When I started my freshman year of high school at Patrick Henry High I was happier than most men of my age and kind of life. For the first thing, my father was very rich, something we don’t talk about much in America but which does a lot to determine our baseline of comfort or unhappiness. For the second, I was already an extraordinarily talented athlete. I was gifted at sports in general—I was a stupendous long-distance runner and I probably could have been a great gymnast, I was excellent at baseball and football—but at nothing in the world was I better than basketball. I was lucky because my local team at Patrick Henry had been one of the best in the state for years, and I wanted desperately to join the men on the court as soon as I could. Of course, basically every man in the school wanted to be on the basketball team, because their phenomenal success and oddly uniform physical beauty made them some of the most sexually lionized men probably alive in America at the time; they literally had their choice of sexual partners among all the women in our extremely large high school, and, according to rumor, a fair portion of the mothers in the district too. I thought that there were very few things finer than the chance to play on and off the court with Patrick Henry High’s Raiders. I was aided in this desire both by my spectacular athleticism and my even more spectacular physical beauty. This is another thing we aren’t supposed to talk about when we’re fortunate enough to have it on our side, but I can’t really ignore it in my case. I’m like a male Helen of Troy. I’m a caricature of male perfection: hugely broad shoulders, narrow waist, perfectly formed ass, well-defined back and so on. You get the picture. I tanned naked by the pool when my parents were gone on the weekend—which was almost all the time—which added the last element of ideal magnificence to my black-haired green-eyed glory. Often, I’d just stand in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror and questioning whether the world had been right to give me to women.
I was terrified. Why? Because the Raiders had extremely high standards for joining the varsity team. Tryouts lasted for two weeks in the fall before conditioning began. The first week was designed to eliminate the players who simply couldn’t meet the standard, while the second week was devoted to more exacting comparisons of skill. During the second week, though, the coaches permitted the team to take the guys who had made it through the first week of tryouts for special “team-building exercises” in the locker room. These unsupervised “exercises” let the guys on the team determine who they thought had the chops to join them in their orgies and their sex-games: it was a pretty open secret that the varsity players put the prospectives through a demanding series of sexual exams, and their feedback played an important role in the coach’s choice of who made the team.
And it was this that had me terrified, the thought of entering the hallowed ground of the varsity locker room for the first time, where famously no one, the coach and female guests included, was permitted to wear any clothes once they walked through the door. It was for this reason that the Raiders coach tended to be unusually young and fit. It’s a difficult thing to command the fear, respect, and obedience of a roomful of naked sexual gods, especially when you’re naked yourself, and as each coach got older he lost the physical self-confidence necessary to pull off such an impressive feat and had to be replaced, always with a recent alumnus of the team who were still in the area. Incidentally, the basketball coach was, if anything, even more sexually masterful than his players, and routinely made the rounds of the junior and senior girls during team orgies.
So you can see, from this description, why it was that any man with a cock wanted on this team. It was like a ticket to paradise, a perfect high-school fraternity, Fast Times at Cumhard High. And, as you might imagine, I was in pretty good position for this group of gigolo jocks, as an absurdly handsome and magnificently athletic basketball star. I already had had a taste of what the life of the varsity players was like. It couldn’t be helped; when I strode lithely across the lunchroom women stopped and stared. When I walked into my classes female teachers clenched their knees tightly together. I was working out regularly to get in shape for tryouts, and the disruption of my shirtless lifting schedule had become so well-known that very few dudes tried to lift during my time; women only came to stare. Several times over the early fall different older girls had propositioned me, flashed me their bare pussies in class, trying to entice me into fucking them. There was a pretty large pool going in the cheerleading squad about which of those incredible beauties would enjoy me first; three of the hottest senior girls had joined forces and tried to drag me forcibly into the bathroom to slake their lust. And on that occasion I had almost given in.
Which would have been the end of me, because of the one detail we haven’t talked about yet. Despite my immense beauty and my incredible body and everything else, the Universe had played one devastating, ruinous prank on me: my penis was tiny. Ridiculously, laughably small. Soft, it was an inch and a half long and the diameter of a pencil. At its ready-to-snap hardest, it was just over three inches, and about as thick as my smallest finger. My balls were, if anything, even smaller; they looked like a sack of marbles. I had so little semen I couldn’t get it up more than once a day, and when I came (a difficult task; I was so small I couldn’t even get one finger wrapped around the fucker, so I had to masturbate by humping the bed laboriously) it looked like someone had spilled a tiny little eyedropper of semen. Pissing was impossible. I was too small to reach the urinal, so I had to pee sitting down, and even so I splashed the seat half the time. Orgasming wasn’t even particularly fun; it lasted for about a second and felt a little like a good stretch. I flopped an unlucky set of genetic cards in the dick department.
The worst thing, though, was that everyone thought I was hung like a horse, what with my six-foot-four-inch height and my huge hands and my size fifteen shoes. The running consensus among the women I had refused to bang, despite their desperate efforts to win me over, was that I was embarrassed of the unusually large size of my worthless cock. If only they had known.
Things were getting more and more dangerous for me, and I was getting terrified about the team-building exercises. Twenty times I had woken up in the middle of a nightmare where I had strolled into the lockerroom, pulled off my shirt revealing my godlike torso, and then dropped my pants showing off the shame of my crotch; I always woke up lying in bed still hearing the roars of laughter from the guys on the team as they threw me out into the hall. I didn’t know what to do. Night after night I would frantically hump my mattress until my weak orgasm passed over me like a little shadow and left my pathetic stain on the sheet—so tiny I didn’t even worry about my mom discovering it—and then lie there, panting in fear, until I couldn’t stay awake any more. It was horrible.
Tryouts started at the end of October. The first week went by like a terror-drenched ballet. I was so much better than the other freshman (and a lot of the varsity players) that it was completely unquestioned that I’d make it through the cut on the athletic test alone. Day after day the coach cut more and more of the guys, sending them home with a kind but dismissive private word, and each time more of the players started slapping me on the back and talking to me during water breaks and treating me like one of the guys. After the tryout practice on Thursday night, the coach set his hand on my shoulder as I walked out to grab my ride home and said softly, “Tommy, I’m looking forward to coaching you this year.”
All this was good. The only problem was, my ride home was a junior player named Matt, a quiet buff shooting guard with dark hair, who also drove two of his fellow juniors from the team. So I sat quietly in the back and was inundated by the stories they traded about their adventures that day. It was incredible. Despite the common rumors about the guys on the team, I had had no idea that the school was such a cesspool of sex. All three of these guys got laid at least once a day, usually by different girls. Matt, who it seemed was unusually humble but a famous cocksman on the team, was regularly fucking the smoking hot math teacher Ms. Emerson (known to most guys in the school as Ms. Titsmoreson on account of the shocking size of her bosom). This had apparently been going on all year, but he was promising to bring her to a team party and share her with the rest of the guys as soon as he could talk her into it.
I obviously was hard as a rock during these exchanges, although no one could tell given my problem—yet another reminder of exactly why I was so scared all this time. For the first two days of practice all three of them walked out to Matt’s car and stood waiting silently for me, which freaked the shit out of me and made me feel distinctly unwelcome in addition to horribly inadequate; those two car rides were horrible, as they were all plainly ignoring me. On Wednesday, though, Frank Simmons called my name and stopped to wait and walk out with me after practice, which did an incredible amount for my self-esteem. We talked a little as we went to the car, mostly awkward small talk, but I felt a lot more comfortable as I settled in for the twenty minute drive, especially as Mat and Sam, the other kid, both said, “What’s up, Tommy” as I approached.
Thursday night I walked out with my spirits high, almost forgetting the ruin that awaited me, intoxicated by what could only have been a near-guarantee of getting on the team from the coach. I swung into Matt’s car and even managed to laugh at a few of their ridiculous stories. Matt was quietly relating how he had gotten Ms. Emerson unusually worked-up with a long tonguelashing of her wet slit and then made her beg for his cock as he stood poised over her pussy. Finally, he said, he had made one balls-deep plunge, pulled out, and started slapping her clit with the head of his dick. He said she started screaming, “Fuck you!” over and over again as he tortured her, until finally she broke down and agreed to join him at a team orgy later that month. In his words, she said, “Yes, I can’t live without huge basketball cock, I’ll do anything to get more, just fuck me fuck me fuck me!” The guys immediately cheered and trade high-fives, joking about what they would do to sate her longing for meat.
Then Frank turned to me with a sly look. “What about you, Tommy?” he said. I froze. None of them had spoken directly to me over the three days before this, and being acknowledged sent my sense of well-being out the window.
“What?” I said stupidly.
“Well, surely you’ve got some stories. I know you haven’t given in to the team whores yet—and good for you, wait until they have to do what you say when you’re on the team—but come on, a boy like you? Give us a tale of big-dicked adventures.”
“I, uh—” I sputtered in terror.
Sam joined in. “Yeah, buddy, come on. Not that you should get cocky, but given what we’ve seen so far, it seems pretty sure you’ll be with us for a while, so give us an idea of what we’ll be dealing with at your first team party.”
“Urgh—” I thought I was going to pass out.
“Listen, Tommy, don’t be ashamed of being well-equipped. Not a guy on this team isn’t. And hell, you gotta know by now that as soon as you get into the locker room for the first time on Monday we’ll all see what you got going on down there anyway, so—”
I considered suiciding on the spot, but as we pulled up in front of my house Matt came to my rescue. “Don’t beat him up for being humble, you fuckers,” he said with calm authority. They all seemed immediately to listen. “See you next week, Tommy,” he said kindly as I spilled out of the car.
I slept very poorly that night.
The next day of tryouts was an easy one, as coach had finished his cuts for the first week and let us scrimmage some. As we wrapped up, he stopped us from walking out the back gym door and said, “Well, boys, congrats on making it this far. You have a lot further to go next week before you put on a Raiders jersey. You have to earn that honor from me… and from the team.” A rustle of fear went through the group. “And on that subject, you all have an appointment in the locker room. Don’t worry, team-building doesn’t start until next week, but… well, head over there now. See you all on Monday. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do this weekend.” There was a nervous laugh as we turned and started slowly walking toward the locker room; a rumor had just swept the school that Coach Ben, who had graduated three years before, had been in the middle of a threesome the past weekend with the captain of the girls lacrosse team and her mom when the husband came home. He had jumped out of a window naked and jogged home with a legendary huge erection. So “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” didn’t rule out much from this guy.
We walked down the hallway, all of us, in dead silence. I was shaking. I hadn’t been prepared for this destruction to come so soon, thinking I had until Monday to enter these sacred surroundings of the locker room. We approached the terrifying doorway and just came to a stop, waiting for something to happen.
A minute went past, and a desperate hope had just risen in my chest that I would get out of this when the door opened and a senior named Joseph stepped out, completely naked, dripping from the shower, and sporting a soft dick that hung six inches down his thigh. My brain exploded in my head. Nothing is that big! I wanted to cry.
Joe laughed at the dumbfounded expressions on most of our faces and leaned casually against the door, holding it open against the wall with his ass, his abs flexing as he crossed his arms and the hallway ringing with the soft but audible slap of his cock hitting his thigh as he shifted. His body was cut like mine, and he was one of the few players on the team who was definitively better than I was. All things considered, I felt somewhat outclassed.
“So, you all by now are familiar with what will take place next week during team-building, right?” He took our frozen silence for a yes. “Well, today is not team-building. In fact, none of you will remove your clothes. This event is the only occasion when anyone is allowed in our lockerroom without being naked, so remember that. Today isn’t about you, it’s about us. It’s a sort of demonstration of what you’re working for. You all know about the tradition of excellence in Raider basketball, and you’ve seen the trophies. Those are the rewards you’re working for on the court next week. But you’ll be working pretty hard off the court next week, too, and it’s an old tradition that we show you what the rewards waiting for you in that category are like, too.”
During this speech Joe’s dick had been visibly swelling, stretching longer and thickening. He had seen that we are all staring or trying not to stare at this sight and, with a laugh, reached down and started kneading the length of his dick.
“The Varsity team ranks itself based on cock size and then splits ties based on seniority. By that measure, I am the Fifth of the team. The job of the Fifth is to guard the lockerroom, so if any of you fuck up in here tonight—which includes speaking, touching anything, trying to jerk off, or doing anything else I dislike—I will personally kick your ass and then tell coach to cut you right now. You’ll have plenty of fun in here next week, even those of you who don’t make it through, so keep things kosher and we’ll all do good.”
We were having a little trouble focusing on this well-intentioned speech because his dick was getting bigger and we were most of us boggled by the sight. He realized this and laughed again, even as he switched his grip and started stroking in earnest, his breath coming faster.
“All right, boys, get in there and sit in the chairs waiting for you.”
We awkwardly filed past him as he closed his eyes, squeezed his left nut in his fingers, and started pounding his meat hard, moaning softly. I thought, as I twisted to avoid walking into his still-growing dick, that this was the perfect image of the freedom given to the boys on the team: Joe evidently saw nothing wrong with standing naked in a public hallway jerking off as a group of guys walked past.
We turned the corner and saw the locker room for the first time. There was a big open space at the front with two blackboards, where the team gathered before games and during halftimes for instructions. The rows of large, deep lockers started behind this space. In the back I could see an opening that led to the legendary communal showers, and the coach’s office was to the left of the lockers, with windows looking out on the whole locker room. The open space at the front was filled with thirty-five chairs, which we filled as ordered, hearing the door slam shut behind us. The silence was only broken by Joe’s noises from behind the barrier which concealed the room from prying eyes looking through the door: we could hear his balls slapping and his hand thrusting and his quiet moaning. Suddenly that cut off and Joe stepped around the barrier, fully erect.
“Just so you know, boys, I’m exactly eight inches long and five around,” Joe said smugly as he stepped in front of us and put his hands on his hips. His giant dick was so heavy with its own blood it hung down thirty degrees and visibly throbbed with his heart beat, the massive head glistening already.
“So why am I standing in front of you with a boner? For one thing, to get you used to this. We’re always naked in here and our lives are mostly devoted to sex, so you’re going to see your teammates with boners a lot. And from time to time you might even lend a buddy a hand as the spirit strikes you. You figure that out for yourself. The point is this: if you’re uncomfortable, get the fuck out because you’re not made for this team. For another, though, I’m here to perform one of the best jobs the Fifth gets to do: the demonstration.”
My tiny little dick was throbbingly hard, and I was dizzy with fear, so it was a nasty shock when Denise Lorette, the captain of the cheerleading squad who had tried to rape me in the bathroom three weeks earlier, walked from where she had been hiding in the first row of lockers to join Joe at the front of the room. She was completely naked and a vision of sex. The nipples on her huge creamy tits were already incredibly hard and her thighs were glistening with the juice from her shaved cunt, which accentuated the swell of her killing ass and the length of her legs. She was perfect, and without saying anything she sank to her knees and started blowing him. He casually took her head in his hand and kept talking, though he was blinking a lot.
