Dicks keep growing around me

by body beyond   

Until recently, Myron has been oblivious to the fact that dicks would get mysteriously bigger the longer someone hung out with him. He begins putting the pieces together as his boss, Miguel, and roommate, Ty, start going through all too familiar changes below the belt.

“Dicks keep growing around you?”

“Yes,” I said. “Or at least I think. It's not exactly an airtight theory, but there are some examples.”

“And it just…happens,” responded my supervisor Miguel.

“Apparently.”

“And it's happening to me?”

“Pretty sure.”

So I have a theory. Maybe just a hunch, I don't know. And I'm not doing it on purpose, but I'm pretty sure I'm the cause. For lack of a better way of saying, dicks keep growing around me. And I don't mean chubbing up, I mean literally growing. Like adding on real, tangible inches with no end in sight. It's very slow, and I think it comes down to how often we're in close proximity, but if you spend enough time around me, you may end up with more, sometimes much more, below the belt. I don't have any idea how this works, but I wish I did. I'm still just piecing clues together.

So I guess Exhibit A would be my boss, Miguel. I do a lot of temporary contract work, which isn't ideal, but allows me to string together rent while working on some of my own creative freelance stuff. I was hired onto this project six months ago to restructure the data management system of a small, local startup and they miscalculated the resultant shift in office space. After a series of awkward corners and at least one broom closet, they decided to just stick me in Miguel's office. Miguel requested it actually. He figured I would be of more use working in tandem with him than I would blocking everyone's path to the bathroom.

I was less than pleased to look like his makeshift corner secretary, and honestly I've dealt with much worse, but he didn't mind. In fact, he seemed to welcome the company. Miguel kept a tight beard and even tighter fade, always perfectly put together in what looked like one-step-below-designer business casual, with the cherry on top being the neon purple and green barefoot shoes he tended to wear to work. I would've been annoyed if not for the fact that he was a genuinely nice, thoughtful guy, and more than just a captivating smile. Plus, I came around on his use of a balance ball chair once I was introduced to his tight butt clad in well fitting slacks. Not that I ever really thought about him that way.

So we shared a space and had a congenial enough dynamic. We both had similar tastes in some of the experimental music scene locally and would even go out to some shows together. Also he's a self-proclaimed menswear expert and started systemically giving my wardrobe a much-needed overhaul. So I found it odd when his usual form-fitting, modern pants began to lose their flair.

At one point, he chalked it up to seasonal shifts, trying out some new, looser looks for the spring. Not to mention baggier, boxier styles had been taking the place of slim-fit jeans and tight shirts, at least according to him. A few times he texted me in the morning, saying he was running late because of a 'wardrobe malfunction,' which I never thought much of. I had come to expect him cycling through three or four outfit changes before he finally made it out.

For a while it seemed like he might've just been getting the wrong fit, since he developed a habit of adjusting his crotch often, or even wincing slightly when he sat down too hard. And I had had multiple friends and partners with similar issues, so offered some tailoring tips, but he didn't want to dwell on it.

I got a good idea why when we went to a show together one evening. A DJ we both liked was playing a set at a warehouse on a Thursday night, and we figured we had to go. We'd bring a change of clothes, work late on Thursday, then roll into the office late Friday morning. We could even call it a team meeting, or professional development, or something.

The show was euphoric. I felt like I was rising up and outside of myself as our bodies bounced on the packed dance floor, in so small part due to the haze of surprisingly strong drinks and party drugs. While Miguel seemed to be enjoying it, he was still preoccupied with the constant need to readjust his crotch. I had seen him in this pair of skinny leather pants—his ass alone was unforgettable—but they seemed especially constricting.

“Told you you'd look great in those pants,” came Miguel's familiar voice in my ear. He never missed an opportunity to brag about being my personal stylist, but I had to admit I looked better than expected. However, I didn't expect Miguel's strong hands to linger on my hips, nor did I expect myself to close the rest of the gap between us. I'd been catching guys checking us out all night and I was feeling myself, so I thought Fuck it, as we began grinding to the rhythm. Maybe it was the fantasy of the moment or whatever I was on, but the bulge in Miguel's pants felt major, and his crotch was radiating heat.

Suddenly, Miguel's hands tensed up and he pulled away, his hand trailing against my lower back as he turned to leave. I asked if he was doing all right and he sputtered something about needing to piss, quickly disappearing into the crowd. I didn't think much of it, and quickly got lost in the crush of moving bodies, and more than a few lingering caresses just below my hips. To say I was getting hot and bothered was an understatement and eventually I realized that I also needed to relieve myself, aiming in the vague direction of the bathroom but quickly getting lost in the crush of the crowd. Eventually, I stumbled into a back alley, a rush of chill spring night air hitting my lungs as the party thumped through the wall behind me.

