Growing relationship

Next came the honeymoon trip. Wyatt had actually wanted that big ceremony with 200+ people, so how could I say no to two weeks in the Maldives? Soon we were at the airport again, and this time I passed the security check with no problem. Still, I knew what Wyatt was thinking when I saw him waiting for me on the other side, giggling and giving me two thumbs up.

After ten days on the beach, there was only one swimsuit I hadn’t worn yet and it was a Speedo. I hadn’t worn one in years. I’m a confident man, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t necessarily want everyone to see what I had to offer. But the beaches were so private that once a few days had gone by without our seeing another human being, I finally felt safe enough to change into something a little sexier.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the door locked, and turned uneasily left and right. I couldn’t remember it having been such a tight fit back then—was it just the perspective, or was I really that hung? I could remember seeing other men on the beaches but their packages never looked like this, did they? Wyatt must be right. I am Mr. Big.

I was born for the ocean, I learned that week. I felt like a merman, darting through the water like a fish, able to dive for nearly a minute without catching air. Wyatt was more of a sitting-and-drinking-alcohol-from-a-coconut type of guy. Which was exactly what he was doing when I came out of the water that afternoon.

He put his book down to stare when he heard me approaching. I followed his gaze to see what he was seeing—my whole body dripping wet with blue saltwater, my broad shoulders waving and my thighs flexing with every step in the sand—and, yes, Mr. Big was there, too, about as subtle as a burning barn at night. It was pretty obscene, and I noticed Wyatt glancing up the beach, making sure we had this part of the beach to ourselves.

“You should join me in the water sometime,” I said. “It’s so refreshing.”

My junk was almost pressing into his face.

“Not as refreshing as the view from right here. What’s up, big boy?” he asked me, fondling the tip of my low-hanging, skin-tight package with his fingertips. The monster bulged forward in response to his touch, stretching my Speedo to the limit.

“Careful there,” I said. I lay down next to him, but his eyes never left my package. I saw why: now that he’d started getting me excited it was so big and full that you could actually see into it from the side. Part of my balls and wrapped-up cock were actually exposed to the sunlight.

“Connor, how big are you down there? For real?”

I laughed. “You’re asking the wrong guy! You’ve probably looked at my cock more than I have in the past year and a half. Why are you asking?”

“Don’t know—it’s just, I’ve seen it, and numbers are one thing, but—hell, man—it just looks so fucking big today. Don’t you think? Like, record big.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” I smirked, “and I think I like it. I know how big I am down there, so you don’t need to tell me, my little honey badger.”

“This,” he said a little louder, leaning over and grabbing my package with his right hand—shit… it was too big for his hand. “This is porn star huge!”

“Thanks.”

“No, really. There’s no way you were this big when we met over a year ago.”

He gave my cock and balls a gentle massage, and I could feel them pulsating bigger still.

“If you really want to know, it’s… probably 8 and a half inches,” I said, the tingling sensation making my voice crack.

“Connor, I’m so horny right now.”

He stood up and found a new seat on my lap. My cock was out of its prison in no time, swinging up to point to a spot above my navel.

Was 8.5’’ really that big? But Wyatt could take it no problem, right? Maybe I really was a stallion.

Wyatt gave me the best blowjob of my life there on the beach. His skills were legendary and I was close to cumming in under a minute, but I tried to hold it back a while longer… my heart was racing, the heat rising in me until it spilled down into my pulsing cock. This was the first time I’d been able to see it grow with my own eyes; as I watched it looked like between a quarter- and a half-inch of new flesh was suddenly swelling out of my groin and into my extending cock. Wyatt’s eyes were closed and he didn’t see or feel it. Good God, was this real? Was it the heat? I had been in the water all day, my head exposed to the sun and drinking nothing but saltwater and alcohol. After I came in great broad ropes all over my stomach, my head felt dizzy and Wyatt grabbed me a water from the distant bar. In the meantime, I rolled my cock back into my Speedo. It was a hell of a tight fit.

I had another episode the same night. Then another one on our flight back.