“A lot of girls in this school have gotten addicted to our dicks and do pretty—uhhhhh—much anything we ask—oh, fuck—them to do. And this is the demonstration Jesus, that’s good. This is the taste of what you get FUCK, bitch, slow down, slow—no, get off, I gotta fuck you now.”
Denise moaned longingly—I could see she had her hand buried in her flowing snatch—as Joe disengaged and flipped her around so she was kneeling. This maneuver was one of the most provocative things I’ve ever seen: Joe, his body defined by the light sweat he had worked up during his vigorous preparatory masturbation in the hall and by his recent shower, stood with his slim and muscular legs spread to make room for the throbbing pillar of flesh between them while he levered the flushed and heaving body of the incredible Denise over and backwards, her tits spilling fleshily towards the ground and her juices actually dripping from her wide-spread pussy to the ground. Joe sank to his knees, his massive cock rising and falling rapidly with arousal, and wrapped his hand around the hugely thick shaft to guide it into the depths of Denise. As he did I risked a quick glance around at my fellow freshmen. Everyone was flushed and breathing hard and obviously incredibly aroused. I could see that the guy in front of me had decided to sit on his hands to avoid the temptation to grab his cock and whack off wildly, in keeping with Joe’s orders at the door. The kid next to me, though, who was sporting an impressive bulge running down his left leg, was surreptitiously squeezing it through his shorts. They were made of thin mesh and, based on where I saw the ridge of his cockhead pressed against his thigh, the dude must have been almost as impressive as Joe himself. The kid saw me looking at his forbidden antics and grinned slyly, pressing his cupped hand around his bulge and beginning to slide slowly up and down in a pretty good version of masturbation. This was very hot.
Joe, at the front of the room, spat on his dick and spread the slick saliva over the expanse of his head. As he did, he looked up at us, grinning evilly, and said, “All right, get ready for a show, boys. Now, I know a lot of you probably couldn’t resist the temptation to get a little pocket pool going on. I know I did three years ago. If you really want to beat your meat, you can do it. But. As soon as I get done fucking the shit out of Denise here, I will beat your balls until they pop and you will have traded four years worth of the craziest sex you will ever have for a single load.”
Denise, who had been frigging her clit wildly, screamed, “You fucking big-dicked bastard, if you don’t stop talking to those little shits and stick your pole in me I swear to God I will cut it off and go have it cast for a dildo so I can shut OH MY JESUS CHRIST SO BIIIIIIII—”
This last, as you may have concluded, coincided both with the kid next to me quickly letting his cock fend for itself and with Joe vengefully skewering Denise with a single balls-deep thrust of his dick. As his low-hanging balls made a loud slapping contact with her clit, the girl very loudly shot into an instant orgasm, something so hot that I never believed it could happen. A guy behind me audibly moaned.
I don’t remember much of the scene that followed, as my unbelievably high levels of horniness and fear combined to put me in a sort of fog. I do recall Joe flipping Denise onto her back and viciously pulling her legs up over his shoulders to get deeper penetration, and watching as his pistoning ass muscles drove her over the brink a whole lot of times. I also remember that she actually passed out during a series of lightning-quick plunges where he would actually pull all the way out and dive down to his balls over and over again; her eyes rolled back into her head as she was screaming. Joe only laughed and pumped faster, digging his hands into her luscious tits. With her screams silenced, the bathroom was filled with the noise of Joe’s loud grunts, the heavy breathing of the freshmen sitting with me, squishing noises as juice was forced out of Denise’s far-too-small pussy, and the incredibly loud smack as each drive forced Joe’s giant balls to hit Denise’s ass.
His own orgasm was a sight to behold, shaming my weak transient spot-jobs on every level. As it grew he began to moan, and then to roar; his roar cut off in mid-thrust as his hips drove his cock all the way inside and his body jackknifed with the first pulse. Then he resumed his attack on her cunt, grunting deep in his chest with every shot. After a few of these he pulled out and started frantically jerking his dick—even bigger now, if possible—and shot another two big loads of jizz all over the unconscious girl’s red and sweating torso. We were all speechless. As the momentum wore down he leaned backwards and laughed a few times, slapping his own dick and quivering each time he did, until he took a deep breath, open his eyes, and looked back at us. “All right, little boys. We will see you back here on Monday. Be prepared for a lot of hard work, but remember what you’re working for. Now I have to go clean this lady up, so if you’ll excuse me—”
His dick only slowly softening back to its astonishing soft size, he picked her up in his arms and walked casually past us back to the showers, cock slapping from side to side as he went.
We were all silent for a minute until the kid next to me—who had been having so much fun with himself—stood up. His name was Hank, called Handsome Hank by a lot of girls in school because of his surfer good looks and his impressive body, and he was one of the freshmen who had held his own with me on the court that week. With whatever part of my brain was still working, I expected him to be a strong competitor over the next week of tryouts. I noticed that my hands were white and shaking as he said, “Well, dudes, that was pretty impressive, and I don’t know about you but I need to blow a load or I’m going to pass out. Anybody who’s interested, come talk to me and I’ll tell you how to get to my house. We can have a good old fashioned J/O party and do some renegade team building of our own to get ready for these fuckers next week. It’ll be a good ice-breaker for whatever crazy shit we have to do in here on Monday.”
A couple guys shook their heads and split for the door, but most of them looked interested or at least philosophical about the suggestion. As some chatter finally started up in the room, Hank turned to me where I was still shell-shocked. “What about you, Tommy? Want to come pull your pud with us?” He laughed eagerly.
It took a second for me to reengage with the world and another moment to accept that this was for real, but as soon as I did I realized the danger I was in. “Uh, no, that’s cool, man. Thanks.”
Hank frowned. “Come on, dude. I know people are saying you’re a little standoffish, and I can understand that, but come on. I clearly can swing a bat in your league, too—” Horrified as I was by my growing reputation, I could see what he meant: he was a lot closer to soft than when he was trying to get away with getting off earlier, but the shape moving behind his shorts showed that he was wearing boxers and had nothing to be ashamed about. “And how are you going to deal with this team if you won’t mess around?”
I flushed furiously. “Ah, no, man, it’s not that. My dad’s back from a business trip and I need to eat dinner with my parents. Next time for sure. I’ll, uh, you know, you have a good weekend.”
Hank’s frown relaxed into a smile and he slapped me on the shoulder. I ducked out of the room even as he turned and said, “All right, who wants to go watch some porn and use up some KY?” I realized, walking shakily to the front where my dad was waiting in his Beemer, that I had just taken a rain check to masturbate with a group of near-strangers. Such, I suppose, is the mad life of a Raider.
A life I could never share, I realized that weekend. I spent Saturday in a fog of grief and despair, realizing that I could only drop out of tryouts. The shame of revealing myself in front of men like Hank and Joe was unthinkable. I had never really realized before how incredibly small my dick was, despite the porn I had watched and the surveys I had read online; it’s impossible to understand something like that until you see a guy jerking off in front of you and fucking a girl into unconsciousness with a dick almost three times your own size. And he’s only the Fifth! I kept thinking, over and over, like an evil chant. And like most other people in my generation who feel bereft and homeless, I went to the mall.
This seemed like a bad idea. Several groups of girls from high school went into peals of giggles when they saw me or suggestively called me to their tables, forcing me to new levels of creativity in pretending I hadn’t seen them. Even the sight of housewives staggering or dropping their bags as they caught the stunray of my sex appeal lacked it’s usual charm because it only reminded me that I could never satisfy them and was doomed to a life of loneliness and blowing my salary on every penis-enlargement scam in the world. I was ruined, and I knew it, and it sucked—and even thinking that reminded me that no girl would ever suck me, which made me want to cry.
Going to the mall was actually the best decision of my life, however. I couldn’t know this because I would not until some time later become aware of that fact that Northtown Mall was a social center for retired supernatural beings of every order, explaining a great deal (though not all) of the bizarrely-dressed people who wandered around there all the time; unfortunately, the Goth kids have no excuse other than being weirdos. And as I was distracted by a woman walking out of Macy’s and shattering several hundred dollars of China in her sudden wave of lust inspired by me, I bumped into an elderly lady wearing some limp leaves around her head and a cloak with holes in it and carrying what looked like a decorative apple stolen from some store display where they gilded everything.
I felt terrible because she was so old it looked like her skin might turn to powder any second, and I quickly apologized. “Oh, I am so sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see you there. Are you all right? Can I get you anything at all? Do you need to sit down?”
The woman fixed me with a watery eye and quavered like a cracked teapot, “Well, you are a good-looking specimen, aren’t you? Nice ass.”
I froze in shock and tried to back away. She grabbed my arm in an arthritic withered hand that held me like a steel collar. “My meaning is, I was walking along here and thinking about how all the spark’s gone out of the world, men pasty and flabby and ugly and women short and careless and everyone walking too quickly and no eyes for anyone but themselves, and then here along comes walking a fella out of the times I like to think about, looking like carved copper and with a face that could tempt stone and still polite and humble.”
The woman was obviously even more insane than you’d guess from her decrepit face and trembling age. I tried to twist away but she squeezed harder, squealing, “Nice arms, too. Mm, I would fuck you hard if I were a little younger.” A passing mother looked at me, scandalized, and I tried to indicate that I was an unwilling participant. She screeched on.
“You know, boy, a fella like you doesn’t deserve cruel jokes played on you, and I still swing enough weight in certain circles to have jokes undone. Look me up when you’re dead and you can pay me back. Enjoy life.” Even as I tried to imagine what was going on in her melted brain she let go of me and somehow drifted into the crowd, even though no crowd existed. I was very startled, but it almost immediately became difficult for me to remember what had just happened; only in retrospect has this crucial part of the story become clear. Shaking off what had already acquired the feeling of a strange daydream in my head, I walked on, wrapped up in the certain knowledge of my coming doom.
I went home on the bus and ate a sullen dinner, much to my dad’s dismay who hadn’t talked to me in a week. My silence provoked a heated discussion about my table manners which evolved into a loud slamming argument about my commitment to the family and resulted in my being exiled from the family trip to the amusement park the next day. I stormed up to my room, my younger brother and sister laughing at me hysterically and my mom trying to calm my dad down, and slammed the door. I stripped naked and, as I fell furiously into bed, felt the tiny stub of dick try and fail to flop with my movement. Remembering the incredible sight of Joe’s dick slapping casually back and forth beneath Denise’s ass as he carried her past us in the locker room, I thought, Well, fuck you, life.
I woke up the next day feeling a little better. I would have the house to myself for the day, on account of my punishment from the night before, and at least I could watch some movies or something. Sure I’d have to drop out of the basketball team, but that would just give me a chance to explore new avenues for my talents. Hockey, maybe, where you wore thick layers of clothing and pads and a cup over your groin. And it’s not like I needed basketball for a scholarship; my trust fund alone would pay for any college in the land and let me live like a prince at the same time even if my dad disowned me. Things could be worse.
I could feel by the general cloggedness down south that I had a morning erection, which seemed just terribly cruel considering the circumstances, and as I rolled onto my back I laid with my eyes closed and said, “Listen, universe, I will not give into you being a bitch. So fuck off.” And opened my eyes, ready to face the new day and a new life.
And, as you have no doubt guessed, stared in shock at my sheet hanging an unbelievable distance above my crotch.
After a few frozen seconds passed I ripped the sheet off to expose the most impressive penis I had ever imagined. It throbbed with incredible hardness directly up from my body, standing like some miraculous monument to male sexuality. Not only had it lengthened but also thickened incredibly, and the head looked large enough to crack windows if it got up enough velocity. And I could now feel my legs being held a little further apart by what must be a truly impressive set of gonads to go with this godlike penis. The tan I so scrupulously acquired even on my sad little dick had spread with this change and covered the whole thing. As the first drop of precum ran out of my broad slit and began to make the long, long journey down to the ridge of my head, I let out a scream of joy and jumped out of bed.
I ran to the bathroom, the titanic gyrations of my dick and balls making me want to sing, and grabbed a ruler out of the bathroom drawer. Some swift measurements in front of the mirror, which I could barely stop staring at long enough to work the ruler, confirmed my sight judgments. I was now the proud owner of a rod of flesh which stood twelve and one-quarter inches long and was six and one-half inches in circumference. My balls seemed to hang about four and one-half inches down, and their weight in the hand was truly extraordinary. As I looked up from this examination and saw myself in the mirror, I realized that I was basically a god of sex: my perfect body was now matched with a perfect penis.
Well, aesthetically perfect, at least, combining size and heft with a pleasingly symmetrical arrangement of veins and a hardness so intense that it made my dick feel like a piece of steel and stand straight out from my body, shaming Joe’s thirty-degree fall. But did it work?
I laughed out loud as I realized that I could finally and for the first time masturbate the way all the guys at school talked about it. I grabbed a bottle of hand lotion from my counter and squirted it all over my length. I wrapped one hand around it—yelling with delight as I saw that my fingers barely made the trip around the girth—and, feeling for the first time a hand on my cock and the coolness of lube, breathed a quick prayer that this wouldn’t be the cruelest trick of all and this god-penis wouldn’t work, and let my hand make it’s first long trip down the length.
I mentioned before how masturbation and orgasm had both been stupid shadows with my old genitalia. Well, nothing could be further from the case with the new junk. I screamed and slid to the floor against the wall, my body spasming just from that first stroke. I opened my eyes, gasping, and said faintly, “Oh thank you” before I wrapped my left hand above my right and let loose with a wild two-handed attack on my dick.
The pleasure was literally indescribable. I’ve had the opportunity to see a lot of men and women have sex since then, and I have only encountered two or three who seemed to take as much pleasure out of it as I did. My dick seemed to be hooked up to some sort of amplifier; each touch and caress crashed into my brain like a bomb of pleasure.
Even as I screamed and thrashed around, I dimly remembered one of those awkward joking lunchtime conversations where I had had to pretend I knew how to masturbate normally, when one grinning guy back in eighth grade had said, “Well, but I’m sure we all agree that everything else ain’t got nothing on the old head. The head is my ticket to paradise.” With an incredible effort of will I detached my left hand, raised it to the throbbing untouched immensity of my cockhead, wrapped it around and started a corkscrewing motion.
I think I passed out. When I came to I was still violently stroking my shaft and trying to unscrew my head from the top, and I had never imagined that anything could feel so good. My throat was already raw when finally, after twenty minutes of this, I felt my first true orgasm approaching.
