Big is Better

Toto, I don't think we're in Lancaster Cty Anymore


By XHuge4Muscl

Goodbye to overalls. Goodbye to horse-drawn buggies. Goodbye to reading by candlelight. Goodbye to stiff, starched plain white shirts and black pants, black coats and straw hats. Goodbye to getting up every morning at 4:30 AM to tend to the cows.

Hello movies! Hello cars! Hello electricity, showers, cell phones, magazines, movies, stereos, television, VCR's and rock-n-roll. But most of all, I was thinking- HELLO MEN! I left on a bus that Fall, destined for my first college semester, off to seek his fame and fortune among the outlanders at last.

My first semester was plain awful. I was a fish out of water. The quintessential 'hayseed'. I was also homesick to the point I thought I'd physically throw up. It was culture-shock for me on a scale I never was prepared for, regardless of what direction I turned. I did survive however. I adapted and I learned - and actually fairly quickly too due to an intense, burning personal need to fit in and 'belong'. I wanted to become, in fact, an outlander. Failure was not an option.

John was my very first college roommate during my freshman year. John was the proverbial heterosexual stud in my eyes, anyway. WHAT A MAN. Tall, dark, and good-looking (and fucking every coed in sight, I quickly gathered.) He was extremely gregarious and had a great sense of humor, to boot. For whatever reason, the two of us hit it off very well in short order. Plainly, John just liked me. Maybe he found something involving about my so-very-backward 'countrified' notions and ways. He'd even told me at one point early on that he found me, "charming and quaint". Those were his words. My words would have been something more like "socially-retarded", especially that 1st semester. I know I did an awful lot of listening and very little talking to anyone- well except to John that is. I talked with him non-stop. I just mostly observed everything and everyone during that first crucial semester. It was as if every minute of my day offered me something absolutely new to be learned - acquired - picked up on. It goes without saying I suppose that I was still locked ever-so-firmly in 'the closet', as well. But I saw advertisements for campus gay organizations as well as for gay establishments in the city, bars and the like and made mental notes on all.

Also needless to say- but I will anyway- I had to give up wearing those overalls mighty fast as well; talk about sticking out in a crowd I was trying desperately to 'blend into'! But the current fashion styles smiled on me, and I discovered that a real loose-fitting pair of jeans and extra large pullovers or shirts, when left untucked, worked effectively well to 'minimize' attention to my crotch.

Now please understand that John was also just as straight as an arrow. I always showered and did my bathroom routine when the dorm was the least occupied and John wasn't in the room either. One such afternoon, I was just getting dressed and had just zipped up my jeans when John unexpectedly entered our room. This was also the most exposed that he'd ever seen me, more a testimony to just how very careful and self-conscious I always was about exposing my body to anyone. John quickly scanned me from head to toe and then back again, but stopped noticeably at my waist-level. With his eyes clearly focused on the profile of my crotch, he said rather wryly, "I'd ask you if you stuffed a sock in there Pete, but in your case, I think you misplaced your bath towel."

"No... ahhh... well- that's just me," I said, automatically turning away from him and grabbing quickly for my sweatshirt on the back of a chair.

I heard him whistle and then came his skeptical comment, " Yeh, sure it is, Pete. So who's the chick that you're trying to over-impress?"

Although the words weren't quite the same, my mind flashed back instantly to my very first encounter with Gabe in the locker room. Well, I was quite happy to leave it all just at that. I quickly changed the conversation and tugged my pullover down to my thighs somewhat involuntarily, as if to reinforce to John that the door had definitely closed on any further conversation about that topic.

John was a sophomore, all-worldly and wise. I think I was completely in awe of him. I hung on his every word of advice. He was a handsome man actually, just not exactly the kind of man that put an instant bulge in my pants, thankfully. I wouldn't have known what to do with that back then.

But in that first critical semester, John really helped me begin to fill in all my 'gaps'. Literally everything was a new experience for me. Beyond just the whole mass media bombardment- television, radio and the like- there were the thornier issues of booze and drugs- and SEX of course- all of which were completely new territory for me. I was vulnerable and could have gotten just SO completely and quickly lost. Gratefully I did not however, and I have mostly John to thank for guiding me through those initially very rough, turbulent waters.