Life went on. Our sex life kept getting better, maybe because Wyatt was constantly asking me about my cock. He wanted to measure it. I told him not to be ridiculous.

“I’m a grown man.”

“No! You’re a growing man.”

“This is silly. At my age? Have you ever heard of something like that?”

“No, but—”

“Wyatt, I get it. I’m a fucking stallion. But take it from me, I’m not growing down there.”

After that conversation, he always made sure to comment on my size when we had sex, acting like I was always a bit bigger than the last time. What could I say? I liked it, and I came even harder when he talked to me like that.

After two weeks of constant swimming, my shoulders looked even wider after our honeymoon. On the other hand, I was starting to get a little gut from all the food they were serving us. I asked Wyatt if he wanted to join the gym with me so we could train together, but he declined: “I’m good.” I kissed him on his hair and whispered: “Yes, you are.”

So it was just me and my gut at the gym.

The lady at the front desk showed me around on my first day; I was a little overwhelmed by all the equipment. She said she wanted to write me a training plan, but first she needed to know how much I could lift. “You look pretty big, so I’m guessing we won’t have to start from the beginning.”

“Actually, I’m just here for my tummy. Anything else would be a nice add-on, but that isn’t really priority one.”

“Got it. Then let’s begin.”

Unfortunately, half an hour later I had an episode right in front of her. I had to drop the weights to make sure I didn’t fall unconscious.

“Everything all right? We shouldn’t overdo it on the first day.”

“No,” I gasped. “I’m fine.”

“Great,” she said. “Do another set.”

Two weeks later I was starting to enjoy the new exertion of lifting. My tummy was already disappearing. Another side benefit: all my jeans and pants were starting to get really, really tight—because of my ass adding muscle mass, I guess.

There was one more thing I had to get used to. I’d never gone to boarding school. I’d never lived with other guys in a college dorm. I’d never played team sports, and never hit the showers with other guys. So this was a really strange feeling for me, changing in front of total strangers. The first week, I didn’t shower at the gym because I told myself that I was going to be home in less than an hour, but Wyatt started to notice that my jacket was smelling like my socks, so I didn’t really have a choice.

The first time I went to shower there, I had another major episode the second I opened my locker. I grabbed onto the door to steady myself and took a second to breathe.

“Everything is fine,” I told myself silently.

Another man, younger than me, entered the locker room and started changing a few feet away from me. He was sitting on a bench and pulling his shoes off when I undressed for the shower. This was so weird. It wasn’t a problem in front of Wyatt, but he was my husband.

I turned around to grab a towel and my shoes and my package slapped against the locker door with a loud smack. I reopened it and put my stuff inside. Then I pulled my boxer briefs down and my cock tumbled out with another slap. I grabbed my things and moved off toward the shower when I noticed the other man had been staring at me the whole time. His eyes were glued to my crotch and he was mouthing a voiceless “fuck.”

I just smiled and kept on walking.

There was another man in the shower who was staring, too, but he moved off pretty fast when I caught him peeping.

Men can be so strange.

“Sorry, I’m late, no time for breakfast,” I shouted, running wildly through the kitchen. My stomach rumbled, and I turned back to grab something Wyatt had cooked for my special day. It was our biggest client and I was in charge of the presentation.

I had just grabbed a waffle when Wyatt whistled for me to come back.

“You can’t go out like that!”

“Why? It’s the suit from Aunt Mirren’s wedding.”

“Are you kidding me, honey? If that’s what you looked like back then than I don’t know why nobody said anything to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dude, your bulging insanely down there. Mr. Big is literally waving your career goodbye.”

“Fuck,” I said, “you’re right. The dry cleaner’s ruined it. Fuck.”

He grinned. “I can’t let you and Mr. Big out like that.”

I ran back upstairs to change. On my way down I had another episode. The third that morning.

We were leaving the sauna after 30 minutes of sweating and whispering into each other’s ears. Our bodies were glistening and ready for the ice bath.

“Did you see the guy on the other side?” Wyatt asked me.

“Do you mean the guy or the guy?” I growled.

“Yeah, the buff one.”

“Wide like a double door.”

“Yeah… man, that guy had no shame.”