It was like a freight train rumbling up my spine and shutting things down as it went. My muscle groups froze one by one, starting with my toes and working higher, and as they did an increasing height built in my dick and my balls grew tighter and tighter, until finally the rumble hit my brain, my bucking hips froze four inches off the ground, and I blew.
Four, six, nine, twelve shots of cum blew out of my dick: over my head, into my open mouth, onto my chest, until they quieted down and cum just started flowing from my broad slit. And each one accompanied by an earthquake, a killing blow of ecstasy.
As things quieted down I lay sprawled on the floor, gasping and giggling, covered in my own jism, for a handful of minutes, totally idle and relieved. Until. Until I realized that, astonishingly, my dick hadn’t even started to get soft.
I jumped up from the floor, laughing like mad pirate, and struck the same pose Joe had two nights before, my hands casually on my hips. The comparison didn’t do Joe any favors: I was a divinity of sex. Visions flashed into my head of women: women doing anything I wanted, passing out under my pole, paying for the privilege of pleasuring me, lining up to suck me off. “Hell,” I said, “I could probably suck myself off.”
The words in the quiet tiled room made it obvious that I would do so. I frantically grabbed some more lotion and sat down on the toilet, wrapping one hand around my shaft and grabbing my right nut in the other because it just felt right. I leaned over partway and addressed the single enormous eye of my purplish quivering new best friend. “Penis,” I said calmly, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
It took so little effort to get my dick in my own mouth it seemed I had been built for it. Despite the enormity of my head my jaw seemed to expand around it and the next thing I knew I was about four inches down. I hummed in astonishment and then screamed in pleasure from how good the hum felt and then screamed again from how good the scream felt. My hand started to work my exposed shaft as I started to bob up and down on the top four inches, and I had presence of mind to realize that the part of my dick I couldn’t suck was larger than Joe’s could boast, “Fifth” and all. I laughed even as my tongue found the ridge of skin below the head and I screamed again and then screamed about the scream—
This went on for about ten minutes until the orgasm-train roared down my spine again. As I lost bodily control I faced a critical decision about swallowing or not swallowing my load, and chickened out at the last second, sitting up and grabbing my head to repeat the pleasure of the last occasion.
The few seconds of this change, and of the exposure of my hot wet shaft to the cold air, brought my hips off the toilet in one violent buck where they froze. I stared, goggle-eyed, at my schlong as it swelled incredibly even larger and then began to spit it’s cannonades of cum all over my shower door, thickly covering the expanse of glass in white juice.
I collapsed back to the toilet, my head lolling, and then did it again.
I was seeing spots when my peter finally began to soften after the next and final orgasm and I lay weakly on the ground, recovering. Finally, when I felt completely soft, I wobbled to my feet to measure it again. This brought my energy back in a wave as I stared disbelievingly at my flaccid cock lying with it’s tip at the eight and one-quarter mark. “My noodle-soft cock,” I whispered, “is longer than that fucker Joe’s blazing erection.”
This brought back to my mind the ordeal facing me the next day at team-building. Now, of course, I realized that nothing could possibly be more exciting. I stood, gazing at my bronzed muscles in the mirror, my taut pecs and my pebble-like nipples and my rippling eight-pack abs and my finely muscled thighs and calves, and stared worshipfully at the thunderous vision of sex hanging between my legs: my giant dick and my huge balls, capable of three orgasms in an hour.
I had visions of the life that was to be: of orgies, and circle-jerks, and banging legions of girls at once, and mastery over men and women. I couldn’t wait, especially to walk into that locker room for the first time and pull off my shorts.
Thinking all these things, I realized that I was actually getting hard again. I looked in the mirror at my shaft beginning to stretch out down my leg and shrugged. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, I thought, and screamed in absolute joy. I grabbed the lotion yet again and settled down on the toilet. As I bent for another swallow of my immense and glorious penis, I paused again, looking challengingly at my slit, and said, “This time, motherfucker, I’m swallowing.”
I stood at the sink, breathing very hard, spots still whirling across my vision, holding my toothbrush as I prepared to brush the odd (not horrible, just odd) flavor of my own semen out of my mouth. I had swallowed, as I had promised my penis, and this fourth orgasm seemed to have quieted my snake down a little bit. I still stared at it in the mirror, swaying slightly with my heavy breathing, the head still shockingly large despite being drained and completely flaccid. The tanned, magnificent tube dangled elegantly between my thighs, pushed out into a dramatic curve by the pendulous balls swinging behind it, their size accentuated by the looseness of the scrotum which allowed them to dangle several inches from my crotch. God, it was so fucking unbelievable! Only ten hours before I had been preparing to change my life and live as a hermit because my penis betrayed my otherwise perfect body. Now, it was the best feature I had. Even my chiselled abs, my sculpted moneymaker, my flawless ass paled in comparison to it. It required a real effort of will to drag my attention away from its bulk, slumbering dangerously between my legs.
Still staring, I turned to grab a towel from the rack and stopped, delighted, as the thing swung to follow me and slapped me on my right quadriceps. The feeling of my cockhead landing in the hollow of my thigh muscle sent a chill up my spine and a twitch through the new real estate down south. Not again, I thought to myself. Having previously experienced only weak and transitory sexual desire, it was going to take some pretty sudden learning to control the new libido raging in the back of my skull. Already I could tell that if I sat down and took my dick in my hands, it would cheerfully respond. Respond and deliver.
“Can you run out at all?” I asked the tubesteak with a touch of impatience. Then regret washed over me. My life was going to be different forever and completely because of this thing. I hadn’t even had it for twelve hours yet. And here I was snapping at it. Plus, the attention that my penis was apparently capable of devoting to a single pastime would no doubt be far, far more useful when I had people around to impress.
So I felt bad, and took it gently in one hand. I hefted it up—I can’t believe how heavy it is!—so that I could look it in the urethra. “I’m sorry I was mean,” I said softly. “We’re going to have an incredible time together. It’s just weird to—” Suddenly I realized that I was standing naked in a bathroom that was still covered in lakes of dried semen, having a heart-to-heart with my penis. An inexplicable, elephantine, magnificent penis, but my own penis nonetheless.
I guffawed—feeling the motion wriggle through my dick in my hands and delighting over it—and leaned over to kiss my glans to finish the charade. This was obviously a bad idea. First of all, realizing that I could touch my soft dick to my mouth with very little effort, even while standing, set a bolt of horny egotism straight to my balls. Second, the proximity of that mouth disturbed what was obviously my dick’s very light slumber, and sent blood surging back into the erectile tissue. Third, finding myself with a new fire in my belly and more than a foot of rapidly hardening dick in my hands, having my own mouth inches away was an irresistible temptation.
So yeah, I sucked myself off again.
Maybe, for the 99% of you who will never experience this, I should explain it a little more carefully. I was standing in front of my mirror, as I said, bent over, holding my dick, which had by this time stiffened into a bar of iron over a foot long, in both hands, positioned a few inches apart and wrapped around its unbelievable girth. I was staring at my dick, my mouth posed a few inches from the head, my eyes sweeping up and down the still-shocking sight of its size, tracing the pattern of thick, ropy veins that circled its flanks, hovering on the huge sweep of the ridge of the glans, greedily drinking in the sight of a drop of pre-cum larger than my largest load of semen from before the change trembling on the hole. I spared a glance for the rest of my body in the mirror. My abs were almost twitching with expectation, outlined by the strain of bending so sharply and looking even more impressive than usual. My pecs were flushed with lust, my nipples rock-hard, my cheekbones traced in sweat. I looked great.
I’m gonna have to be very careful not to turn into a complete asshole, I thought foggily as my mouth descended the last few inches. Then I only thought about my penis.
I extended my tongue and touched it to my head and sighed at the contact. The wetness was pleasant on my dick, and the warm, pulsing, spongy hardness of my dick was cool on my tongue, but it was really the anticipation of more to come that sent tingles surging over my legs. I paused, though, to savor the anticipation, and slowly began cranking my hands up and down the length of my shaft in unison. Fortunately my earlier exploits had left enough mingled stuff on my cock to serve as lubricant, because I certainly wasn’t planning on stopping now. I moaned softly as my hands came into play and then pulled my cock up so that I had better access to it.
One deep breath and then I slipped my head into my mouth. In retrospect, I understand that my power to do this act, along with all sorts of other things, had been part of the incredible change that had taken place the night before. I was in great shape, sure, very limber and flexible, and my torso could stand a lot of strain. My new dick was very impressive, yeah. But you could have collected 1,000 guys who looked exactly like me (although I’m not sure so many existed), and I’d probably still be the only one who could suck his dick simply by bending over, much less easily fit a fist-sized head and four inches of overwhelmingly thick cock into my mouth without even really trying.
Be that as it may, it was pretty sweet. At first I just held the glans in my mouth, running my tongue in circles around it and groaning, and, as mentioned above, further pleasuring myself with the vibrations of my pleasured groans. I focused for a long time on the hotspot beneath the head, wriggling my tongue there until sweat was rolling down my face from the pleasure.
Then I started pushing my mouth further down until I got as far as I could bend. My head was lodged just inside my throat now, and I could do incredible things to myself by swallowing, humming, and moaning, which I proceeded to do. Meanwhile, my tongue was wrapping itself around one side and then the other of my shaft, sliding up and down and squeezing and rubbing its hot, wet, slippery strength around as much of my cock as I could handle. My hands had accelerated on the huge portion of my dick which remained outside of my mouth, still working in unison and making much more rapid trips now that a third of the tower was out of reach. I forced myself to unwrap my right hand from the shaft and seized my nuts, squeezing them hard. A bolt of pleasure shot through me and I yelled around my cockhead.
As I did this, I rolled my eyes as far up as I could to see myself in the mirror. The image was incredible. My abs were clenched and almost fake in their definition, the tendons in my arm standing out like wire, my pecs heaving with my breath, my balls wiggling as I bucked my hips into my own mouth. I could see my thighs contract as I thrusted. And then, in the center, the masterpiece of my penis disappearing into my mouth, stretched so wide around the shaft it looked alarming even to me. Or would have alarmed me, if I weren’t experiencing waves and waves of intense, hot pleasure running through my whole body.
The sight of my own beautiful body focused entirely on pleasing itself made me almost insane with lust. My free hand shot back up to my cock and squeezed the shaft tightly, kneading the hardness between my fingers like a thick pipe, before resuming its stroking. I was bobbing my head up and down on my cock now as my taut ass clenched and my hips thrust forward, fucking my own face as I sucked up and down on my shaft. The pleasure was unbelievable. I rubbed my head with my tongue and then rubbed my tonsils with my own head as I whacked off, my balls swinging back and forth so much that they actually started to ache a little from colliding with my thighs.
Finally my orgasm shot up almost out of nowhere. One moment, I was just grunting desperately, sucking my own penis, masturbating wildly. The next moment, my muscles clenched, my balls drew up several impressive inches to cling tightly to my crotch, my dick swelled even bigger, and semen started firing down into my throat. I was screaming with pleasure into my penis as it shot. One rope, two ropes, three, four, five, six… How much can I… ten, eleven… I had already given up trying to swallow this tremendous quantity of fluid, it was pouring out of my mouth and running down the shaft to drip off my balls. Finally I tapered off.
My sensitivity post-orgasm was fantastic. As I pulled my cock out of my mouth, every touch of my mouth and tongue and lips sent a shock through my body, just this side of unpleasant. I stood up, gasping for breath, and gave the softening colossus a good shake. Drops of various things flew everywhere.
“This place… is… a mess—” I gasped to the drenched and sticky bathroom.
I paused. “I love… my penis.”
As I awoke, I was lying in bed, spread-eagled, exhausted, my dick finally flaccid. It had taken me eight massive, churning orgasms to get that way, eight discharges like volcanoes my dick got serious about sleeping. Each one took me twenty minutes or so to accomplish. Each one twisted my body into dangerously intense contortions. Each one blasted me apart with how intense it was.
So suffice it to say, as I weakly looked down at the tip of my dick laying up my abs, tracing the curvature of my six-pack, the head well north of my bellybutton… I was very content.
I drifted off to sleep.
Blessedly, my parents had decided to create an iron fast closed door rule when I turned thirteen: they don’t enter a room whose door is closed unless they have probable cause. My father, as I may not have mentioned, was a very successful litigator, and my mother, who met him in law school, was a federal judge before she retired to start producing heirs to their combined family fortunes. So we’re very conscious of our rights, me and my sisters, and this rule is all that prevented me from suffering the fate which ruined the hero of my favorite piece of online erotica, “Those Autofellatio Blues.”
As it was, both my parents and both my sisters went peacefully to bed when they returned home, leaving me peacefully recovering from my first day as a Cock God.
I awoke the next day suffused with love for the world. I threw back my sheets to encounter morning wood which, for the first time in my life, was not a depressing event. I peeked through my door, saw the coast was clear, ran to the bathroom and masturbated triumphantly in the shower, firing semen all over the walls and floor. I slung a towel around my waist, paused to check out the bulge visible through the fabric—which was incredible—and sauntered into my room, still damp, to dress for the day.
Then I encountered the first problem.
I quickly realized that having a gigantic cock wasn’t always the best thing in the world. For one thing, being a boxer-briefs kinda guy, my tight-fighting underwear was completely out of the question. I pulled a pair on and found it unbearably uncomfortable, although very sexy in the mirror. The bulge was preposterous. I had the shaft balled up in the pouch, which by itself would have been immense, but crammed on top of my dangling balls stood out about five inches from my body. If I were posing for a porn shoot, it would have been perfect; if I planned on going out in public it was completely unacceptable. Although looking at myself with my hips cocked slightly forward to make the bulge even more apparent in the mirror was mesmerizing. The fabric was stretched to transparence by the pressure of my cock, and the head pressed out of the pouch down through the thinner fabric over my thigh, almost perfectly visible. The definition in my abs was like a neon arrow pointing down to this monumental mound of cotton. It was intoxicating and unbelievably arousing.
I should have realized at the time that there was something slightly out of the ordinary about getting ferociously horny as I examined myself in my bedroom mirror. This would become more evident later on. At the time, all I knew was that it was almost impossible for me to look away. And I didn’t want to. I felt simultaneous waves of pleasure and warmth washing through my body towards my crotch. It didn’t even occur to me that as my level of arousal was rising, my huge dick was certainly going to harden again. All I knew was that I couldn’t take my eyes off myself in the mirror, and it felt incredibly good to stare at myself in the mirror. It was like the sight of it was Viagra or some shit, and my lustful stare was physically pleasurable at the same time.