I turned my head at the sound of a deep sigh of visceral relief, looking to the left to see Miguel, eyes closed and head thrown back as he pissed loudly against the side of the wall. I wasn't exactly in my right mind, and didn't stop myself from glancing at his cock, which, semisoft, was hanging halfway down to his knees, jiggling comically as he shook off the last drops. It wasn't just massive, it was beautiful, majestic under the streetlight, draped in shadow by Miguel's outstretched arm, the other hand bracing against the wall.

“Sorry,” he said, making me quickly realize that while my eyes were hyperfocused on his schlong, his were on me watching me hyperfocus on his schlong. “There was a line to the bathroom and it was about to be a photo finish,” a slight smile turning up his lips as he saw me finally draw my eyes away from his stunning dick.

“I, uh, was just about to join you,” I replied, deliberately keeping my eyes on his as he struggled to fit his prodigious cock back into his pants, by some miracle getting the zipper up after a few tries.

The awkwardness must've been my own anxious imagination, as the next day at work he actually seemed more relaxed than he had in a while, his bubble butt perched on his exercise ball chair as he sat with a leisurely spread, his bulge plainly visible. I guess the secret's out, I thought. At least between us.

When the summer sun had come to stay, and my contract was wrapping up, he proposed an office hiking trip at one of his favorite trails, a moderately strenuous 3.5-mile track that led to an impressive waterfall tucked away just outside the city. I hadn't been, but was familiar with it because my roommate, Ty, worked in the kitchen at a bar nearby that was kind of the post-hike spot. My apartment, according to Miguel, was “on the way” to the trailhead. I begged to differ, but he insisted on the kind gesture of giving me a lift, until we reached the compromise of me getting a ride home with Ty when their shift ended. So Miguel picked me up from my place, decked out in hiking boots, thick socks, a breezy short-sleeved button-down, and some five-inch linen shorts with a sizable bulge. I had already caught a glimpse of his dick, so I wasn't surprised by what looked like rolled up tube socks tucked into his crotch, but this looked bigger than I remembered.

And I don't think I was the only one who noticed either. Miguel was certainly the center of attention when we met up with the others at the trailhead, albeit delightfully oblivious in his excitement to take us on this outing. And it looked like I may have missed the memo about the dress code. All the other guys were wearing similar short shorts, showing off their own respectable bulges—though not as impressive as Miguel's.

As we set off down the trail, Miguel took an early lead, looking like he had no intention of slowing down. As we settled into a rhythm, I found myself consistently a few steps behind him—admiring more than the view of the scenery—with the rest of the group farther back but still within earshot. I began to think that Miguel should've stuck to the breezy bottoms he had fallen into wearing, because he was constantly adjusting the hem of his shorts as they dug into his meaty quads. At times, he seemed visibly uncomfortable.

As we reached a bend in the trail with a makeshift bench, we decided to take a breather and let the others catch up. Miguel's shirt was glued to the middle of his back by a trail of sweat that ran down to his butt crack. I had trouble noticing anything else as he bent over and rested his hands on his knees, pushing his tight butt in my direction as he caught his breath.

From behind, the crotch of his pants looked overstuffed and straining at the seams. I thought it must have been my exhausted brain and overactive imagination until with a soft rip, the crotch of his shorts gave out, his dick gracefully bobbing two thirds of the way to his knees, definitely bigger than before and paired with some proportionately huge nuts. Miguel, his cock now freed of its constraints, let out a sigh of relief before apparently coming to the realization of the cool breeze on his oversized genitals.

Hearing the others approaching, I sprang into action, pushing him off the trail and just behind a stand of bushes, hoping passersby would assume he was relieving himself and keep moving.

“Sorry,” he said. “I brought up a backup pair just in case. Give me one second.”

“A backup pair?” I asked, wanting to respect his privacy but also betraying my own fascination with this super dick that I had now been introduced to twice.

“Yeah, I thought I wouldn't have an issue yet with these pants, but wanted to be careful.”

“What do you mean, issue?” I asked. “And what do you mean yet?”

“I don't know, I think I need to see somebody about this, it's like—” he was cut off by one of their co-workers catching up to them on the trail. He quickly finished changing and stuffed his cock back in his shorts, shooting me a brief look of thanks.