“Why? Because he was built like a brick wall?”

“What? No. Didn’t you see… ah!” Wyatt let out a squeal as we entered the ice-water pool.

“Damn, is that cold! Fuck, my dick is freezing.”

“That’s what I mean. He was staring at your dick the whole time. For like a solid half-hour.”

“Oh, that.” I shrugged. “Everyone stares at it. At the gym too. I’m used to that.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s huge it doesn’t mean that he can’t be polite. I didn’t stare at his microscopic dick.”

“Let’s see how big you’ll be after this bath.”

“Shut up, big guy!”

Wyatt’s cock really was small by the time we left the basin. Mine was still majestically large, and the feeling of regaining my natural size in the locker room was shivery and wonderful. And there it was again: everyone was staring.

Winter was almost over, which meant it had already been six months since our wedding. The days flew by, and I loved every single one of them.

“Did you wash my underwear?” I yelled down the stairs.

“If you didn’t do it, then yes.”

“Nice job, honey badger.”

I walked to the living room where Wyatt was sitting and reading something about Italy as a vacation destination. He looked at me over the edge of his magazine.

“What’s this about your underwear?”

“You would see if you’d put that magazine away.”

He lowered it. “Wow,” he said.

I was wearing one of my favorite pairs of boxers that I’d bought half a year ago, after our honeymoon. Half an inch of my cock was peeking out of the leg. This particular pair had always been a bit short for me, but now I found I liked them even better.

Wyatt was clearly speechless, but he managed: “I promise I didn’t wash them too hot … “

Wyatt’s father was celebrating his birthday with a small family dinner: just his parents, Wyatt, and me. Wyatt was telling them about our plans for the summer when I felt the volcano rising in me.

My head felt like someone had set it on fire, and I started sweating everywhere. The feeling wandered downward like a cold hand. It became hard to breathe, and then I felt the strange sensation in my dick again. I should have been used to it by now, but every time felt like the first time. It wasn’t stopping, either, but I tried to make sure no one would notice. There was another surge in my already-overgrown penis and at the same time every muscle in my body contracted hard. Then it happened again. Then again. The fifth episode was the strongest, and I must have made a noise as though I had a stomach cramp or something because Wyatt’s mother immediately started asking if the food was okay.

“It was so amazingly good! I’m so sorry, I felt a little dizzy for a second, but it’s over already. Don’t know what that was.”

As Wyatt’s parents were clearing the table, he leaned over to me and asked: “How many times?”

“Five,” I said.

He just stared at me. My shirt had turned three shades darker from sweating so much.

“Happy birthday!!!”

I woke up to Wyatt yelling at me. Still half-dreaming, I muttered, “Th—thank you … “

“Open up, open up!”

Connor was the kind of birthday guest that gets way more excited about everything than the person who’s supposed to be celebrating.

His gift was packages of underwear. I must have looked puzzled because he immediately started to explain.

“I was trying to figure out what you needed, and you didn’t drop any hints this year like you usually start doing two months before your birthday, so I had to think of something myself. What does Mr. Big need? And then I got the idea, and at first I thought maybe it didn’t even exist, but happily it turns out I was wrong!”

I unboxed the first of what looked like more than 20 pairs of undies and boxer briefs. And then I realized.

“It’s all underwear for men with big cocks!” Wyatt shouted happily. “Guys who are huge like you! Happy birthday! Try them on! I want to see you in them!”

My heart was racing as I got out of bed. As I tried the first pair on, Wyatt said, “I’ve seen how they look on the models on the website, but I had to know how they’d look over a package like yours.”

I turned around. Wyatt looked like he was having trouble breathing. I had to admit that this underwear wasn’t only super comfortable—it actually made my junk seem even bigger.

“Come here, big boy! I want that bulge in my face, now!”

I didn’t wear them very long.

Over our anniversary dinner Wyatt and I talked over the past year. The atmosphere was calm and soothing, until I told Wyatt about the incident on the train. Just thinking about that gave me a hard-on.

“So, my big boy enjoys being such a stallion, huh?”