In fact, that was exactly what was happening, although the fact of it wasn’t clear for some time and the mechanics of it never have been explained. I stood in this erotic cycle of arousal and pleasure for probably ten minutes, watching my penis slowly expand and writhe and twist around inside my invisibly tight boxer-briefs, the fabric tautening and growing clearer and clearer as inch added onto unbelievable inch. Finally, the inevitable happened: the briefs gave way, and my cock shot out, almost instantly hardening the amount that had been impossible under confinement.
None of you will ever have any idea what it’s like to see your foot-long penis explode through your underwear, and I won’t even try to describe it. It’s like having pure sex shot into your brain. I fell to my knees and took my cock into my mouth in the same motion, my jaw painlessly opening around it’s size and starting to suck. A dim corner of my mind was still coolly experimenting with this physical newcomer, though, and decided to take this opportunity to see if I could get myself off without using my hands.
The orgiastic self-sucking which followed should have been recorded by a poet or a high-def video camera. It was magnificent. It felt like I was coating my shaft in liquid pleasure. Driven by my ambition to achieve new self-sexual accomplishments, I managed to get a total of six inches down my throat, setting a new (highly) personal record. My hands kept busy, of course, pinching my nipples and tracing my flexing muscles beneath the waistband of the underwear which was still clinging stubbornly to me, the shredded trunk flapping as I thrusted, following my hips pounding my dick into my mouth, and finally settling in to grab and twist and massage my balls, one hand per testicle. And boy did they need the personalized attention. I managed to pull myself off my dick so I could suck my fingers to give a little slickness to the job on the sack, and then dove back down for more as my hands descended.
By this time, I was slowly becoming aware that my sexual mastery was almost unconscious. I had no idea what it would be like when I finally had another body to play with, but so far as I had seen so far, the best results on myself were produced when I let things take their own course. Had I not adopted this let-it-be policy, I might never have done many things which I was to do. Even then, though, I just ignored my hands, trusting that they’d go do something moaningly awesome.
Which they did. My left hand went and did some even more remarkable stuff to my nuts, the saliva slicking it up beyond hat I might have hoped for, sending a series of little shocks running way, way up my dick. It had to pretty remarkable to attract my attention, as I was doing incredible things to six inches of my own cock with my mouth and staring at it lustfully in the mirror as I did, the iron shaft and the veins vanishing through my widespread lips as I frantically bobbed my head up and down. I was hard as a rock, as I had been every time I’d gotten it up since the Change (as I’d started calling it in my head, capital “C” included). In fact, as I rocked myself with pleasure, I could actually see the veins throbbing through the flesh pulled thin over my stiff cock, each pump sending more blood through the huge stalk.
It took me a long time to handle the incredible pleasure my new equipment provided me, so I can’t say that during any of this period I had any especially clear thoughts. I wasn’t even really fantasizing about anything. I did, however, have a series of dim and flickering images in my mind hinting at pleasures of the flesh which had only really existed for me for about 20 hours, and the impression of the adventures my cock might lead me into was more than enough to keep me occupied as I worked myself further up the mountain of my penis.
Of course, part of what I didn’t realize at that moment was that my Change hadn’t just enabled me to take part in things that I had longed for before. It had opened up doors that had never even occurred to me—some metaphorical, some almost literal, like the door to the Raider’s locker room.
Or like my asshole, into which the forefinger of my self-guided right hand plunged itself at just about this moment.
Patrick Henry was real big on health, so I knew what the prostate was. We had done a big unit on prostate cancer in health class, and our teacher powerfully impressed on the guys that the prostate was an essential part of what he referred to as “the fun machinery,” in an effort to get us used to the idea of prostate exams when we were older. Get ‘em while they’re young, I guess. The health teacher was also, by coincidence, the basketball coach, so I had made an aggressive effort to seem both smart and cool in his class in an effort to prepare the way for my career, although he had seemed never to notice me; the school required all freshman to take his health class, in part to avoid angry parents accusing the school of favoring some wannabe ballers over others. Nonetheless, I had paid attention to every word he said, and he had spent quite a bit of time discussing the prostate and lecturing us on getting exams when the time came.
Nonetheless, it had never occurred to me to actually use this knowledge in any way, so when my finger slipped up my ass, my whole body froze in shock. Well, that’s a bit of a lie, actually. My hips stopped thrusting, my head bobbing froze in place, and my left hand stopped it’s remarkable manipulation of my left nut. Even this shock wasn’t enough to paralyze my tongue, though, which continued to wrap itself in twitching patterns around my head and shaft.
Given time, I would certainly have pulled my hand out, been baffled, and then discarded the incident as part of the adjustment to the Change. My hand new better, though—as I was to discover they almost always did—and my finger snaked up, landed right on that much talked about prostate, and rang it like a rusty doorbell.
The results were… immediate. My hips bucked forward once, and then an ICBM of an orgasm shattered me. My left hand squeezed my testicle, sending an additional spasm through my body, and I started chugging my semen like a two liter. My finger kept pressing and rubbing, and each time it moved was like a thunderbolt in my balls.
It lasted a while.
When I finished I was flat on the floor again, on my face this time, my softening dick squashed beneath my thigh and sticking out to the side like a bike handle. I had managed to get a great deal of the product of this adventure down my throat before my muscles gave out, so it only took a few swipes of my towel to clean up the remnants. I stood up, a little shakily, the jaw-dropping size of my half-hard dick draping over my balls, my ruined boxer-briefs hanging in scraps down over my slim thighs, and looked at myself in the mirror.
So I decided my career as a boxer-briefs man was over, unless I could find some with an unusually large pouch. I pulled on a pair of boxers and laughed out loud at the shape my cock made through the cloth. My dick hung down almost the full length of the leg of the boxers, and when I took a few steps the swinging motion was completely impossible to miss. I grabbed my desk chair, pulled it over, and sat down in front of the mirror. My dick flopped out of my boxers as the rose up on my taut thighs and lay heavily on the leather of the seat, draping like an elephant’s trunk. “Have to keep that in mind when I’m wearing shorts,” I said to myself, and giggled. I pulled on my favorite worn khakis. The bulge wasn’t unacceptable, but it was definitely noticeable. I turned sideways and checked myself out in the mirror. There was a clear bump in my crotch running way down my leg, as my balls pushed even my soft penis out far enough to make a several-inch difference between the rest of my pants and the fabric over my dick. The hefty size of my cockhead made its own distinct line in the fabric even through the boxers, unmistakably indicating where the creature ended. I took those sample steps back and forth in front of the mirror and the motion under the cloth was hilarious. I was just barely acceptable in society. And it was fantastic.
There might be a better solution to the storage issue, I thought, but I don’t have time to figure it out now. And hell, today is a day to celebrate.
“Tommy, your sisters are in the car. Are you ready?” my mother yelled up the stairs.
I looked at the mirror, tossed my hair to the side, and grabbed my crotch. It was a popular thing in those days for guys to grab their crotches frequently and in public: as a sign of mockery, as a way to keep your hands occupied, to show how cool you were. I had always avoided it out of fear of somehow showing through my clothes my terrible problem. Now, as I did it, the girth and length of my dick shifted mightily under my pants. I grabbed the shaft and squeezed slightly and lifted it up to the left, so that the whole thing swung and moved, and it was hard for me even to believe what I saw. Here goes nothin’.
I pulled a rumpled button-down over my head, left the top two buttons open as I usually did, and grabbed my backpack and my sports bag.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I called back and stepped out of my room.
When I stepped out of my mom’s Lexus SUV that morning, the sun was rising over the gym, the parking lot was full of guys and girls walking in to school alone or in groups, laughing or talking or just enjoying the gorgeous morning. I settled my backpack, slipped the strap of my sportsbag across my chest (conscious as I did that it cut right into the divot between my pecs and outlined them against my shirt) and surveyed the school. This is the first day of the rest of my life, I thought. I glanced down quickly at my pants and had to stifle a loud laugh at the bulge running down (and down, and down) the inside of my left thigh. For the past few years, as my youthful good looks had developed into sheer magnificence, I had started wearing pants slimmer and smaller than the average by small degrees so as to display the body I was justifiably proud of. This habit resulted, now, in a completely visible massive penis on display as I stood in the parking lot. I threw my head back, a smile on my face, and started to walk.
I really wished I could see what the bulge looked like when I was walking normally and in public, rather than the obviously unnatural sample steps I had taken in my bedroom. I was confident that it wasn’t invisible, that’s for sure.
I had never been an unconfident guy, despite the obsessive worry that stalked me about my junk or lack thereof. When you looked like I did it wasn’t really possible to be a wallflower. But this morning was completely different. You’re probably familiar with the feeling, those of you who have big dicks or who know guys who do: an extra jolt of confidence, an additional piece of steel in the spine. For all my beauty and physical ability (not to mention my money and my success in school), I had always had a secret weakness like a hole in my armor. Invariably conscious of my penis as I was, all my strength and confidence had been in some ways an act intended to protect myself from the consequences of a tiny cock. That’s why, I realized, the prospect of the “team-building exercises” had been so terrible to me. It was pulling back a curtain I had been working to keep shut for years, and showing off the thing I was most ashamed of. I had made this same walk plenty of times before, dressed the same, carrying the same bags. I always walked aggressively, chest out, shoulders open, taking on the world. And I had always honestly felt that way in the past.
Now, though. Wow. As I walked I could feel my dick swinging in my left pant leg, slapping softly back against my balls occasionally with a noise that was audible to me in the before-school quiet. It felt good. I realized, with a touch of alarm, that it probably felt too good. The raw feeling my dick generated made even the fabric of my boxers rubbing back and forth over my dick a sexual caress. On top of that, I realized that my boxers, stretched by the size of my shaft, were slowly riding up on my left leg. Without pretty regular adjustment, they’d expose my head to the rougher cloth of my pants, both making the glans that much more apparent and providing even more intense sensations down there. These are good problems to have, I thought as I grinned widely and casually reached down to adjust myself as I had seen other guys do so often.
And as I walked, with this sleeping serpent in my pants swaying back and forth with every comfortable stride, the way my life had changed washed over me as I realized that I was walking with a confidence I had never felt before. An absolute, no exceptions confidence. I could feel it in my shoulders and in my back (and in my crotch, obviously), a completely different attitude towards the world as I walked through it.
But I was also fucking horny, and I already had blown two loads that day. I realized at the same time that the second problem with my new equipment, aside from the still-prominent (very prominent) problem of storage, was how to keep it under control. The day before I had rubbed out eight mind-blowing orgasms, and that seemed to be just enough to keep me under control. How often was I going to need to service myself at school? My guy seemed to be quiet now, but I had also already beaten off twice that morning, and I had yet to encounter another student.
I guess I’ll just have to take it in stride. It was obviously going to be impossible to hide any kind of boner at all, so if I couldn’t control my desire throughout the day I’d just have to make regular trips to the bathroom.
I had never done that before, having neither the need (with my old, weak libido) nor the ability (being unable to get more than two fingers around my dick, I had to lie down and hump to masturbate). But according to rumor it was a pretty common thing for guys to get off in the bathrooms when they needed to. Only one of my friends had had the nerve to do it so far (or at least had admitted to so doing), but I had heard some of the older Raiders talking about informal team meetings to jerk off in the stalls throughout the day. There were a few players in my math class, and several times throughout the year one of them had paused in their usual classroom pastimes of sending text messages, flirting with girls, and chatting with each other to exchange some smirks with the other guys on the team, pull a bottle of lubricant out of their bags, and saunter out the door after “asking” for permission to go to the bathroom. They’d usually return with a grin on their face and lounge into a chair with their legs spread, cracking quiet jokes with their buddies.
So I knew this outlet existed, and as I strode up the front pathway towards the big brick archway into school I decided I’d simply make use of it whenever I needed. After all, soon enough I’ll be a Raider and the whole school will be mine.
There was a hitch in my stride as I walked. That was the first time I had started to appreciate the larger implications of my Change. The only thing that had stood between me and the basketball team was my genital disaster. Now, unless I died or a bomb fell on the school, it was almost a certainty that I’d get to play on and off the court with those gods among men in a week’s time. And HELL this week might even be fun!
It was with that happy thought pounding in my mind that I saw a girl for the first time with my new equipment. And not just any girl. Catherine Anne Morris, a sophomore on the cheerleading squad, appeared coming up the crosswalk that led from the east sidestreet to the front of the school. Catherine Anne, from a Southern family and in consequence insisting on both her names, was one of the hottest girls in school. She had subjected me to constant sexual assault over the past few weeks, from which I deduced that she must have put a lot of money in the cheerleaders’ pot over who would lay me first. Like most of the girls on the squad, she wore unusually short skirts which were not strictly inside school dresscode and, after a long and terse series of conversations between her father and the principal, had condescended to start wearing sweaters over her exceptionally revealing blouses. From what my fellow male classmates and I had been able to determine from our frenzied examination, she never wore a bra, her small but perfectly formed breasts standing firm inside her thin clothes and often clearly showing her erect nipples through the fabric. She saw me at the same time I saw her. I’m not sure what she felt, but I felt a surge of lust like nothing I had ever known before. It felt like all the skin on my dick was tightening. DOWN, boy!
“Well good morning, Tommy Callahan. You look good enough to eat today,” she called to me as we drew closer. She walked like a slut and a duchess at the same time. Her tongue came slightly out of her full lips and touched the corner of her mouth. “Or maybe not to eat, I am on a diet for the season. Maybe just good enough to lick.”
By this time we were only steps from each other. I felt a surge of panic, and began to stammer some excuse as I always did, already ducking my head. Then I remembered. I have a foot-long cock. I looked back up at her and stopped walking, standing with a casual slump. “You know what, Catherine Anne? You have any demerits yet?”
She looked stunned at my response, but an eagerness quickly followed that into her eyes. It wasn’t just about winning money for this girl. “Why no, Tommy, you know what? Teachers just seem reluctant to write me up for anything I do that’s… bad. Why?” That accent was driving me wild. It had always driven me wild.
“Because I have this strange feeling,” I said, and as casually as if I had done it every day of my life I reached over and scratched my balls, just like all the guys did when they talked to girls. Her eyes flicked down as my hand moved and froze. I could imagine what she saw, the impossible shape in sharp relief for a moment as I moved it and then back to just it’s standard swell in my pants. I could imagine what she was thinking. Is that… Of course, I didn’t yet appreciate that her focused attention would kindle an eventually overwhelming arousal in her, but it was obvious that she had seen something and wasn’t ashamed to study it a little. A flush appeared on the cleavage visible through her low-cut sweater, the creamy swell of her tits slightly reddish now.
“What’s… uh… what feeling, Tommy?” It took her a minute to get this out.