John became a true friend, and seemed to actually care very much about my welfare. I think my backward, ultra-naive ways actually shocked him initially though. But always the willing and available resource, he helped me adapt to this whole new world that existed outside of Lancaster County. That was no small challenge for him either. John was there completely for me every step of the way and I think he actually relished this self-appointed role of his, too- that of being my guide and mentor into the modern world- and most especially, into the world of sex. To him, I think I was 'a project' of sorts- a very rough, uncut gem to be formed and polished. Apparently through our long and regular conversations, John eventually pieced together that I was still technically a virgin. I think he felt sorry for me in a way. He must have thought I was totally deprived of all normal masculine outlets. (Well, what I was really deprived of was men.) Upon finding out this new fact about me, John also strangely made this his very personal and sacred crusade to rapidly have my membership in the '17 year-old Virgins Club' cancelled.

Can you imagine how I reacted inside when I first heard that the perfect vehicle John had so carefully selected to very quickly de-flower me was to be a special trip to a local whorehouse that very next weekend. I felt like I was between a rock and a hard place, not feeling either that I could say no or come up with some plausible excuse, and not wanting to tell him my cock got rock-hard for big men either. But contrary to what you might be thinking- my being gay and all- this really posed no particular sexual performance problem for me either. Getting it up for a whore wasn't anything that would have worried me particularly. You see, I'd been 'getting it up' usually several times a day often involuntarily since I was a 10 year-old man-boy. Getting it up was never a struggle. It was getting it to go down to avoid totally embarrassing myself that was far more often my particular dilemma.

I'll tell you for now that I was just perpetually horny, but I'd find out eventually that there was more going on with me than just normal teenage male horniness. Having spontaneous 'hands-off' daily organisms was perfectly normal to me, and it had always been that way. Moreover, with the constant guy jokes, innuendoes and kidding around that I heard literally all the time about 'spanking the monkey', I probably assumed that all males involuntarily sprayed from their hoses as often as I did.

The truth is that I literally got a hard-on just hearing the word 'sex'- and just hearing the word 'fuck' all by itself was literally orgasmic. Get it? While I certainly had a gender preference myself, my dick's on-switch was essentially genderless. Anyone's touching it at all, and my boner was fully-automatic and fully-guaranteed. Hell, it'd been at least semi-automatic with nothing more that my pant legs brushing it on too many past occasions.

The following Saturday night, John successfully orchestrated the loss of my virginity, exactly as he'd promised to do. He made sure I was well loosened up for starters with a six-pack of Bud, I recall. I was already shit-faced when we headed off in John's VW to that 'little house of illicit love' located just a few miles away in a neighboring town. I was too inebriated to be even nervous by that point. The thought of finally getting laid was all that my then single-tracked mind could think of. John wasn't initially thinking of getting laid himself, but once we'd gotten there, he seemed to quickly reconsider.

So, cutting now directly to the chase... in short order, I'd selected 'my date' from the smorgasbord of willing babes and so had John, and off we went to our own 'dates' rooms. And there, I was FINALLY - almost unbelievably - actually going to have real sex with my very own dick.

The perfume-drenched wench slipped off her slinky one-piece dress exposing her 'largest assets' - a set of quadruple "D" cup breasts that must have cost her a small fortune in silicon.

"Here baby - you wanna feel my big boobs?" she asked coyly.

I have to admit to you that her implants were so cartoonishly oversized that I had an unexplainable desire to actually play with them. Only years later would I understand that it was another odd manifestation of my special relationship with 'size' just expressing itself, rather than any real heterosexual proclivity. I was so sex-deprived that they really did seem to further 'stimulate' me, at least in that moment - and feel them, I definitely did. I proceeded to probably squeeze the daylights out of them - and probably so much so that she wanted to get me right down to business before she suffered a fatal silicon-bladder rupture.

"So, you wanna fuck me, stud?" she asked seductively. Frankly, I was more expecting the, "Do you think I'm pretty," opener that Rebecca had used. The word 'fuck' though literally ignited my fire.


The word swirled in my already swirling head. My dick finished stiffening, fully up to the challenge.

As I stripped off my clothes as fast as I could, she laid back on the bed and spread her legs.

"Come on stud and FUCK my hot wet pussy." Her fingers seemed to point the way or maybe they were just opening the barn doors.. whatever... I got a clear idea of the intended target zone even through my alcohol-fogged vision.

"FUCK".. the word was like a god damn lightening bolt. Magical. My cock responded more enthusiastically, and continued to harden fast in anticipation as I went down for the score.