His hand drifted farther under the table until he found my package and tried grabbing it with only one hand. He should have known by now that that was impossible.

The dynamic between us changed then. Suddenly, Wyatt looked serious. “Connor, this isn’t funny anymore. Well, even if it is, we have to talk about it. You! You’re growing down there! When I met you two and a half years ago it wasn’t this big—you can tell me it was as many times as you want, but I know you know it’s not true. You’re growing like a horse down there and it’s getting incredibly obvious. When I saw your bulge when you walked in here I thought my eyes weren’t working right. And now I can see Mr. Big swelling up while I’m talking and it’s even more obvious. It’s fun, I know, and I love it too. I love how strong you are in bed, I love your colossal cock. But what happens if it doesn’t stop?”

“Maybe—maybe you’re right,” I said. “I guess I was just scared of how you would react.”

“Great,” said Wyatt authoritatively. “Now that that’s cleared up: you definitely need new clothes. The days of briefs and skinny jeans are over, big guy. Your junk has officially become way too big for that combo. And when is it going to stop? Have you visited a doctor? Please tell me you have.”

“Several times,” I said. I was glad he wasn’t screaming at me for not telling him.

“And? How long will it be?”

“They can’t tell me anything because they can’t give me a diagnosis. They agree that it’s happening but there’s nothing actually wrong with me.”

I was sitting at my desk. Between my computer and the papers that surrounded me there were at least four or five things in front of me that needed my attention, but I couldn’t concentrate. It was 11 o’clock and I’d already had 9 episodes that day. And of course, I was wearing the wrong pants because I hadn’t listened to my husband. My cock was literally pushing my fly open a little farther every minute and I was constantly busy zipping it back up again and again. The “Hung Man” underwear made me bulge even more. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t stand up from work that day until everyone else was gone.

Boxer briefs were over for me now. No more tight underwear in public, I promised myself.

Now I just had to hope that my boss wouldn’t call any spontaneous meetings that day, because my monster was just getting harder and harder and I wasn’t sure I could even walk in my pants anymore.

Two months after that, I was lying in bed with Wyatt, reading an article on my phone while he watched TV. Wyatt was naked and my hand was resting on his formidable ass, caressing it with my fingertips. Typical Sunday morning.

All at once, I felt the hot flush rising. I fumbled the phone, almost dropping it on my face. Wyatt didn’t notice the first or the second episodes, but he glanced up as the third wave hit me, surging from my brain down through my chest and stomach until it hit the dick in my generously cut boxer briefs—I only wore them at home now. As soon as he realized what was happening, he grabbed the sheet and yanked it down, exposing my trembling package to the light.

“Shit, Connor. Sometimes I really forget that you’re still growing. That looks gigantic.”

“I think the extra large underwear is going to be too small soon,” I admitted. “It’s always especially huge right after it grows.”

“I have to measure it. I have to know.”

“Why? You want to tell your friends, huh? Do they know about this?” I asked, shaking my hips back and forth. My package shifted heavily, the sound of the straining fabric music to Wyatt’s ears.

“Obviously they know that you’re hung like a horse, honey, but not because I told them. They know because you present your package like a prizewinning beast at the county fair.”

“I see. I see. Okay, get the ruler, I’m curious too.”

He sprinted to his desk like a kid on Christmas morning. Meanwhile, I lowered my boxer-briefs to let the monster fuckpole get some air.

He pressed his way-too-small ruler against the base and measured several times. “Sorry we don’t have a tape measure,” he said.

“Clearly it’s time to get one,” I said.

Wyatt did the math and whispered, awestruck: “14 and half inches of solid beast cock. Now Mr. Big finally has some numbers to back him up.”

“I think he’s very grateful to you,” I joked, my cock getting harder as I spoke. Thankfully just harder and not bigger.

We both forgot the TV as Wyatt smiled and leaned down to give me a blowjob. A few weeks ago he’d started having trouble getting the head in his mouth, but he worked diligently and managed to make it fit.

Halfway through, I realized I was having another episode, but Wyatt didn’t stop. He just paused the mouth action and continued stroking with two hands as he observed: “Your balls seem bigger, too.”

