Raiders Basketball, Chapter 1

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.”

spectaular story, keep it cummin'!!!

This is a very interesting story line. Please, continue soon.

This is a great story, you need to finish it!
Thanks!

More, please!

Awesome!!!! Please give us more, and soon!!

Sorry, but the main characters nauseating self description lost me at the second paragraph... This man has NO weaknesses? No doubts? Sounds like a screaming narcisist... I didn[t get to where he described his penis- but from the first paragraph I am guessing what..20 inches? and um....10 inches around?

"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. " Wasn't this guy on Melrose place or some other vacuous show?


(you wanted feedback....just putting in my .02- its rare that I find a 'fuck story' that much of a turn off... but blech...)

if you didn't read it, why jump to conclusions about the story??
I won't ruin it for anyone but suffice to say catman, you completely missed the complication/crisis for the main character on which this first episode of the story hinges.

And for the author, great story, creatively thought out and well written. 9/10 (you won't get the other tenth until you write some more )

Keep it coming. Your story is very hot, amusing and satisfying. As pecular has this may seem, all the semi homo erotic overtures involving male group bonding and masterbation in the lockeroom, is strangely very appealing to this straight guy.

There seems to be a primal cord plucked by your story that every guy who has pasted thru the holo halls of high school touches on one way or another. To envision yourselves as a virtual god amoug the untouchable high school elite crowd is just awesome.

Of course, your baseball elites have privilegdes that exceed anything I ever imaged back in the day. In my opinion, the more you grandize the character and his school the better. So, keep it up.