Like that Amish wench before, she actually had to rotate through several positions. I will say that Madame X was a consummate professional though. Eventually she did manage to accommodate my fully-erect girth, but she definitely worked very hard for her money and must have gone through a whole tube of that 'lube stuff in the process, too. I began to explode just about the moment she managed to actually get me into her. Man, what an incredibly tight fit! I was so hot from the rapturous sensations radiating from my dick that I just started the pumps working to completely deplete my sperm banks. She seemed to really enjoy me rather surprisingly. Being a pro who'd had untold numbers of John's previously, I hadn't expected such a reaction at all. As I continued cumming strongly, she started to take noticeably increasing interest. Her eyes opened wider. Then she started practically screaming, "God .. Oh yes... Oh Ooohhhh... YES... Shit- I'm cumming!! Oh God.....YEESSSSS ... Oh fuck! Oooohhh FUCK!! I'm cuuummmiinnnnggg AGAIN!!!" and that probably went on for minutes, actually. This professional female pleasure-giver was experiencing one incredible and unexpectedly intense orgasm.

And so my 'real' virginity became a page in history. It wasn't lost unfortunately with the man of my dreams either, but rather with a hooker - and one with an unusually big smile on her face by the time I was finally done. Eventually I withdrew, and she propped herself up with her elbows on her pillow. Her slightly distended belly began to flatten out as all of my man-cream drained out of her puss forming a large pool. That seminal lake was no stranger to me anyway. I'd seen it every morning for many years. I noted that she rather quizzically looked back at the condition of her working bed several times as she slipped into her dress again.

Then she reached into a dresser and pulled out a Polaroid camera, asking if she could take a picture of me for the house 'memorables' collection, whatever that was.

"Just your dick. No face shot," she promised.

"Sure, go ahead," I said, far too drunk to really protest.

She snapped the photo, and then added, "Your Daddy must have been a bull elephant. I must'a seen a thousand men, and I ain't never seen the likes of you. And I definitely ain't never seen the likes of that," gesturing toward the semen-soaked bed. "You're some kind'a mighty big freak."

The fact that she'd clearly intended that to be a complement completely missed me. Probably because of the alcoholic fog in my head, there were actually a few long seconds before the bomb detonated in my brain. But when it finally did, all I heard was the word "FREAK" again, as if being screamed over a PA system. The word slashed me like a knife. I felt deathly ill suddenly, bolting out of there as fast as I could.

When I got outside the whorehouse, it was as if I was instantly sober; and to say that I was also very somber is understating it entirely. John was already in the car and of course, with a shit-eating grin on his face asked very enthusiastically, " So just how WAS it, man?"

I said it was just fine, and feigned more enthusiasm than I was feeling right at that moment. But 'freak' was still screaming in my head, as if what I'd always half-thought was now a proven fact. John read through me like a book.

"OK - Something wrong, Pete?"

"I got'ta see a doctor," was all I replied somewhat coldly.

Naturally John asked why, saying, "God this sounds serious, like it's a big deal or something!"

"Yes, it's a very big deal John - and it's kind'a personal, OK?"

I think it was the very next week I pulled myself up by my own bootstraps, swallowed hard, and marched myself into the college infirmary. Scared almost witless, I fearfully stepped up to the receptionist and asked if it was possible to see a real doctor rather than a nurse-practitioner. The receptionist of course said that would depend on what was wrong with me, and proceeded to ask about the nature of my problem.

"It's personal. It's very important- but it's definitely personal..."

"Oh, I see," she said. My immediate thought was, "Oh God, she sees? How could she see it? I'm standing up against a high counter!" But then it occurred to me that she probably thought I had a venereal disease or something similar.

"Oh, it's not what you're thinking - It's NOTHING like THAT," I quickly blurted out. "I'm not sick or nothing. I've just got a - a thing - a kind of a big skin thing - that I want to talk about with a real doctor."

"Like a growth?" she asked.

"Well yes, kind'a - that too, I guess...." I squirmed, now more anxiously waiting for these questions would come to an end.

She asked if I could show this to her, to which I responded instantly, "No. Definitely - NO!"

I eventually got in to see a male doctor. He was a fairly young guy dressed in jeans and a white coat, which made me feel slightly more at ease - well, just slightly...

When he asked me to show him my problem, I hesitated and then undid my buckle and tugged down my jeans to my knees. The doctor just looked at Johann and his Two Friends - completely deadpan and expressionless- for the longest time.

To break the uncomfortable silence, I said, "It's all... well it seems to me like it's all just... just too much!"