“Yeah,” I gasped. “They’ve been growing the whole time. But I’m glad they’re not as prominent.”

“They’re as big as potatoes.”

“Like I said, not as prominent.”

Summer came, and with it our vacation to Italy. It was a beautiful country, filled with even more beautiful people.

On some beaches, it almost seemed like they had a contest going on to see who could wear the least without actually being naked. That wasn’t a competition I could win anymore. I would have set a high bar with my old body, I imagined now: a nice big cock in an ample Speedo—beautiful. If I tried that now I’d end up in jail, probably.

Wyatt tried his best to cheer me up about my beachwear restrictions. He bought me a swimsuit from the same company he’d gotten my birthday presents from, and it fit surprisingly well. At least, it succeeded in hiding some parts of my foot-plus of dick. But things became difficult when my dick grew between trying it on and actually wearing it to the beach.

I was lying on the beach, minding my own business, when a double episode crashed over me like an avalanche. Wyatt was immediately worried, as usual, but the only thing that concerned me was the ripping sound coming from my super-sized briefs. I got even more stares than usual as we left the beach, and I wondered how many home videos I was featuring in. I’d probably be able to google for my own PornHub video by the time we got back home.

I finally caved in: that afternoon we bought the longest and unsexiest shorts in the world. 0 points for me, 1 point for my colossal cock.

“We have your new scans here, Mr.—”

“Connor, please. We’ve been through enough and you have seen more of me than anyone else has.”

“Sadly true,” Wyatt added from his chair in the corner.

“Well,” the doctor continued, “with new scanning technology we’ve now got higher resolutions of all your x-rays… “

“But?”

“We still couldn’t find anything.”

“Again?” asked Wyatt, disappointed.

“So, what’s the plan? We just keep on scanning every few years and hope that someday you find something and that my dick won’t become too big to handle?”

“Connor, I’m sorry about your situation, but this is all I can do for you right now. You’re still able to get erections—that’s a wonderful sign! If things become much for you to handle, there’s always reduction surgery.”

“Bet that’s a first,” Wyatt laughed out loud.

“It’s just the two of us,” Wyatt said. “Why did you buy so many French baguettes for breakfast?”

It took him a second to see it.

“Connor, please tell me that’s not your dick between those baguettes.”

“Hahaha hahaha! Sorry… wanna take a bite?”

Sometimes I woke up at night and couldn’t really tell where my dick ended anymore. Was that crazy? It was so long that I was having a hard time keeping track of the tip of it. It was almost 16 inches long now. Wyatt measured it one night just before we had sex for the first time in two weeks, the longest we’d ever gone. It hadn’t been intentional; we’d just been busy living our lives.

My eyes were already closed, my body covered by the blanket, when I felt his hand fishing for my cock. Sometimes, before he went to sleep, he had to move it back to my side of the bed, or I had to relocate it so he didn’t roll over it in the night. But this time he didn’t let go after a few friendly squeezes. His hand wandered further down and he grabbed me hard by the balls; by that time my hard cock was pressing against his upper arm.

I didn’t open my eyes; it was part of the fun to make him work for it, to let him make me give myself up to him.

Soon I could feel his tongue on the tip of my dick. I chuckled because it tickled, but then the erotic waves hit me and I started to move my hips to his contagious rhythm. Soon his tongue was everywhere, all over my cock, and it felt incredible. I felt my own pre running down the skin of my hardwood. He picked up the tempo again, stroking me even faster. I felt like the earth was shaking.

“I can’t wait for you to grow even bigger!” Wyatt whispered, and I could hear his grin in the dark.

“Just give me some time and I’ll show you what ‘big’ truly means.”

“Come on, big boy. You close?”

“God, Wyatt, so close. Don’t stop.”

Yet instead he slackened his rhythm a little, making me crazy. My eyes were still closed, my face contracted in glorious pain, my whole body convolving around the grip of his hand on my massive cock.

“How big do you want to be? Tell me.”

“There’s no such thing as too big,” I grunted.

“That’s right, big boy,” he whispered.

He squeezed my dick back into his mouth, and I immediately erupted like a volcano.

