniform, and this, in the context of Myron's recent revelation, was confirmed by the bulge snaking past the bottom of his apron to his left knee.

As they approached with a basket of fries, I noted that Ty's gait seemed slightly off, as if they had to accommodate for their trouser snake, but they seemed accustomed to the extra-long appendage.

“Hey,” they said to Myron, “kitchen's closing soon, you want these? Someone didn't pick up their order.”

“Uh, thanks dude,” said Myron, still lost in thought. “Oh! This is Miguel, I've mentioned Miguel, right?”

“Yeah, great to meet you!” exclaimed Ty, turning to me and revealing an up-close view of the pipe that maybe they thought they had made inconspicuous.

As they walked back to the kitchen to start closing, my eyes lingering on their lithe frame and peculiar walk, I thought out loud to Myron, “You've been roommates for a y—”

“A year. Yup,” replied Myron, a hint of apprehension in his voice.

(More to come)

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