I was sitting on a bench in Frelinghuysen Park very early one morning feeling guilty about the hot dog I was eating (‘cause I’d promised Zac I’d wait to have breakfast with him after my morning jog) when I saw him. The guy with the dick.
You see a lot of guys in this park with big dicks in this park. It’s a fact. The dress code seems to be sweatpants, tennis shoes and nothing else, and that makes ‘em all kinda hard to hide. On bright sunny afternoons, the wide, grassy lawns, shady picnic areas, and tennis and handball courts are all wall to wall with all kinds of buff, sexy guys who can’t conceal the big, slightly chubbed sausages slopping around in their loose, clingy sweats as they laugh and play, either singly, in pairs, or groups of heady, athletic masculinity. There’s short ones, tall ones, and really tall ones; defined types, built types, and outright musclegods; smooth and hairy, cute twinks and handsome, stubble-jawed alphas; and all kinds of dicks. I was no exception, either: I’d been told I should model a hundred times, especially at the gym, but I’m still reluctant to shave the smudge of dirty blond hair between these pecs I’ve been getting pretty damn proud of. In college I’d been voted most likely to star in a sexy CW drama, all tongue in cheek of course (or is that tongue-in-chiseled-cheekbones?), and I still get that kind of talk, too, but I just laugh. Nothing short of a contract stipulating I get to pash Ian Somerhalder every week would induce me to leave my jobs—landscaper by day and limo driver by night, both of which I love, and I’m pretty happy with the paychecks, too. So I’m good, Ian or no Ian. Okay, maybe someone like K.J. Apa or Matt Lanter would pull me in, too, especially if they were a little more amped up in the muscle department than they already are, or more than just a little more. I’m a sucker for the hot, stacked guy with the wicked grin who pretends not to know he’s hot, and yet knows how to use his hotness to get your attention.
Like the guy with the dick.
I was on one of the benches by the pond, finishing my hot dog (just mustard, thanks), or, rather, my second hot dog (because one’s not enough), when I noticed him. He striding across the grass from the direction of the dog walk on the northern curve of the park, his yellow lab dancing back and forth behind him. It was really early, and just a little cool and misty in the growing light of dawn, so the park was mostly empty. But I would have noticed this guy if he’d been surrounded by the entire population of Hotness, Texas (they grow ‘em big down there! Have you seen Jared Padalecki? Okay, I need to cut back on my hunk TV consumption, right?).
He was tall, hairless, and built as fuck—seriously, his bulging shoulders looked like they were twice as wide as his tight waist. His torso was covered in thick, corded muscle that looked like it was carved from stone. His pecs jutted out something like six inches from his chest over his bricklike abs, yet they were so dense they barely even shifted as he walked. He looked Latino or maybe biracial, with flawless amber skin and spiky black hair, and his face—geez, his face was almost angelic, if an angel could smirk at you like a cocky bastard because he knows he looks like a gorgeous twenty-year-old god and carries himself like a guy who knows how to fuck you senseless, not to mention being built like—
And even as I was thinking all that my train of thought fucking derailed as I registered just what I was seeing below the waist of my new dream man.
Some guys have big dicks. Some guys have huge dicks. I’d thought that way about myself, that I had a big dick—until that moment. Because this guy had a third leg, and I’m not kidding when I say that. His dick was literally as big as the gym-built legs his dark navy drawstring sweats were clinging to so lovingly. And those sweats were clinging to his dick, too, but not the way did for me or the rest of the guys that come here, making a hefty bulge that drew your eye as it shifted around in the crotch. No, this guy… His sweatpants actually had three fucking legs, and that middle leg was filled with leg-thick cock all the way down to the Velcro cuffs, from which just the very tip of the head was brazenly almost peeking out at the world, like it was ready to emerge if it had a good enough reason to.
I swallowed the last bite of my hot dog almost involuntarily and stared at this vision that was crossing the park in the swelling dawn. My brain was shorted out. Of course, my dick was hard in my own sweats already, as if there were some special, previously undiscovered button in my brain that made my dick go from just slightly chubbed to instantly, achingly fat and hard.
He was walking toward me, grinning that crooked, cocky grin. I could hear myself breathing and pretty much nothing else as he walked toward me, apart from my heart pounding out of my chest like it was trying to get to him. I registered that his dick was out in front of his legs a bit as he walked, thanks to the melon-sized balls that pushed them out just a bit. It seemed, from the sway of his mighty tool, that he was completely soft, and the need to know what he looked like hard welled up in me so fast it almost shoved me over the edge of orgasm right then and there.
Before I knew it he was standing in front of me, his big doofus of a dog gamboling happily in the grass near our feet. My dream man was smirking down at me and looking like every masturbation fantasy I’d ever had about gorgeous, built guys whose sheer magnetic beauty and a single arched eyebrow could make you cum just from looking at them long enough. My big (by normal standards) dick jumped in my own sweats, and his grin broadened, the fucker.