Some part of my mind was baffled at this conversation. I had never talked to anyone like this in my life. But the words kept coming. “I have this feeling that I’m going to spend my free period at the far end of the Sports House, doing some exercises before tryouts tonight, and I might just need somebody to hold my clothes for me; I usually work out naked. And it seemed to me that if you didn’t mind being late for class, you could help me out.” Wow. I stilled a nervous tremble in my hands. That was ballsy. I also had to stifle a chuckle at the unintentional accuracy of that thought.
Catherine Anne was staring at me open-mouthed and round eyed. “Wha… are you—” I was suddenly nervous. I wasn’t a Raider yet. What if I had seriously fucked up?
Suddenly I realized that her stutter wasn’t from anger, it was from a lust so strong it might almost have been as powerful as the churning heat in my nuts at the same moment. “No need to answer, sweetie,” I said, cool as Iceland, hefting my bag across my pecs again. “If you can’t make it, I’m sure I’ll be able to… keep myself busy. Although it won’t be nearly as much fun alone.”
I turned and walked up the stairs, suddenly conscious both of the stream of kids who had been walking around us this whole time and of the stretching feeling in my crotch. I was probably about ten seconds from shifting from a semi to a full-on boner, and that would be disastrous. It was one thing for varsity players to swagger around with erections, as happened rarely, but for me it would be suicidal. I looked up at the big clock in the atrium and realized I was also about five seconds from being late. I sprinted up the hall to my homeroom, dodging through various social groups standing around the lockers, and dove into the room just before the bell rang. I slipped into my seat, wondering as I did what my half-hard cock had looked like as I had sprinted up the hall.
I gained a little bit of an idea when Hank opened the door and came in. The teacher snapped something at him about being late, and Hank responded vaguely, trying not to stare at me as he did. He walked past me towards his seat, several chairs behind me in my row, and paused as he passed my chair, leaning down.
“Saw you talking to Catherine Anne outside. Damn, she’s hot, huh? You got something going with her?” he whispered. I glanced at him and saw that his eyes were glued to my crotch. I resisted the temptation to see what my stuff looked like from this angle and muttered back, “Yeah, dude, I’m practically springing a boner already.”
He was already back up and on his way to his seat, but I could hear his soft chuckle. As I looked down, I could see why. My pants had slid up as I sat down, and I could feel that my boxers had ridden up some too, making my cock practically naked in how apparent it was through my pants. I smiled widely. Damn, this is a good problem to have. I had calmed down a little bit with the adrenaline of getting to class on time, but I could still feel a hunger in my crotch which I was just disinclined to ignore.
I let a few minutes go by with our teacher droning about the fundraising assembly in two weeks and then raised my hand to ask to go to the bathroom. He nodded without even looking at me. I squeezed myself to make sure I wasn’t embarrassingly hard and stood up, turning to walk to the back of the room as was customary so when I left I wouldn’t walk between any kid and the front of the room. As I did, I saw Hank lounging in his seat, and a wild idea struck me. He said I was getting a reputation for being standoffish, huh? Well—
As I passed him I tapped his shoulder with my left hand and muttered, “Meet me outside.” He shrugged my hand off in surprise, but I thought I saw a nod as I passed him. I slipped quietly out the door. He appeared about a minute later. “What’s up, dude?”
I grinned. “Well, I felt bad about turning you down on your team invitation on Friday—”
He interrupted. “Dude, you should have come, it was really chill. Kinda weird, but I figured we needed to get used to shit like that for this week. We—”
“Yeah, I’m sure it was, that’s why I felt bad about missing out on bonding like that. Cool guys? I don’t know many of the dudes that are left.”
Hank nodded, glancing back and forth for a hall monitor. “Yeah, dude, most of them were awesome. We all got into the groove pretty quick—well, most of us, but I figure they’ll sort that out tonight, right?”
“Yeah, I figure the same. Anyway, like you saw, I was talking to Catherine Anne, and I haven’t had time to take care of my own business in a while—” a little lie doesn’t hurt anybody “—and it was pretty uncomfortable sitting in class, so I thought I might go rub one out in the bathroom, and I wondered if maybe you’d want to come along? My first time into semi-team-territory, and I thought it would be good to have a wingman.”
Hank’s quizzical look vanished into surprise and eagerness. “Hell yeah, dude, I’ve wanted to blow one in there since school started, but I couldn’t get up the nerve. Do you think it’s cool, though? I don’t want anybody on the team to think we’re cocky.”
I smirked. “First of all, bro, I think they’re going to have to get used to us being cocky, if you know what I mean.” A surprised laugh broke out of Hank at the joke. “Also, the bathrooms don’t belong to the team. We probably won’t even run into any of the guys. And if we do… either they tell us to scram, or they think it’s cool we’re already getting into the swing of things. Anyway, we can’t be gone for too much longer, so let’s either do it or not. What ya think?
Hank looked indecisive for a moment, and then suddenly nodded. “Hell, I could empty out a shot or two anyway. Let’s go.”
We strolled up the hall, already sauntering a little like true Raiders. If I was confident I’d be on the team in five days, I was only slightly less positive about Hank, and as we walked he turned out to be a really funny and enjoyable guy. The bathroom was about three minutes away, and in that time we mostly talked about what we thought would happen that night in the first “team-building” exercises.
As I pushed open the door to the guys’ bathroom, Hank was saying, “I figure they have to do the cock measuring—” He fell silent, though, hearing voices echoing off the tiles inside. We stepped through the door, listening; from the sound, the guys were in the stalls.
“So there she was on her knees, right, and her face was… mm… in Maddy’s pussy, annnnd… uh…. she was just chewing away, and moaning as she did, because I… was… shit… just slamming her, right—”
I recognized the voice as belonging to Simms McBridge, a junior on the team. I also recognized the other sounds. Based on my recent but very intense experience, that was the sound of a hand sliding over a slick cock. Several hands, actually. I looked at Hank and whispered, “Are they jerking off?”
Another voice cut in. “Simms, I think we might have company. Who’s out there?” This deep baritone had to be Fryer Thompson, a very large senior who intimidated the hell out of me. Hank looked at me and shrugged. “Uh, it’s Hank Cooper and Tommy Callahan, uh. We’re trying out for the team.
There were a couple laughs. The unmistakable sliding noise hadn’t stopped at all. “Frosh! Sweet. Come on around in here, boys.”
Hank and I walked around the wall that, much like the lockers, separated the bathroom from the hallway. There were eight stalls in this bathroom and a urinal trough. By the looks of it, four of the stalls were occupied. I looked at Hank. Unless I was completely wrong, those four stalls were concealing four Raiders leisurely stroking their dicks. “Uh, hey,” I said, awkwardly.
Simms spoke again. “Coach mentioned you guys to us. He said you’re both looking pretty solid from his end to make the final cut. You excited about that? Course, there’s some other ways you’ll have to prove yourself this week to make it, you know that.” The other guys laughed, and one of the other two said, “Hope you guys got a lot of energy, frosh.”
I stuttered a laugh, and Hank tried to join as well. He said, pretty boldly, I thought, “Yeah, we were actually thinking about working off a little tension right now to stay loose for tonight, if you know what I mean—” His voice trailed off. There was a long silence. Well, silence isn’t quite right. It was not impossible to ignore that these four guys were masturbating—apparently with a whole lot of lube—and at least one of them had noticeably sped up since we came in. I got frantically nervous. My dick felt as small as it had since I woke up the previous morning—not that that was particularly small.
Then Fryer spoke up again, his voice echoing, and it was a huge relief. “That’s the king of initiative I like to see. If there’s one thing you need going into this week, it’s a good buddy. And I don’t know a better way to hang out with your buddies than a little jerk off, right boys?” The other guys laughed, one hooted, and somebody started jerking really fast for a few seconds, fake moaning and grunting loudly, making the others laugh all the louder. “Hang on a second,” Fryer said.
Then his door opened, and he stepped out. He was wearing a yellow Polo, and he was naked from the waist down. Fryer was about six-three and very built, and an extremely talented player. He was also, we discovered, massively hung. An erection that had to be about ten inches long bobbed in front of him, glistening with lube, pre-cum visibly pooling at the tip of his massive head. He was grinning very smugly. “Sorry to shock you, boys, but I bet I don’t shame you much, and you’ll see it soon enough anyway.” Hank and I both looked up a little ashamed from staring at his solid cock, which looked as thick around as a wrist. He was holding a bottle of KY. “Here, take a good dollop of this and go to town, fellas. First time with the team! That’s good luck, you know, blowing one before the week actually starts. I did, when I was a frosh, right in this bathroom here. Makes me all nostalgic.” I had had some weird experiences in the last few days, but nothing really matched hearing a senior with a throbbing penis discuss his memories as he was pouring personal lubricant into my hand and another guy’s hand. Still, I’m bigger. This thought was like somebody just slapped my back, and my cock, which had thickened up to a semi, began rapidly to fill.
Fryer grinned. “It looks like you’re both pretty ready, so grab a stall and grab your cocks.” I looked over at Hank quickly, and saw a very impressive bulge running down his jeans. Wow, he must be… Fryer had turned back to his stall, but he paused right when he got back to the door. “Actually, you know what, let’s make it a real party. This is your first bonding experience with your teammates, right? And what kind of a senior would I be if I didn’t welcome you the way I was welcomed? Let’s circle it up, fellas!”
This was greeted with some catcalling from the stalls, as the doors opened to reveal Simms and two sophomores I didn’t know, all of them naked from the waist down. Simms was surprisingly pale, though he probably had about eight inches on him, while the two sophomores had incredibly well-muscled legs and looked each to have about seven or seven and a half inches. None of them was as thick as Fryer. Simms looked over at the senior. “Circle or switchcircle, Fry?”
Fryer laughed. “I don’t want to freak these frosh out, boy, let’s just have a good friendly circle jerk. To spice it up we’ll race. First to blow his load gets a twenty from me, last to blow has to proposition Titsmoreson during class today. Sound good?” Hank and I were a little paralyzed. We both still had one hand full of slippery lube, with clear bulges in our pants, surrounded by four older guys with hard-ons who were clearly casually ready to jerk off in front of each other. This is not what I was expecting to happen this morning, I thought a little dizzily. In for a penny, though, I guess.
I looked over at Hank, who shrugged. “You know, dude, Raiders, right?”
The smaller sophomore, with about seven inches, laughed. “Look at that spirit, Fry! Raid on, Raiders!” Fryer nodded, looking at us, and grabbed his dick, squeezing the hard shaft. Damn, he is thick. And he looks really hard, too.
“You know, it’s usually polite to take your pants off when your in company like this, frosh. Put that lube to use. And we’ll get to see what the younger competition looks like. Pants off, now!”
I froze for a second, remembering dreams I had had of this very situation, my whole life betrayed by… and again I realized that my whole life was different than it had ever been before. I grinned. “Hank?”
Hank looked a little alarmed but game. “On three. One… two—”
Awkwardly, with my off hand, I undid my belt and my pants and unzipped them and grabbed their waist and my boxers at once. I could feel myself boning up. This is the first time anyone else will see my monster. I wonder what it’ll—
Hank said, “Three!” and he and I ripped our pants down around our ankles and stood up. I immediately looked at him, knowing that we were pretty far past squeamishness about that now. Hank was even more impressive than I had thought. I’d bet he had eleven inches sticking out of his crotch, and it was thicker than Fryer, even, though not as thick as me. His balls were smaller, too, but his thighs weren’t nearly as thick as mine, so he looked proportional. He—
I was pulled out of my study of my competition by the sound of Fryer saying slowly, “Holy… Fucking… Shit.” I looked over at him in surprise and saw that he was staring straight at my cock. In fact, everybody was staring straight at my cock. I flexed my hips a little so it stood out and looked down.
I almost swore myself. The damn thing had to be an inch bigger than yesterday! It was, in fact, now thirteen and a half inches long, and even thicker than before. My balls remained dangling down in their sack, the size of whole fruit, and the apparatus stood out from my body like a piece of steel.
By this time I couldn’t be surprised by another inch of cock, though, and I collected myself and looked up, slowly wrapping my lubed-up right hand around the head and shivering as I did. “Not bad, right, guys?”
Silence. I moved my right hand all the way down my shaft, my knees shaking and my ass twitching as I did, and back up. I did this very slowly to control myself, grinning like an asshole as I did, watching the other guys slowly drop their mouths as they took in the whole size of the thing.
Fryer was the first to collect himself. “Tommy, that’s the biggest fucking dick I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I glanced at Hank, and saw that he was already working his hand on his dick, looking at mine. He met my eyes for a second and said, “Tommy, dude. That’s unbelievable.”
I felt bad for him, sporting a monster like that, so I said, “Hey, Hank, you’ve got a giant steak there yourself. You must be, what, eleven?”
He looked a little relieved, and recovered a little cockiness when the guys transferred their attention to him, even if they looked back at my python a few seconds later. He said, “Eleven and a half, actually,” smiling again, and working his dick a little faster.
Simms shook his head, blinking. “I don’t believe it. These two… fuck it, should they even—”
Fryer rounded on him. This was, by the way, hilarious. All six of us were stroking our penises slower or faster by now, and Fryer and Simms were glaring at each other even as they pumped their cocks. Fryer’s ten inch pole dwarfed Simms’ eight, and Fryer reached down to squeeze his balls as if to emphasize their larger size, both of them masturbating and grunting softly even as Fryer said, “Shut it, Simms, you know… uh… Everybody does the week!”
Simms looked down, shamefaced, even as he slid his left forefinger onto the hotspot under the head and twitched. “Sorry, Frrrry.”
Fryer turned back, satisfied. “Tommy, Hank, you boys… you’re gonna be… hsss… you’ve got a good career. Now, I’ve had… uh… a boner for twenty minutes, and I’d like to cum. So, ready… uh. set… stroke it!”
I always have looked back fondly on this first experience with the Raiders. Hank, Fryer, and I all grabbed our dicks with both hands and started to piston. Simms couldn’t fit both hands on his shaft, although I saw him try to do it a couple times when he looked over at me, so he spent a lot of time pinching his nipple. The two sophomores, who looked like someone had just kicked them in the balls from the revelation of Hank and my sausage, barely had erections. The larger one (with seven and a half pathetic inches) actually didn’t. He was manfully jerking his noddle dick, but he was staring back and forth at me and Hank, and he obviously felt too emasculated to get it up. The other guy, with only seven, had his eyes closed, apparently refusing to pay attention to us at all, and had a passable boner, though it still looked pretty floppy to me.
Simms had lost some wind from his sails from me and Hank, too, so it was pretty much the three big dicks racing for that twenty note. Fryer and Hank and I were grunting and moaning softly as our hands pistoned on our shafts. I was tempted to bend over and swallow my head, but even in my lust-drunk state I figured I should keep that one under wraps until I got a sense of how other people felt about my new hobby. I did spend a lot of time twisting the skin of my head, though, and I was barely able to stay upright, fighting as I was to keep my roars under control.