Half an hour later, we were lying next to each other and the only thing Wyatt could say as we both lay there, out of breath, was: “You make breakfast and I’ll clean the sheets.”

We celebrated our third anniversary with a private candlelit dinner at home. Wyatt had insisted that we not go out. At first I thought it was because of my bulging monstrosity, but then I remembered that I wasn’t that big, not yet. I hadn’t had an episode in over half a year. It had reached close to 16 and a half inches long—more than enough wood for anyone.

Either way, we stayed home and Wyatt cooked a delicious meal which we ate in our boxer shorts, enjoying our three-year bond.

“This was a great idea,” I told him as I filled his plate with seconds. “No suits, no ties, no fanciness… just us.”

“Glad you approve,” he smiled and patted my right thigh. Soon his hand had ambled down to the 7 inches of my cock that were hanging outside the boxer shorts.

I bent down and whispered, “That’s for dessert, am I right?”

“I’m pretty stuffed already. I don’t know if that’s gonna fit.”

We kissed, and soon we were back in bed, the dinner forgotten. The candles burned down slowly as our boxer shorts waited under the table for our return.

“Maybe you should start looking for another job.”

We were walking through the park. Wyatt had clearly been thinking about this for a while, but now he had brought it up so suddenly that I wasn’t sure how to react.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if it keeps growing and growing you won’t be able to walk around in public the way you could before. If you had a home office job, you’d be more independent and it would be a perfect match for your situation. You’re amazing at your job! You could build your own one-man company.”

“I don’t know if we need to worry about that,” I said. “It’s stopped. I’ve measured it every day for the last—”

“I know, but remember when you thought it was going to stop at 12 inches? I’m not trying to freak you out; I’m just saying—maybe as a precaution.”

“I’ll think about it,” was all I said.

About four nights after that I had my first episode in more than nine months.

It had been two months since my growth had started again, but the episodes seemed to work differently now. I was having at least 2–3 episodes a day, and my junk was growing proportionately, in every direction. Not just in length, like before. Even my balls were swelling bigger now.

I quit my job. We moved the furniture and I bought some things to build my new workplace at home. When everything was ready, I stood in the doorframe of my new office—I must have looked a little lost, because seconds later Wyatt’s arms were around my chest.

“Everything will be fine, big guy. Look on the bright side: you won’t have to squeeze into pants every morning now. Enjoy the breeze around your balls.”

“Have you seen them lately?”

“I saw them today when you were in the shower. They’re bigger than ever! I love them.”

The next thing I knew I was pushing everything off my new desk and pushing Wyatt down onto it.

Sometimes I still wore underwear, just for nostalgia. It was good to feel that surreally large bulge shaking in front of me. I had to remind myself that even with no one looking over my shoulder, I still had to work 8 hours a day—sitting naked in front of my Mac didn’t pay the rent. I was playing with my cock so often that I had to wear something to stop me from touching it. I had just broken the 20-inch mark and I was still growing strong. I felt so lucky to have Wyatt: I wasn’t leaving the house as often anymore, but with him by my side, I still had everything I needed. He loved me for who I was and, more importantly, for who I was becoming.

It was nearly our fourth anniversary already. Crazy how the older you get the faster the time goes.

When I woke up, I grinned: part of my dick was lying on my face, my morning stubble scratching the skin of the shaft. In this last year I must have surpassed every horse in the country. There had been times when I’d gotten depressed about it, but a few months ago, there finally came a day when I woke up and suddenly it didn’t bother me anymore. I accepted it. Sure, it would have been nice to know the how and the why, but I was probably never going to know, and I sure wasn’t to let it stop me from living my life.

“Good morning, Mr. Big.” I kissed my own cock. The glans reached over my head now so I couldn’t give myself blowjobs the way I’d used to, but Wyatt was better at it, anyway.

I stood up, my dick staying in the bed as I rose to my feet. I dragged it over the sheets until it fell heavily onto my ankles. That hurt a little—I had to remember to stop doing that every morning.

I stood in front of our sink to brush my teeth while my dick was propped up on the toilet, pissing. Another advantage I would never have thought of.