“Lay down,” he said, and it took me a second to realize he meant the dog, who quickly complied. I felt a little heat rise in my cheeks, and the guy seemed slightly abashed. Maybe he wasn’t a total cocky bastard after all, though what he had between his legs argued otherwise. He offered a contrite hand. “Santiago Rosado,” he said, the erotic rhythm of the way he said it melting my spine a little. God, he even had a sexy name. He needs to have his own CW show, I thought in some distracted corner of my brain. Maybe he could be the star of “Hotness, Texas.” I’d watch that every week. And beat off to it, too.
He still hand his hand stuck out at me. I took it hastily, my cheeks feeling even warmer now. “Daniel Laker,” I said, delighting in his firm, dry grip. I literally did not want to let go, and he obliged me for a few moments, holding my hand while he looked me over.
“You have to be the hottest guy I’ve seen here this week,” he told me after drinking me in. “I just moved here and I’ve seen a lot of guys, but you have them all beat.”
“I guess you don’t have any mirrors at your new place,” I said without thinking. I wasn’t usually a no-filter kind of guy, but around men that made my dick hard I spoke straight out of my id.
Santiago smiled broadly, but there was actually a trace of bashfulness in the lopsidedness of his expression. “Thanks,” he said. He looked down at himself, seeming a little awed, much like I was. “I kinda lucked out.”
It was then that I noticed that his leg-sized cock was shifting forward toward me, swelling and straightening out a little bit more with every heartbeat. It was like watching a lifeboat blowing up, except in very slow motion.
He was standing close enough that it was moving up between my legs, and without making any kind of conscious decision to I brought my legs in around it, pressing the swelling member between my thighs. The slightest of moans escaped my lips.
Santiago’s reaction surprised me. He dropped his hand from mine and said, “Sorry,” and made as if to pull away. Immediately I clamped my legs a little tighter around his stiffening shaft, which was now growing more rapidly toward its full, erect size, half of it extending under the bench below me. I glanced briefly at the dog, who evidently was tired out enough from his run that he was happily snoozing in the grass, muzzle on paws, a few feet away. I looked back up at Santiago.
Santiago gulped. Sweat dotted his massive shoulders, despite the coolness of the morning. His dark eyes bore into mine. “Normally I can control it better,” he said. “But fuck, Daniel, I’ve never met anyone as stunning as you.”
“I got hard the second I saw you,” I said in a voice that sounded a little rougher than usual to my ears. “You’re fucking gorgeous, and that’s even without the most awesome tool on the fucking planet.” It was fully hard now, I thought, and I was squeezing it between my legs in a way that I knew was turning him on even more. It didn’t seem that much longer hard than it was soft, though I couldn’t see all of it where it was pushing upward against the bottom of the bench underneath my butt, flexing so hard I almost wondered if it could shove the bench up off its metal, bolted-down feet. But it had gotten so much thicker that it was actually straining the seams of his sweat pants, so that even though I was pressing my thighs against his massive tool my legs were well apart. He hard started, maybe even without being totally aware of what he was doing, thrusting gently against my strong and very delighted thighs.
“It feels amazing,” Santiago admitted. “What you’re doing. I’m … glad you noticed it.” He was fucking my thighs outright now, his pupils blown and his face and magnificent torso obviously flushed and warm.
Boldly, I reached out with my hands, grasping the sides of the shaft and stroking his enormous organ as he rocked his dick against me. Santiago gasped loudly.
“How could anyone not notice … this?” I asked, staring at what was shifting back and forth between my hands in abject wonder.
“Most people don’t,” Santiago huffed, sounding like he could barely concentrate on what he was saying. “If anything, guys … unh … guys will register that I’m … a hot guy with a … big dick.” Santiago’s spiky black hair was now getting damp with sweat, and both of us were hot and straining toward release, staring at his enormous, steel-hard erection as he fucked my hands and thighs.
I was already pretty close, and I thought Santiago was too. “That’s for sure,” I panted, stroking and squeezing aggressively, wondering if I had time to get off my shoes and bring my feet into the mix as well.
“Only guys who … want it … see it for what … fuck, Daniel! … see it for what it is,” Santiago got out. I was really driving him crazy. I was using my hands and my legs, but I wanted more. I wanted a lot more. “It’s … it’s sort of a … magical virus,” he added.
The implications of his words penetrated even my endorphin-drugged brain. I looked up from his impossible dick to stare him sharply in the eyes. “Virus?” I repeated. A hope for something I’d never even dared dream of suddenly filled my heart.
Santiago’s eyes widened. “You want it?” he marveled, clearly moved by the idea of me with a dick like his.
“Fuck yeah,” I said, not wanting there to me any doubt. In that moment I wanted a leg-sized cock more than anything else I’d ever wanted.
“Oh god,” Santiago said. He stepped back quickly, struggling to get his girder-hard cock out from under the bench. Finally it sprang free, jumping up to a rigid position a foot above the vertical. I stared at it in pure wonder, and it seemed it stare back at me, its palm-wide slit weeping a steady stream of clear, slick pre. It had to be at least three and a half feet and almost as thick as both of his well-made legs put together. The Velcro cuff of the sweats had pulled open, and the stretchy fabric was straining around his tool, looking almost like a second, navy cotton foreskin.