We were building towards a crescendo when the door opened and a small freshman from my English class walked in carrying his backpack. He turned the corner and saw a sight that must have haunted him for years: six extremely muscular guys standing in a circle with no pants on, rapidly masturbating, loudly expressing their pleasure, the bathroom loud with the noise of their hands on their dicks, pumping away, and three of the dicks over ten inches long. Fryer looked up, both his hands working in opposite twisting patterns as they moved in opposite directions to meet in the middle (Have to try that out later, that looks great) and grunted, “Raiders business, needledick!” That’s a harsh insult for any high school guy, but coming from a man with a ten inch erection throbbing on the verge of orgasm, it’s gotta sting much worse. The kid vanished.
Fryer moaned. “Holy shit, I think I might win my own—”
Suddenly I hit my peak. “Watch out, Fryer, I—” But I couldn’t talk any more, and my ass clenched forward as my dick swelled to it’s full size. The eye of my head opened and spat a shot of semen. I desperately forced my eyes open from the orgasmic convulsion, pleasure thundering through my body, and watched in horror as the rope flew four… six… seven feet, heading straight for Fryer, whose eyes were closed as his own balls rose up in a tight scrotum and his own dick expanded… I tried to say something—
Fryer roared, his hands blurring on his dick, and fell to his knees as his huge dick fountained out semen on the floor for feet in front of him, and as my first rope flew over his head instead of splashing on his cock, splattering on the wall against him. The relief made the next spasm all the more fantastic. Though it was still risky, this next one just splattered down in Fryer’s own puddle.
I kept my hands working, squeezing it out, and suddenly Hank moaned, “Oh, fuck yeah, yeah, here it, here it—” And then he was spurting like a cannon too. Fortunately he was aimed between Simms and the larger sophomore, because he had as much distance on that shot as I had, and he squirted the wall twice, even. I was impressed.
Fryer laughed, and sighed, and gave a little hoot as a post-orgasmic shudder hit him. “Well, that was great. And Tommy, I think I owe you a twenty.” I grinned. “I think you do, Fry.”
Fryer looked sternly over at the other three. This was almost as hilarious as before, seeing this huge guy on his knees, still limp from his orgasm, still fondling his dropping dick, reprimanding three other guys still working away at their dicks. “And don’t think I’ll forget about you. Simon, that dick is an embarrassment to the Raiders. You’re still not even hard. Do you want to have Titsmoreson mock you in class?”
I hadn’t ever felt so happy. I looked at my hand and grabbed a paper towel from the counter, waddling in my trousers around my ankles, and threw the roll to hank. I said, “Uh, Fryer?”
All five of them looked over at me, and then down at my dick. It was fading back to soft pretty rapidly, that was for sure, but it was still unbelievable. “Hank I need to get back to homeroom.”
Fryer seemed not to hear me, staring at my dick which still must have been about nine inches as it softened, and then shook his head. “Yeah, you guys split, I’ll watch these fuckers. Or not-fuckers, based on this performance. Jesus, Tommy, that dick is unbelievable. You’re like a fucking horse on two legs. And Hank, Christ. I don’t know what the cheerleaders are gonna do with you two. Christ Almighty. We’re gonna have to change a lot of shit around.
There are a lot of nice things that can happen to you at the start of a bad week. Having one of the coolest guys in your high school tell you that your dick is the start of a new era is one of them.
Hank and I pulled up our pants and split for the door. Fryer yelled, “Hey, see you guys tonight, right?” We yelled back affirmatives as we left. Conscious of how late we were, we were sprinting for homeroom when Hank skidded to a stop. I stopped slightly in front of him and looked back. “Come on, dude, we’re gonna get—”
Hank looked so happy I thought he would burst. “Hang on, Tommy. Is it just me or was that the coolest thing you’ve ever done?”
I paused and reflected. “You know what? I think you’re right, Hank. And I think that you and I might end up being pretty awesome friends.”
He grinned wider. “Me too. Horse.”
And just like that, I had my nickname.
“I think I might surpass it for cool when I meet Catherine Anne for fourth period, though.” I said.
He looked like I had slapped him. “Catherine Anne? Dude, don’t do this to me, I don’ t have time to beat it again!”
We laughed and I slapped his back as we turned and sauntered in true Raider style towards homeroom.
As Hank and I slipped back into the classroom, I was riding a wave of delight that was only partially due to the giant orgasm I had just blasted out of my giant cock. The experience of being suddenly elevated into the inner circle—or circle jerk—of the heroic Raiders was like chugging several beers suddenly. Add onto that the suddenly closer buddy relationship I had with Hank and the openly envious and admiring comments that Fryer had made about my schlong, and I was just feeling on top of the world. I lounged back into my seat, kicked my legs out like a true hardass Raider, spared a quick glance for the shape of my still-fat dick in my pants, which showed what must look like I had a hand towel rolled up and stuffed in a pant leg. This did nothing to make me feel more humble. Nor did I feel the dim anxiety about covering up the undisguisable signs of my new endowment that had plagued me as I hurried into school only an hour before. This cock was mine for keeps, I instinctively knew, and although I hadn’t spared much attention to the fact that it had been bigger while jacking off in the bathroom than when I had been pleasuring myself the day before, it was very clear that I was far from appreciating all the ways in which the new tenant in my pants was going to show its unusual characteristics.
Beyond the self-evident one of its unbelievable size, I mean, which visibly came to the attention of several of the people sitting around me in class as I lounged there in my desk, my position pulling my khakis so that the hefty length of the shaft was outlined even more clearly through the fabric. I wasn’t keeping a very careful count, but I’d say at least four girls noticed, and two or three guys. All of them looked instantly shocked, tried to hide their interest and their reaction, and spent the rest of class pretending not to sneak glances around my desk towards my crotch. This made me feel even better. You have to remember, I wasn’t just your standard well-hung sonofabitch, I was a superhumanly-hung sonofabitch who had been hiding a micropenis for his whole life and was eager to revenge himself on an unwitting humanity for all that pain and suffering. Which I intended to do.
The bell rang for the next period and I stood up slowly, stretching as I did, clenching my ass so that my crotch was thrust that final degree forward and making absolutely no attempt to shield myself. I was fully soft now, but that really didn’t do very much to decrease the size of my bulge. I didn’t even bother to check who had noticed my show, I just grabbed up my backpack and strolled out of the room. Hank clapped me on the shoulder.
“Hey, save some energy for tonight, buddy,” he said, smirking, his eyes flicking down to my crotch as he did and hesitating for the extra half-beat that I knew meant he was impressed. I felt flattered again. This guy, after all, had eleven inches hanging out inside his jeans. “I’m sure Catherine Anne has some… lengthy stuff to discuss with you, but we’ll have a lot to, uh, beat out at practice tonight too.” I rolled my eyes at this corny dialogue and elbowed him as I walked past.
“Yeah, you too, man. Your dick may be eleven inches long, but don’t get cocky.” I grandly ignored the gasps and shocked looks on the faces of the people around me as I left the room, experiencing another rush of satisfaction. That was such a Raiders thing to say, I thought as I strolled on.
Which reminded me of the smooth game I had laid on Catherine Anne, a girl so hot I would have been paralyzed around her only thirty hours before. Is my cock thinking for me, too? If so, it’s a lot smoother than I am, as I walked to my double-period math class.
Which I spent twitching, trying vainly to avoid thinking about my appointment with Catherine Anne in fourth period. This worked for about twenty minutes, as the effects of my orgasm in the bathroom wore off, but almost as soon as that time was up I started to feel a tingling and a tightening in my crotch that indicated dangerous times on their way. I can’t sit here for two hours with more than a foot of hard dick in my pants, I’ll go crazy. Plus the precum will soak straight through. So I gritted my teeth and fought it. This didn’t do much to keep me from going crazy, as the attention I was forced to devote to throttling down my cock just made me increasingly conscious of my building level of horniness, and after half an hour I felt like I was hanging on the edge of a dangerous cliff. The temptation to go the bathroom, stick my dick in my mouth, and suck myself to a screaming climax was intense. It was about this time that I began to realize the amplified pleasure that my dick gave me had a downside: sexual pleasure was that much more addicting for me than for guys who didn’t have the same kind of multiplied sensation from their equipment. Especially given that my new size allowed me to fellate myself at a moment’s notice, it seemed almost impossible that I could resist the temptation to release the pressure.
Many other times, as I will tell you in the future, I gave in to that temptation and the amount of semen I left in the school’s bathrooms has to be some kind of record. On this day, however, I did resist, because I had a golden prospect in my future: I was going to swipe my V-Card with Catherine Anne, and I wanted to be at boiling temperature for that encounter.
So I survived my math class with only a semihard dick, which was still a joke in its size, but at least it could have been worse. I hurried out of class and immediately made a break for the Sports House, where I was supposed to meet Catherine Anne in ten minutes. It was empty between gym classes—taking just time towonder what it’ll be like to shower after gym now—and got behind the tall stack of mats against the rear wall which hadn’t been touched since the last gym teacher retired and students were no longer forced to do regular clumsy gymnastic exercises. These mats had been stacked about ten feet from the back wall, a huge tactical error by the athletic staff as it produced an effectual cave that was completely hidden from the rest of the large facility and had a one-way door leading out through the back wall into a tangle of woods. The door had been designed as an emergency exit, but the alarm had been deactivated years before and pressure from the Raiders kept it from being repaired. This was one of the ultimate Raiders hideouts, and even standing here was taking my life in my hands. Was it certain that I’d make the team? Yes, and that gave me a sort of special status with the guys. Was I on the team yet? No, and if I forgot that I’d end up beaten up and doomed to a basketball-free life for the rest of high school.
Still, when I had shifted into seduction mode with Catherine Anne in the morning, it was the place that came immediately to mind as a secure place to fuck the shit out of her with my new giant dick. No teacher would ever come to this hidden zone, it was almost a seperate country inside the school under Raiders control. No non-Raider would be crazy enough to show up there, either (except for me, apparently), and even the guys on the team would probably not bother using it at the beginning of the week of “team-building exercises.” So with any luck, during this hour-long period, I’d be alone here with the hottest girl in school. Standing in the highly sexually charged atmosphere of this hidden corridor, I started to bone up slowly in my pants, abandoning myself to images of Catherine Anne naked on the floor, my enormous shaft buried inside her.
Who at this moment appeared around the fifteen-foot high stack of mats, looking like walking sex or a crazy woman or both. It was so startling I stepped back against the cinderblock wall, staring at her. She was flushed and sweaty and panting. Her hair was in disarray for the first time I had ever seen. Her hands were twitching at her sides and her eyes were already fixed with a crazy intensity on my crotch.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you fucking me all day,” she gasped. She yanked off her sweater and dug both hands into her tits through her bra, arching her back and moaning. My mouth fell open and my dick jerked like a snake. Her eyes widened as she saw this. “I almost went to the bathroom and fingered myself, but I wanted… Oh, fuck, fuck, I have to see it! Please show it to me!”
I was a little terrified, but it seemed the only way to calm her down would be to hurry along to the stage where my giant dick was rammed inside her, and I certainly didn’t have any problems with that. I raised my hands and said, “Okay, Catherine Anne, calm down, calm down, its okay, we’re gonna have some fun here, just take a deep breath.” She obeyed a little bit, though she was now squeezing her long, hard nipples through the fabric of her bra. I was so horny I would have chewed through the wall to get to her pussy.
I grabbed my shaft, now about three-quarters full, through my pants and squeezed it, sending a jab of pleasure through my guts and making my knees twitch. I pulled it up a little to make it obscenely clear through the fabric and grinned at her. “Is this what you want to see?” Where the fuck is this coming from? I’m a virgin, this is one of the hottest girls in school, I should be on my knees begging! With weird coincidence, she fell to her knees. “Oh, please, please, Tommy, please, I need to see it, I have to have it, please let’s fuck, oh God—”
“Take off your clothes,” I said, my voice shaking with lust, and she stripped down and was back on her knees faster than I could believe. She was perfect. A rush of her smell hit me, and the roar of blood into my cock made me think I was going to black out. She was so wet she was running down her thighs, her perfect tits seemed to float in front of her darker with her own arousal, her nipples like daggers.
I pulled my shirt off and she groaned, this primal slutty sound from her belly. I was foggy with the burning fever in my crotch, but I did pause for one moment to appreciate that I was finally about to deliver on the promise of my incredible body. I tightened my abs, took her hand and pressed it against them.
“Fuck, Tommy, you’re so hot, you’re like… unbelievable—” she groaned, sparing a glance for my chest before sliding back to her mad attention to the huge bulge pulling my pants forward. I knew if I gave it much longer, my dick would tear straight through the pants, which would be hot but inconvenient, to say the least. Plus I just couldn’t deal with waiting any longer.
“Take my pants off,” I ordered her, my voice thick and guttural, and she was already working at my belt before I finished the sentence. She inhaled deeply, undid the zipper, and yanked them down.
It was a tough moment of navigation to get them over my dick, but once she did it jumped up and hit her in the face. She started to babble insane half-phrases about it’s size, staring at it. All I remember is the sense of it snapping to its full hardness and the first touch of my dick to someone else’s skin in my life, as the huge dripping head slapped softly against her cheek. It was incredible.
She grabbed my dick in both hands, and lightning went up and down my body. “You’re so FUCKING BIG. I’ve never even imagined… my hands don’t reach… there’s so much left—” She looked up at me, her eyes glassy and a little alarmed. “I don’t know if I can—
I laughed and wrapped my hand around hers on my cock. I was, in fact, so fucking big. The visual was incredible: the expanse of my shaft dwarfed her small hands, and while my larger hand totally enfolded hers, that only further accentuated how long and thick the rod jutting out from me was. I was so hard, I felt like a steel piston, and there was almost no flex in the shaft. “Sure, if you want you can just leave.” A look of horror flashed over her face. “But if you want to stay, get on your back ‘cus I’m going to plow you until you scream.”
She was on her back a second later and I was kneeling in front of her. I’ve sometimes regretted that this, my first fuck, was so abrupt and aggressive, that I didn’t think to have her suck me for a while, that I didn’t lick those incredible nipples while we both writhed in frustration. I did all these things on other occasions, of course, but the first time there was no time: I was burning up with the need to get my dick inside her, and I think she might actually have snapped if I hadn’t done so as quickly as possible. I took my dick in my hand and placed the tip of the head right at her pussy, which was swollen and looked ready to explode. I gently touched the head to her and she arched her back, grabbed her tits again, and moaned, “Please, please, please, now—” This was unnecessary, I could no more have controlled my hips at this point than I could flown to the ceiling. Biology was in the driver’s seat. Well, I guess the altered biology of my appendage, but same idea.