When I was put my clothes it struck me just how fat my cock had gotten over the last year. It was thicker than my wrist now, 4’’ across at the base, and down to my feet, 29’’ long.

I used a little trick, now, in public. I wrapped the head of it in my sock so it couldn’t poke out of my pants anymore. I knew I looked ridiculous in any kind of pants now, but we lived in a big city where almost no one knew me, so why should I give a fuck?

I went everywhere wearing my high-compression neoprene wetsuit so nobody looked at me twice. My elephant cock was still pretty easy to spot, but I was doing everything I could to keep attention off of it. We were mostly alone at the beach, though, and I did think about going naked a few times.

One morning we went to the beach and Wyatt stopped as soon as we found our beach chairs.

“Forgot my book… I have to go back. Can you wait to swim until I’m back?”

“There’s nobody here. No one will steal our stuff.”

“Just ten minutes.”

“Okay, but hurry or I’ll burn here in the sun.”

The minute he was gone the heat started to prickle my legs. The black neoprene was good at hiding my bulge but terrible at cooling my limbs. I wanted to swim! After 3 more minutes, when he still wasn’t back, I found myself opening my zipper and dropping my neoprene pants. The breeze on my cock felt like a long, cool drink of water.

“Connor! Are you crazy? What if someone comes along and sees you?”

“We haven’t seen anyone here in like 8 days. It’ll be fine. Mr. Big likes the fresh air.”

Wyatt had to think about it for a second, but a minute later he was dropping his swimwear too, adding: “Mr. Big is looking pretty fat. He’s gotten thicker.”

“Yeah, quite a lot, actually. But he’s not any longer. I hope you can still take him.”

“We can try it tonight,” he said casually, as though we were talking about the weather.

I swam naked. I must have looked like I was attached to a sea monster when I rose out of the water: my cock just kept going and going and going.

That night we sat on the coast and talked for over an hour about the future. We even talked about having kids. When we stood up, I saw our prints in the sand and laughed. Wyatt’s showed just his ass, two round shapes where his cheeks had rested. My prints revealed the shape of my more muscular ass, plus two cantaloupe-sized holes where my big balls had rested and a thick trough where my cock had been.

On our flight back, border security fished me out again—I know why they do it, and I’m not even mad at them, but imagine being in my situation and having to explain yourself to them for the twentieth time. I even think one cop actually took photos of me when I wasn’t watching.

Six and a half years into our marriage, things had grown calm between us. I wondered if we might be starting to get old.

Eating dinner with Wyatt every night, I finally felt like a normal grown-up. I could feel the tip of my dick between my feet: it hadn’t grown in over a year and a half. It was still the biggest cock in the world, but it wasn’t getting any bigger. I stopped playing with it under the table when I felt the wetness of precum squelching between my toes.

“I can’t believe I’ve never asked you this, but have you never thought about working in porn, Connor?”

“I thought about it,” I said honestly. “In the end, though, it was just growing faster than I could cope with. I wasn’t confident about it, so I never followed through.”

“And what about now?”

“Jesus, no. I mean, considering how big I am now? I’d be famous overnight, and that’s not something I ever aspired to.”

I dropped my fork and Wyatt looked over to me.

“Everything all right? Connor?”

I wasn’t answering. Just breathing heavily.

“Connor? What’s happening?”

“It just happened… “

“What?”

“I just had another episode!” I shouted. It was the first one I’d had in eighteen months, but it felt slightly different, I knew from the second it started. Something wasn’t right.

Wyatt and I and a couple of our friends were on the dance floor. The music was pulsating through my bones and colored lights flickered around us. I could only see Wyatt’s smile now and then, when one of the spots hit his beautiful face. This night out was just what I needed, and I was enjoying every moment of it. The episodes had been back for 2 weeks, striking randomly. They weren’t as consistent as they had been, but weirdly, they felt harder than they’d used to; my whole body would shiver and contract powerfully as wave after wave of sensation flowed up and down my body.