The doctor sort of choked a bit and then, clearing his throat a few times, proceeded to confirm that my, "male genitalia did appear on gross inspection to be unusual, but not deformed."

I took that to mean I was built like a bull, and my baseballs and the bat went proportionally well together, and all that.

"So, was your daddy a bull elephant?" he asked with a rather wry grin, intending to make light of it and just break the ice a bit.

He proceeded to take an extensive medical history and gave me a complete physical exam - the very first I'd ever had in my life, in fact. I slowly became somewhat more at ease, eventually telling him more of the sordid details - my age when this had all had started to happen to me, my nightly dreams and the ocean of cum I'd wake up swimming in routinely every morning. Then I even got up the nerve to mention my spontaneous erections that happened all the time and also cumming rather uncontrollably in my pant with some frequency, too. In the end I'd told him almost everything remotely relevant. I never mentioned to the doctor however that I got hot over men. That simply didn't seem related to the problem or any of his business particularly either.

Not surprisingly, he needed to examine my cock and balls rather thoroughly, which he did sitting down while I stood there like a fool in front of him. Of course it goes without saying that as soon as he began to touch me, I sprang an boner. Although the doctor said not to worry about it, and that it was a "completely normal male reaction" - my cock had a much bigger reaction than I think he was maybe expecting. Totally embarrassed now, I started to apologize saying that I couldn't seem to control it at all.

"That's just like what always happens to me," I complained.

"I see what you mean..."

As he continued to examine and manipulate me, my cock continued to engorge dramatically- right up to the point where I think it would have eventually smacked him under his chin if he'd continued much longer. I really do believe that he was a very straight (heterosexual) doc actually. I certainly got no 'gay vibe' from him whatsoever, and he sported a wedding ring as well. But after awhile, even he oddly began to 'bone up' quite noticeably, too, in synchrony (if not even in sympathy) with my own massively-aroused piece of manhood.

He recomposed himself quickly enough though, saying, "I've seen enough now. You can get dressed again." Then he excused himself for a moment to get a drink of water.

I was dressed by the time he returned. He proceeded to tell me that he found no evidence of tumors and couldn't feel anything that seemed suspicious or out of the ordinary to him; well that is other than the unusually large size of my 'gonads' in general. So at least he did verbally confirm that aloud to me finally - that I was, indeed, an unusually big boy. But otherwise, I appeared to him to be in excellent health. Then he added that a more extensive evaluation was definitely warranted, and he ordered a bunch of blood tests and a CAT scan of my brain as well. I was told to make another appointment with him in a week so he'd have the results of all of these test back, which I did.

So one week later I returned and got both good news and bad news. The good news was at least I had some clearer answers that finally began to explain my particular male genitalia to me. The bad news was that there were no immediate cures available, however. There were no medications that I could take - certainly nothing that could be done surgically, like a 'dick & ball' reduction. Although the doctor could really only speculate, he said that he assumed that my size was likely caused by some unusual genetics - the genes I'd inherited from my father and that were probably 'normal' for the males in my family anyway. I did however have circulating levels of several hormones that were 'off the charts' as he put it for normal males- 3 to 4 times the average levels, in fact. Although sometimes unusually high hormone levels are caused by tumors, I had no indications of any in the CAT scan results. So in all probability, he speculated, "This was just the way I was made by God." Those were the doctor's exact words. Then he tacked on, "And after He made you, I think he broke the mold..." He went on to hypothesize that since I'd been under the daily influence of extraordinarily high levels of some hormones since puberty, I had developed exactly the heavy-duty male equipment that these hormones commanded my body to grow all during my puberty.

"You should be smiling Peter. You're practically Superman!" the doctor said, trying again to make light of it all as well as to perhaps raise my spirits.

"So- I'm a freak then. That's what you're telling me," I responded.

He thought for awhile. "Think of yourself in more positive ways, Peter. You're a bright, young- and really- you're a good-looking guy. As an added bonus, you also just happen to be among the extraordinarily well-endowed males of our species - the real measure for manhood, I'd say," he chuckled. "And for Pete's sake- and I mean that very literally - stop beating yourself up and just enjoy these rather bountiful gifts you've been given. Hell- I would be if I were you," he said grinning from ear-to-ear.

The more I mulled this all over in my head during the immediate days that followed, the more that started to sound like increasingly good advice too. I decided I'd been isolated and alone long enough. It was time- definitely time- to start living my life as the person I was born to be- and that included a man who was hot for other men, as well. It had been almost five years since I'd felt the special magic of another man. •

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