I slowly began to push forward. As the head started to spread her open, she heaved in a heavy huff of air and gasped, “Please be careful… could rip me open with that fucking monster—” So I went slow. But bizarrely, though she was certainly tighter than I could have imagined, I really didn’t hit any trouble on that first divine thrust. My eyes fixed burning on where I was slowly, centimeter by centimeter, feeding my gigantic penis into the desperate girl’s burning cunt, I could see that she was opening up wider than seemed possible, without any forcing on my part or pain on hers.
“It doesn’t hurt… Wow, how, you’re so… oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, you’re so thick, everything feels so tight, goddamn every vein on that thing is like ahhhhhh… And then I was balls deep, my giant orbs resting against her ass and brushing against the floor, and she exploded in her first orgasm. I almost passed out. The feeling was like every dream of heat and wetness I had ever had only a hundred times more intense and raw, my amplified pleasure battering away at my brain. My head arched back and my jaw snapped at the air, but my faithful cock delivered and didn’t come early, despite her orgasm sending her pussy into twitches and writhing. It felt like it was trying to clamp down on me, but I was too big for it to do so. It felt unbelievable.
She was coming down from her peak, her face bewildered, her tongue out of her mouth. “Impossible… no one cums like that, no one could make me… oh GOD FUCK ME.” So I did.
I am an incredible lover. I am creative, artful, unpredictable, surprising, attentive, and gentle. I also have one of the biggest dicks on earth to back all this up. As I began to fuck Catherine Anne there on the floor of the Sports House, I was none of these things. I was an animal rutting. I grabbed her legs, pulled them up, and started to pound away at her pussy, my thighs and ass pounding and levering, slamming my bottle-thick cock in and out on foot long thrusts, grunting and moaning and swearing. The pleasure was too new and too intense. I couldn’t think of clever things to do to drive her even crazier. I couldn’t think at all.
Which didn’t matter, because Catherine Anne was screaming underneath me, screaming and writhing on every unbelievable in and out, yelling obscenities and occasional isolated words like “perfect”
“not again” and similar things. Neither of us could ever figure out how many times she came, but it was at least ten.
Not even my cock could keep this up for too long, though, given how horny I was and how perfect she was and that this was my first time with my dick inside a pussy. I did manage to keep it up for a little more than half an hour, thanking my body for being able to maintain this level of activity as I did. But inevitably the orgasm pressure started to build and rumble up my spine.
Nothing I had ever felt felt like this. No orgasm from jacking off, or blowing myself, or rubbing my prostate, or jerking off with the Raiders. The world went away, and I couldn’t feel anything but the rising pressure and the pleasure. As it came close, I managed to unclench my jaws and gasp, “Coming—” Catherine Anne later told me she had a dim recollection of seeing my body arch backwards and start to convulse, my abs visibly twitching in my stomach and small muscles all over my body going into spasms as I slipped from that one word into a wordless roar, the pleasure impossible to imagine.
At the last second, my hips jerked backwards and dislodged my cock. The feeling of my cockhead, the thickest part of my monster, sliding backwards out of the unbelievable tightness of her pussy was like the last dagger. I blew.
Semen blasted out of my penis like a volcano. It poured over Catherine Anne, hit the mats, hit the walls. Her face, her tits were covered in it. After five or six shots the convulsions of each volley through me off balance and I fell backwards off my knees, writhing on the ground as each shot blasted out of my dick and splashed back against me or the floor around me.
Finally it faded away. I was flat there on the ground, panting, staring up at the ceiling, trying to get control of my body which felt distant and wobbly. I awkwardly pushed myself up my elbows and looked down at my dick. Still proud and erect, though I knew I’d be able to persuade it to go down without another climax, it towered up from my flat rippling stomach and my taut legs, dripping in semen, quivering with my heartbeat. If seeing it weren’t like getting punched by sex, it would have looked like an oversize joke dildo.
I looked past my enormous shaft to Catherine Anne, still sprawled out on the floor, breathing heavily, staring upwards. I grinned. “So, how was it for you?”
A long pause went by, and then she raised her head. “When… when you came, when you got even bigger in the second before you came—” She was staring blankly at me, covered in my drying cum, glowing with fulfillment. “It made me orgasm, but the orgasm was… it just kept going, like it was… I can’t describe—” Her eyes focused on my dick, and then she looked up and made eye contact with me. “That was the best fuck of my life. You are a cock god. I need it again. I need it.”
I wearily got to my feet, dripping in my own semen and sweat, and grabbed a discarded hand towel to wipe myself off. “Fucking you again would be incredible, Catherine Anne, but I need to save something up for practice tonight. Maybe—”
I was half-turned, looking for where she had thrown my pants, when suddenly her mouth engulfed my cockhead. My knees went weak and I fell back against the wall in surprise.
She looked up at me, running her tongue over that incredible spot beneath my head that I had devoted so much attention of my own to over the weekend. I caved. I thought I had better control of this new thing between my legs, but it seemed resisting the desire to stuff my cock down my own throat and resisting the desire to ram my cock into a moaning woman paralyzed by pleasure were two entirely different problems.
I reached down, pulled my cock out of her mouth, and pulled her to her feet. I grabbed her ass, digging my hands into her supple skin, and pulled her close to me. My slick cock rode up her belly and settled with the head between her tits. I was throbbingly hard again, and the skin on my dick was pulled tight with the pressure of blood pounding through the shaft. She was staring down at in lust and fascination, trembling. I picked her up, grunting, my biceps pressing up in my arms, my cut torso even more visibly muscled as I raised up her body. Her head went back and she moaned at the sense of being in my grip. I braced her against the wall and grabbed my dick with my left hand, searching around until I felt it nestle into her folds. Our eyes were locked on each other’s, and I saw her eyes glaze over as my head settled into place. She licked her lips and leaned forward, her tits pressing into my chest. “Please, fuck me again—”
I dropped her down. She screamed and her pussy writhed around me as she came again. “Oh no oh no I didn’t think I could come again oh GOOOOOD” as I started heaving my hips against her, adding a little extra throw by picking her up and dropping her with my arms. The length of my thrusts was much shorter now, but this meant that she was filled the whole time as I sawed against her, the huge veins on my cock rubbing against her clit. My balls were dangling free now, and they swung back and forth, producing an additional zing of pleasure every time they bounced off my legs or her body.
I still can’t believe that we didn’t attract any attention. It’s a sign, I guess, of how much power the Raiders really had, that this place was so secure despite being basically in the open. I’m grateful that we didn’t, though, because this second fuck, though shorter than the first, was somehow even more incredible. I was a little more in control of myself. I could do clever things like change the angle of my thrusts and work around in a circle and change speed and that kind of thing. I didn’t fuck her into unconsciousness. That would have to stay on my to-do list. I did fuck her silly, though.
I emerged from behind the mats after about another half an hour drenched in sweat and walking slowly and unsteadily. Catherine Anne was still propped up against the mats, her clothes stacked neatly next to her, staring into space. She had muttered vaguely that she needed some time to recover, which I could totally understand. Any woman who had screamed the things she had screamed would have needed a little alone time to get control of herself again
I swaggered down the Sports House toward the corridor linking it to the classroom building. It was now the lunch hour, and a group of younger guys, probably in seventh grade, were clustered together, looking as if they had come to shoot a few hoops before lunch and just in time to hear the last grunts and screams from behind the mats. They stared at me, mouths wide open, as I walked past them. It was pretty obvious that I was responsible, as I walked slowly along, flushed and soaked and my clothes rumpled and a shape like a peppermill crammed into my pant leg. They stared at me, looks of envy and awe on their faces, as I walked straight through the group and headed off to class. I thought they were going to stay silent, until I was almost at the exit door, when a kid far bolder than I had been shouted, “Dude, how can we do that?”
I laughed and looked over my shoulder as I opened the door. “Simple, kid, get a thirteen inch dick.”
That was an asshole thing to say, I thought as I walked out. It was clear that it was going to get harder and harder to avoid turning into a really irritating guy.
All the same, I felt like I had just won a battle. It had been better than I could have dreamed. I didn’t know what the night would bring, but I had just done something that every guy, even the Raiders, dreamed of: I had made Catherine Anne call me a cock god. And I was ready for whatever came next.
As I swaggered—or staggered, or maybe most accurately both at the same time—into my afternoon American history class. I was exhausted. Which was understandable, really, considering the extraordinary things I had done to Catherine Anne, even ignoring the morning’s violent orgasm in the Raiders circle-jerk, and the weekend spent in increasingly fabulous contortions of self-pleasure notwithstanding. I could only hope that the standard portion of practice tonight would be much less strenuous than the more aggressively filtering exercises we had gone through the week previously. Coach Ben, though, a recent alum as he was and still very involved in the team’s sexual antics—he had been caught in a threesome with a girl and her mother the previous weekend, and rumor had it that the women’s soccer team paid him for, well, stud services, if you will, on a pretty regular basis. This too I understood, frankly, he was a stunning attractive man with chiseled features and a body that even I found impressive. I had never seen his junk, nor did I know what place he had held in the team’s volumetric hierarchy as a student, but older guys on the team tended to use the word “legendary” to describe his dick. It would be awesome to scope it out in “team-building exercises” this week, though; I wonder how he’d measure up to me? What did girls sound like when he fucked them? Could someone be more dramatic than Catherine Anne had been with my dick inside her? There had been points, I dimly remembered, when she might have been at actual risk of death from the strain. It would be really cool to watch a guy as ripped and as hung as me fuck someone else, though, study the process from the outside, as it were. Like Fryer with his dick inside some tight hole, that would be incredible, that stud was a sight to behold. After all, Joe Alesci fucked Denise until she was unconscious, and he was only the Fifth! Almost half as small as me! Obviously I had a lot to learn. And Denise was so hot…
I spent that history class in thoughts much like these. At the time I didn’t realize that I was devoting pretty much equal mental real estate to both the men and the women who had featured in my exceptionally provocative last four days. Nor did I appreciate the extent to which this brief dramatic period, unprecedented for me in its sexual intensity, had already begun to work on my mind. I don’t know, in retrospect, to what extent the man I became was determined by those early days of Raiders basketball. I do know for a certainty that I would have walked a very different road if I hadn’t gone to Patrick Henry High. I would likely, for example, never have met that old washed-up divinity who granted me my god-cock, and that’s changed everything, one way or another; equally, though, it might have been years before I realized I was bisexual.
I digress, however, and you’re more interested in what I did with my cock than what I thought about it, I suspect. Thus shall we on with our retrospective.
I remember nothing of what Doc Seibreng told us during that history class, which is unfortunate, as it turned out to be the only time anyone would ever try to teach me anything about the cultural roots of the blues. I stood up, though, as the bell rang conscious that my dick must be making a ridiculous spectacle of itself after the sexually-charged thoughts that had dominated the hour just elapsed, when the door burst open from the outside as a runner from the office burst in.
“Is Tommy Callahan in here?”
The others all pivoted to stare at me. As I had unwisely stood before anyone else, this meant that their eyes all also necessarily fell to ogle my cock. I didn’t yet appreciate the complex neural feedback loop that the sight of my cock induced in some others—not that I’ve ever really understood it nor expect I ever will—but even so, I could almost feel the wave of shock and mingled arousal that flowed across the classroom at this moment. The runner himself, a wispy junior, swallowed violently, his Adam’s apple jerking in his throat as he stared unabashedly at the swelling running down my pants. It was a little irritating.
“Uh. Tommy? Callahan? Tommy Callahan?” He coughed. I nodded, frowning. “Uh. Coach Ben asked me to find you. He. Uh.” He coughed again and I could see something twiglike hardening in his crotch. “He asked me to have you come see. Him. In his… office? Office. In the, lockers.”
Suddenly realizing his plight he glanced down in panic and beat a hasty retreat. Most of the class had looked away or at least up by now. Doc coughed as well and said, “Well, Tommy, don’t keep Coach waiting.” His voice was oddly hoarse as he said it, and glancing at him I saw that his eyes were stilly fixed on my dong. Coach Ben, it was rumored, had received an A for three years from Doc without ever attending one session. I spared a moment to wonder how exactly Ben had accomplished that. See, while much of this is probably clear to you here—I’m helping you along, remember, and after all this is a story and stories always make sense, even if the truth never does—but I was far from a stupid little dude even back then and I could put pieces together as well as anybody. It already seemed clear just from Catherine Anne’s near-fanaticism earlier that the sight and thought of my dick exercised quite a power over folks disposed to be interested in such things. I’d soon learn how true that was.
I laughed, though, then, and hoisted my backpack onto one shoulder. “All right, Doc, I’m on my way! Hey, would somebody tell Emerson I’ll be late?” Disregarding the chorus of acquiescence I jogged out.
Coach’s office was, as I’ve mentioned before, in the basketball locker rooms, glass-fronted and surveying the rows of lockers themselves. This posed an interesting problem. The rules of the Raiders, as was generally known, made it unlawful for anyone to wear clothes once they walked through the doors; even during games, it was said, all the guys on the squad pulled their shorts and jerseys off in the hallway before entering. Shoes were, it seemed, acceptable. In the general course of events this wasn’t particularly important, as no one but the team and the Coach and occasional ladies brought in for obvious purposes crossed that threshold. Here I was, though, summoned to Coach’s office, which required entering the lockers again as a non-Raider. Should I assume Coach, a Raider himself and devoted to team tradition, would honor this rule even alone, during the daytime? Or should I avoid possible scandal and risk giving possible offense?
Walking through the halls I wove though a lot of other folks going to class. Now, it’s important to note that I wasn’t some kind of celebrity at this point. I was a pretty guy, sure, and athletic, and had some minor notoriety among chicks for that reason, but I wasn’t an abrupt big-man-around-the-halls. Well, actually in one crotch-oriented sense that’s exactly what I was, but in the social sense, not at all. On this walk, for example, I didn’t even see anyone I knew until I passed Hank’s locker, which was along the most direct route to the athletic complex on the west side of the old classroom building. He was there, the door open, staring sort of blankly into the books and bags inside. He was also sweating, I noticed, which was weird; it was a cool day.
“Hey, Hank, what’s up?”
He spun around, a look of mingled surprise and odd guilt on his face for a second. “Oh what’s up, Tommy. What are you doing over here? Don’t you have Emerson next? She’s way over in the science building.”
“Yeah yeah, but this is weird, dude, an office runner showed up and told me Coach wants to see me. In his office, too! Do you think something’s wrong? Did I fuck up somehow?”
“Oh weird, dude, that’s fucked up, I hope everything’s good. Wait, in the office in the lockers? Whoa, are you going to wear clothes?”