I had one right there on the dance floor, and moved over to the bar without anyone noticing. I clung to my drink, trying to steady myself, and took a deep breath, the buttons on my shirt straining outward. When nobody was watching, I glanced down at my ankle where my cockhead was tucked into my sock.

“Isn’t this big enough already? How much more do you want?”

Of course, he didn’t answer—instead, another episode began as soon as I finished speaking. Bastard.

“Fuck!” I cried. I didn’t realize Wyatt was home until he came running into my home office just as I was starting to calm down. He was still wearing his jacket and shoes. It looked like he’d just come home a few seconds before.

“Everything all right? Why are you screaming?”

“It’s just… nothing,” I mumbled. I knew that I was being an asshole, but I just didn’t feel like explaining. I must have looked like a total loser, sitting there in my super loose sweatpants and 3XL lounge shirt.

“Is it work?”

“No, it’s … listen, Wyatt. I’m sorry. I had a horrible day. I had so many episodes that I stopped counting after 15 or 16.”

His voice lowered in concern. “What can I do for you?”

“You’re sweet, but I guess the answer is nothing.” I threw my pen away from me and closed my laptop. “Guess I’ll just call it a day. I’m going to bed early.”

“Do you want me to join you?”

“That would be lovely, but I can’t have sex after a day like this. I… I don’t want to see it.”

“Okay, then, it’s just us.”

The next day was a Saturday. I was woken up by another episode. I wanted to scream. Was every day going to be a repeat of my hellish Friday for the rest of my life? Until I got so big that our house couldn’t contain my monstrous cock any longer?

I stayed in bed, the blanket up to my nose, but Wyatt made sure I was safe and sound. He was there for the whole day, bringing me food and staying by my side through every single episode.

Sunday was the same. Over the course of the weekend I had over 40 of them.

It was finally time to see the doctor again. I called him on Monday morning. I could hear Wyatt cooking breakfast in the kitchen. I stood up: my cock felt as heavy as before in my sweats, and I hadn’t looked at it up close in three days. I just did not want to. My steps felt kind of heavy and louder than usual, and I was scared of what I would see in the mirror. Now I entered the bathroom, lowered my sweats to my ankles and pulled out my cock like a magician in a theater producing a a rope. Fat and veiny, it sat there in my hands as I took a laborious piss. The strangest part was, as far as I could tell it looked exactly like it had last week. Still monstrous and gigantic in every sense, but still, something wasn’t right.

I shaved my short beard and marveled at how good my neck looked in the mirror. Big and truly built. My days of going to the gym regularly were behind me, but the results were still there. I smiled for the first time in days.

I showered, trying to shake off the stress of the weekend, which seemed to be weighing heavily on my body. My arms, legs and even my head felt more cumbersome than usual, but I was relieved to see that my cock still wasn’t touching the ground, just slapping audibly against my ankles with every step as usual. All the mirrors in the bathroom were covered in fog.

I went commando and only put my pants on; they felt quite snug around my ass. I put a shirt on, went to the big mirror in our bedroom, and shrieked.

Wyatt found me sunken on the bed, almost in tears. My loose, casual around-the-house clothes were practically glued to my frame. The sleeves of my shirt were ready to tear from the size of my biceps. The veins were visible even through the fabric. On the bottom, the shirt was a little too short, and a slice of my hairy, muscled abdomen was visible. My thighs stretched the seams of my pants, and the mass of my cock had torn through the fabric of the other pant leg.

Wyatt whispered: “Step on the scale.”

I did as I was told.

I had weighed one hundred seventy-one pounds for over a decade. I’d never had problems with gaining or losing weight, and was always toned no matter what I did or how much I ate. Now the scale showed two hundred thirteen. A difference of forty-two pounds.

“Take your shirt off!” Wyatt ordered.

“What the fuck,” we said simultaneously as my newly developed physique came into view. My pecs showed definition and cast deep shadows onto my torso where we could see the first outlines of a beefy six-pack. I raised my arms into a double-bi pose, and the seams on my arms literally exploded. Wyatt traced a line over my biceps that ended in my hairy pits.

With clear awe in his voice, Wyatt said: “We won’t be able to hide that for long… “