“Fuck, Daniel!” Santiago said. “I’m going to—” He took a quick step forward, thrusting the huge, red cockhead right in my face. The musky, intoxicating smell of cock and semen almost made me swoon. “You have to drink it,” he said desperately. “Drink as much as you can!” he said, even as his dick started gushing hot, wonderful cum.
Quickly I grabbed the head in both hands and put my mouth to the slit, though it was almost like trying to use a geyser as a drinking fountain. My face and torso were splashed with what felt like gallons of warm jizz, but I managed to fill my mouth with his bitter, delicious cum, over and over again, swallowing like I was the national chug-a-lug champion and some upstart shit was gunning for my title. I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, and I came and came and came again, shooting my own loads over and over again as even each shot was an entirely new orgasm that came after a month of never cumming at all, release after euphoric release.
Eventually we started to return to ourselves as our dicks finally flagged, though we were both still mostly hard. My face and upper body was covered in his cum, and my insides were full of it, too. “Now say the words,” Santiago panted. Seeing my questioning look he explained, “Otherwise it would spread to everyone that drank your cum, and that would be—”
“—a lot of dudes,” I finished, like him breathing as hard as if we’d run a marathon together. I caught my breath and met his eyes. “What are the words?” I asked.
Santiago’s crooked grin returned. “Say, I want this,” he instructed, voice still breathy.
“I want this,” I said immediately. “I fucking want this.”
At this, Santiago smiled wide and looked down expectantly at my wet crotch where my softening dick was obvious against my hip under my cum-saturated sweats. I wondered what was going to happen and what I would feel, but right then I felt an amazing tingling, as if I were about to cum again. Then before I think anything else the transformation flooded over me like a wave when you’re lying in the surf, and then—it was done. I was changed.
Fuck, was I changed. We stared, and stared. Finally, Santiago whistled.
“Fuck, Daniel,” he said, almost worshipfully. “They’re beautiful.”
I was dumbstruck, gaping at what had happened to me. Between my legs were not one but two massive, thirty-inch mostly flaccid dicks, twitching under our combined attention inside the snuggly comfort of the two extra legs my favorite sweatpants had grown to accommodate them. I nudged the head of one of then with one of my shoe-clad feet, and a tingle shot straight up the shaft and through my body like an impulse of simple pleasure. Fuck, these guys were going to be a lot of fun.
I looked up at Santiago. “My sweats changed,” I said numbly.
He nodded, not looking away from my double helping of hypercock. “All your clothes will have changed,” he said distractedly. “You’ll notice a few other … adjustments, too,” he added. His eyes drifted to my torso and he took in a sharp breath. I looked down in surprise and my dicks jumped a little at what I saw. In the heartbeat within which I grown two floor-dragging cocks I’d also gone from nicely well muscled to fucking built, with huge round pecs so big and firm they cast an actual shadow over my deep-carved fucking ten-pack abs, and broad, bulging traps, delts, and upper arms to match. I looked like I could tear down a tree with my bare hands, though I was delighted to see I still had just the brush of dirty blond hair between my now-ponderous pecs.
At that moment we noticed that Santiago’s dog had woken up from his nap and was sitting right at his master’s feet, staring earnestly up at him. Smiling easily, Santiago knelt down and scratched his head vigorously, and the dog responded happily, tongue lolling and tail thwapping madly in all directions. “I have to get home and feed Max,” he told me apologetically. “I have to be on the trading floor by eight.”
I realized I should really get home too. Zac and Zane were probably awake by now, and they’d be wanting to test-drive my new equipment before I headed off to start my own day. I stood and smiled gratefully at Santiago. We hugged, both of us amused by the stickiness of it, and how our respective cocks wanted to get in the way. “See you tomorrow?” I asked, biting my lip.
Santiago’s crooked grin was all smug cockiness, but I knew what lay underneath his façade, and it was as adorable as he was smoking hot. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. With a quick but promising kiss on the lips, he turned and walked away, Max trotting after him. Santiago knew (I was sure) that I would be staring at his captivating ass in his soft, clingy dark blue sweats, and he was right, of course. Though I discovered in that moment, out of sheer necessity, that I could control my erections like Santiago had said, it took every once of will-power I had to keep from springing two four-foot stiffies just from the sight of Santiago’s ass sauntering confidently away from me.
Fuck, I thought, turning at last after his butt was out of sight and heading for my apartment. As I walked I was enjoying the weight of my guys and the feel of them shifting against my legs, knowing I’d never fucking get tired of the simple pleasure of just having these two enormous cocks. I sighed contentedly and thought ahead to breakfast—and I didn’t mean bacon and eggs. Zac and Zane had better be ready for me, I thought, anticipation tingling through my powerful muscles and oversized members. I picked up my pace as I headed out of the park and into my new, slightly altered life.