Conversation continued in this vein for some time. Hank was jittery and anxious, strangely as we had time before the next class and after all I was the one summoned to the weird meeting. He also seemed to be itching his balls a lot. As we parted he gave me the advice I had already given myself: it would be easier to explain being too Raiderly than being insufficiently Raiderly. And that meant naked.
I left the old classroom building and crossed the broad brick circle separating it from the Sports House. The basketball lockers were on the near side with a separate entrance, predictably, and I ducked through this outside door into the hallway and paused in front of the door. Was I really so afraid of this door only four days ago, I thought wonderingly. My dick jerked slightly as my thoughts turned towards it, the deliverer of my fears. Still, this is going to be pretty weird, walking in there with this thing flopping around. Still, raid on Raiders, I guess…
I looked around to make sure I was alone, which I was, and set down my bag. I unbuttoned my shirt, feeling a little shiver run over my pecs as I did. My thumb brushed my right nipple and a shock flowed down my spine. I quirked a little grin at how ever-ready I seemed to be for sex and shook my head to clear it. Now is not the time for a boner! I stuffed the button-down into the bag and hesitated, looking at my shoes. I figured you always looked stupider part-naked than all-naked, anyway, so I unlaced them and pulled off my socks too. I pulled my belt out and shoved it through the bag zipper and straightened up, my abs rippling as I did, and put my hands on the button of my pants. As I did Coach Cecilly of the girl’s volleyball team came around the corner.
“YOUNG MAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” she barked. She was a great one for barking was Coach Cecilly and generally accepted to be a lesbian. I froze and pivoted, alarmed for the first time since my transformation. In another first, as I met her eyes they were in fact fixed on mine and not on my crotch, and quite angry as well. She seemed completely uninterested in the broad expanse of tanned, carved muscle I presented, much less in the dangling sex-beast clearly outlined in my pants. Rumors confirmed, I thought ruefully. Although not the best time to make a gossip coup…
“Uh, well, Coach, I have to go see Coach, Coach Ben that is, and…”
“And why exactly are you shirtless?” The lady was like a drill sergeant. Her lungs must have been cut from a cliff.
“Well, ma’am, see, I’m trying out for the team, and…”
She was about five-foot-one, maybe, a tiny albeit quite strong woman, but somehow she managed to loom over my much taller frame, her eyes clouding and her hair seeming almost to flow in an invisible wind.
“Young man, you are not really answering my question, are you? I’ll ask you one more… Oh wait. You’re trying out for the Raiders?”
I should note, here, by the way, if this hasn’t been clear, that unlike any other high school I’ve ever heard of we didn’t have a single mascot at Patrick Henry. The school mascot was the Minuteman, and all the other sports teams went by that title in combat. Only the basketball team took the Raider title, though no one knew why anymore, and so Raiders referred to one thing and one thing alone, and the name wasn’t used lightly.
“Yes ma’am, for the Raiders, and the second week of tryouts starts tonight, so when Coach…”
Her expression continued to darken dramatically but her anger seemed to have shifted from me, which was a relief; in those last moments I had almost felt that wrath on my disconcertingly exposed skin like the spray from an unpleasant garden hose or something. “That son of a bitch has a fall coming, I think,” she muttered. “The principle might… All right, boy, get on with your business, but don’t let me catch you like… this… again, you hear?” She spat indelicately on the hallway floor and stormed off, leaving behind her the feeling that must prevail in Miami when hurricanes make last-second path changes towards Mexico; you feel for the poor bastards who are going to get pasted in your place, but you can’t help but feeling a huge relief.
I felt a huge relief and, not risking my luck any further, pulled my pants and and underwear off and pushed them into my bag as well. I stood for one more moment, magnificently naked, my cock swaying from side to side, my golden ass shifting with my anxious weight, my balls enfolded in the ridiculous extent of my scrotum, every mucle of my body shining in the dim flourescents. All this true, still I was scared. Why had Coach called? And then I pulled open the door I had dreaded for so long, pushed my backpack inside with one foot, and stepped through.
I could tell from the echoes that this time at least the place really was empty. No shuffle or whisper reached my ears. I thought back to Joe’s performance last week and felt a much-needed burst of confidence; I was still a pretty impressive motherfucker, one way or another. I stepped around the concrete barrier and studied the rows of lockers stretching out in front of me, the blackboards where Denise’s fabulous body had sprawled in sated unconsciousness at my back. I was intensely conscious of my body, my nipples like pebbles in the chilly air, my balls rising, my dick still flushed but at its smallest again, much to my relief, though it was still ludicrously large, of course. I gave it one quick squeeze with my left hand to make it a little bigger still as I glanced around this hallowed space. I never really honestly thought I’d make it in here, I thought, looking around. It was obvious, now that I was less terrified and distracted than I’d been during the demonstration, that this locker room was designed with very specific purposes in mind, to an extent that was really silly. A sex swing, for example, dangled just visible in the back corner of the second row of lockers. All the benches were unusually wide, and many of them were padded. The dispensers on the wall might look like handsoap, but a careful glance revealed that the bottles inside read K-Y on them. This was a palace of sex.
And I could feel it in the root of my dick, in the back of my neck, in the depth of my chest, even, weirdly, in a strange itch in my ass. I was electric with the sense of the place, each breath somehow tantalizing.
Then I heard Coach call. “Tommy, is that you? If it is, come on back to my office.”
I took a deep breath and began to walk the fifty feet remaining. My dick was swelling a little with this suffused air of lust and passion I could taste in the dust, the jock-strap sense of the place, and I didn’t even try to fight it. This was a weird conference for sure, and maybe taking my clothes off had been a bad idea, but I was already half-drunk on this room and unwilling to second-guess myself. The sway of the long column of my dick was incredibly sexy as I walked, and I could feel my balls rubbing against my taut and narrow thighs as I went. I had a crazy thought of bending down to take a quick taste of my cockhead, and this, ridiculous as it was, sent another quick rush into my nether regions. I was legit sporting a spongy cock as I finished this walk, my skin a little flushed and my nipples so tight they ached.
Coach’s office, as I’ve mentioned, had big windows looking out at all the rows of lockers, but as was often the case his blinds were down so I could see in. I nerved myself, shook my head once to try to clear off some of this intoxicating sexuality, and knocked. “It’s me, Coach, Tommy Callahan.”
“Oh, good stuff, Tommy, get your ass in here.” This was a standard line among the team, “get your ass” one place or another, and probably boilerplate for coaches of any place and time, but it sent a thrill through me anyway; in this setting it seemed to mean something very different.
In retrospect of course I can’t believe this happened, even knowing what I knew about the team, my stature as an assured prospect, the coach’s confidence in me, even all the antics of that day. That I could stand there, my cock a third hard, my gorgeous body completely naked and glistening now with a sudden light sweat broken out, and then walk into my coach’s office seems impossible. But of course since then I’ve spent many days in that locker room, and I know very well how it affects anyway who enters, and how it affects me all the more intensely, as everything involving sex seems to. And wielding a gigantic cock that can hypnotize with its very shape as I do, I am very sympathetic to getting swept off your feet by horniness.
Anyway, in I went. This was a sanctum of sorts, rarely entered even by seniors on the team, a preserve that helped the coach maintain his chieftan-like control of a team to which he was otherwise quite close. I of course had never seen it before, but didn’t have much attention to bother studying it. Coach was obviously in his chair, but it was turned with its back to me, and my anxiety spiked despite my lustfulness; is he naked or isn’t he? Did I make the right call?
“Sorry to call you in like this, Tommy,” he said laughingly from the other side of the chair, and as he did it rotated and he stood up and I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. Coach always wore long-sleeved t-shirts and trackpants during practice, and I had never really noticed him, focusing obsessively on impressing him as I had in class and in tryouts alike. For me he had always been a symbol of the team I wanted and was afraid of more than a person.
But of course he was naked, and I’d never seen anything like it. Even I, in all my beauty, stood speechless staring at him as blood roared into my dick and my pulse pounded in my ears.
He was taller than me and slimmer, more of a runner’s build than a baller’s, I would have said, but of course he had won a state championship in his own playing days. His torso was a miracle of definition, even the tiniest adjusting muscles in his obliques like tiny stones under his skin, and his legs were similar, much thinner than mine but gorgeously cut, statuelike. He was very pale but this just added to the sense of his physical perfection, distanced by his beauty. I was bareskinned everywhere except my arms, my pubes and my legs, but Coach had some scruff on his chest and his belly, which helped to make him look like a real person. Without it I wouldn’t have believed he was flesh, he looked too much like a Greek ideal. Fuck, he made Greek ideals look like pansies.
And of course, given the general tone of these adventures, his cock was beyond belief. It was still soft when he stood though it started to harden as my own did, but it was clear he had the advantage of me even from the beginning. He was a foot behind his desk and even so I couldn’t see the head when he stood up.
“My God.” This was him.
I found I couldn’t say anything.
“I talked to Fryer after your encounter this morning, and after what he told me I couldn’t wait until tonight.”
I swallowed. I was so hard now I ached. His rising pillar actually stuck below his desktop, though it was a foot away; I still hadn’t seen his cockhead. I knew my eyes were locked on that throbbing shaft and I didn’t care. It was so big I couldn’t believe it.
He gave a soft laugh. “Well, we’re getting a little carried away here, aren’t we?”
I looked down and saw what he meant; I was already dripping pre-cum. I laughed a little too and looked deliberately at his face, exerting a huge effort not to stop at that stunning dick. The image was still cut into my mind, though; the broadness of the shaft; the winding veins; the trimmed hair; the descending, half-glimpsed size of the balls behind. I was trembling, I was engulfed with desire.
“Tommy, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” He stopped, his eyes on mine, and then they slowly, meaningfully descended to my own throbbing size.
“Listen.” He licked his lips. “There’s a lot you don’t know—a lot no one knows, really—and I don’t know if—”
I didn’t know, I knew that, and this probably was foolish, he was probably right, but I couldn’t bear it. “Coach, are you going to step back and let me see that whole thing or not?”
A delighted look flashed across his face, replaced a second later by the most intensely lustful expression I’d ever seen. He kicked the plywood table aside with one gesture of those gorgeous legs, his cock swaying down and up widely with the motion, and I took an unconscious long step forward as he did so were suddenly standing, well, head-to-head, I guess.
It was more than I could have imagined. The liquid pooling on his head vanished in its spreading bulk. I couldn’t believe what it looked like. It wasn’t grotesque or unbelievable, you could imagine it being used in sex acts pretty easily, but it was at the absolute edge of plausibility. Everything about it—it’s width, length, circumference, slight curve, hardness, even its flushed pale color—was just about as much as could be believed. Never, not in porn, not in my most fevered dreams, had I imagined something like this.
He groaned. “Tommy, I don’t… Are you…”
I swayed my hips forward so that my head brushed his. This wasn’t particularly intimate, as we were still well over two feet away from each other, head to head as we were, but the thrill of sensation it sent over us was incredible. My knees buckled; he threw his head back and moaned. I had thought Catherine Anne’s moan was primal?
“Yeah, Coach,” I said, stepping forward, my cock riding along the bottom of his, sliding over that magic spot I had found on my own anatomy, and slowly pushing further and further until I felt the wet heat of his head touch my taut pelvis. “I’m sure, man.”
Shaking slightly he reached down and wrapped his hands around both our shafts. It took both hands, and even so it was a trial, but the feeling was indescribable; the pressure of his calloused fingers, encircling my girth, the distinct throb of his heartbeat at crosstempo with my own, our shafts making slight moves against each other and causing our skin to pebble and our breath to catch.
“Fuuuck… Tommy… I’ve never…”
He stepped forward now, lifting the two titanic columns so that the went straight up between us and pressing them between our abs. His were so much more impressive than my own, which I had previously thought to be perfect, I was stunned and humbled, and paralyzed all at the same time. He looked down and spat on the shafts where they pressed against us and each other, and then looked back at me.
I didn’t say anything. His hips made a slight rolling motion and I moaned like a whore. The pressure, the hardness, the rippling muscles; it was so different than with Catherine Anne, who had been all softness and lushness and enveloping heat. I pushed back. He threw his head back and dug his hands into my ass, sending a sensation like lighting up my spine. He spat down on our dicks again. Both our hips were working now and his head descended to my ear, to my neck, his tongue out, bolts of excitement shooting over me. I grabbed his hair in one hand and pulled his head around, fastening my lips to his as my other hand seized his own ass. The tight orbs behind him felt unlike anything I had ever touched; Catherine Anne’s tits and ass had been pillowing, yielding, but these were the opposite, absolutely unforgiving, tight like a drumhead, boiling with life. His tongue searched my mouth, I moaned into it. His hips rolled again, and again, and again, and mine matched, followed, played counterpoint. Kneading his ass my finger descended, searched, found, swirled. His moan was like a roar.
I’ve never remembered exactly how we found ourselves there, but some minutes later I was lubed and condomed—fortunately he had a stock supplied to wrap his own ridiculous size—and he was crouched over me, that perfect body absolutely defined with anticipation as his ass descended towards the fourteen inches of throbbing size rising unsupported from my crotch. His asshole found the tip and he paused, a shudder running over him. “Feel so good, Tommy…” He breathed in and out and in a single moment pushed, pushed. Sudden pressure on my cockhead, then heat, and even more pressure, tightness unlike anything I had ever known, heat, boiling heat, compression both painful and exalting, my body spasming almost with this first encounter, I could hear his continuous building moan of effort above me as my his ass tightened and released and then, incredibly, my head was inside. He paused, sweating already, his eyes a little wild. “I can’t believe… I’ve never felt anything even close… It’s like…” He shook his head.
I reached up and wrapped my hand around that gigantic shaft like a tennis-ball container sticking out, harder than ever now, and stroked it once. I could tell it felt could, his ass rolled around my head like a massage, and muscles all over my body jerked. “Come on, Coach. Take it. Take my big dick.”
His eyes fluttered a little and a smile spread over his even teeth as he nodded, breathed, and pressed down.
The process took him twenty minutes, throughout which we were both moaning and tossing our heads and digging our hands and teeth into each other, my tongue working at his nipple as he seized my biceps in both hands savagely and spat swearwords, but finally I felt my balls against his ass and his even more enormous testes sprawled against my tight stomach. He looked dazed, disoriented, his hair in disarray.
I reached up and pulled his face to me. “Can I fuck you, Coach?”
His eyes cleared and in a passable imitation of his surly practice growl, if shaking with pleasure and strain, he snapped, “You better fuck me, Raider, or you’ll be running this drill all niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii holllllllllllllllyyyyy fucking CHRIST THAT’S…”
My hips began to work.