Thankfully, the rest of the outing passed without incident. We actually had a great time, and Miguel was certainly correct about the waterfall being worth the aggravation. A few of the guys even waded in to cool off, inadvertently revealing some very heavy bulges through the thin, wet fabric of their shorts. Miguel hung back.

We got drinks afterward, and it was obvious Miguel was a post-hike usual. As the afternoon wore on to evening, everyone fell away slowly, until it was just the two of us. He insisted on hanging around until Ty could take me home, and I would've staunchly refused if not for how much I enjoyed his company—and how he would've stayed against my wishes anyway.

He hadn't really been drinking—concerned about everyone else having a good time, in typical Miguel fashion—but I had maybe had more than I should. During a lull in the conversation, he leaned in slightly and said, “Thanks for the save back there. Would've never lived it down at work.”

“To be honest, I was not expecting all that,” I said, trying to be careful not to push boundaries too far, too fast.

“Honestly, me neither,” Miguel responded, his eyes widening slightly as he glanced into the distance. “TMI, but I've been kind of having a late growth spurt the last six months. Or something.”

And well, this is when the pieces finally started to come together. I had had hunches and musings over the years about my propensity to meet some truly noteworthy cocks, but something deep in my brain felt compelled to ask, “When did it start?”

With a thoughtful look in his eye, he glanced at me and said, “Around when you showed up. You might be my lucky charm.”

This is when it finally clicked.

“Dicks keep growing around you?”

“...Yes,” Myron said.

I guessed that three drinks in is the point where he's ready to spit out ridiculous theories that congeal in his head. But of course I wanted to play along.

“Ok, so like, how do you do it?” I asked. I thought he was bullshitting, was hoping he was bullshitting, but wanted to see where this fantasy went.

“I…don't. It just happens?”

“Just happens. Like how?”

“I don't really know, but now that I think about it, I've been around…kind of a lot of guys with your similar predicament.”

“My similar predicament…” I have a habit of loosely repeating things back to someone when I don't fully believe what they're saying, which has annoyed all manner of partners, co-workers, and friends. But the gears in my brain were turning and I did just call Myron my good luck charm…

Six months ago, I had been eagerly shaking the hand of our new contract hire. Myron was my first choice for the position and I didn't hide my excitement to have him join us. I only wished we could have brought him on in a permanent capacity, but in retrospect, for the sanctity of whatever can survive of my sex life and trouser seams, maybe it's best we didn't.

But I liked him immediately. There was something about his presence that just felt energizing, so when his shuffle of workspaces was getting unwieldy, of course I had him join me in my office. Due to a fluke in the building design, it was way too big for my needs—and I wasn't a fan of the accidental 'status symbol' of the corner office. I had been wanting to find ways to repurpose it. Plus, I got to work more closely with Myron and, admittedly, catch glimpses of his cute bubble butt. He even let me start giving him tips on how to show off the ass he didn't even know he had.

Not that I was into him like that. I like to think I'm pretty serious about professional decorum, which made it all the more uncomfortable when my dick began to constantly feel slightly chubbed up. I thought that maybe I had been too good at being Myron's menswear guide and he was starting to finally show off his ass on purpose. Except a couple of weeks into our new arrangement, I began to realize that that slight chub never really went down, even outside of work. In fact, I began to notice that often, it wasn't a chub at all, I was totally soft. Just…bigger.

Which didn't make any kind of sense. I'm 35, my dick was respectable, but I had been familiar with its form for quite some time now. Except whenever I would jack off, it would feel just slightly more substantial in my hand. I thought it must've been something I was eating. I was getting harder than I had in years, not to mention some unusually deep orgasms. And as they would calm down, with me breathing into a glob of my own cum splashed against my lips, it seemed like my dick wouldn't quite go down all the way. There was just a little more of that slight chub, which wasn't a chub at all.

It took me about a month to realize that I was genuinely getting bigger down there, not that I was complaining or really needed an explanation. Frankly, I was excited. If the Universe wanted to grant me a little extra meat, there must be a good enough reason. The only issue was getting used to a package that was getting slightly and slightly and slightly more prominent, with a juicy pair of balls that were following suit. The bulge I decided to play off, but it was getting less and less comfortable, especially in anything fitted or tailored. As it became a distraction at work—for me and everyone else—I switched to looser pants. Not my favorite, but some back of closet pairs that would suffice while I got things fitted again.

But eventually, it wasn't just the fit of the pants that was the problem; it was the embarrassing need to start keeping an extra pair around. Whenever I was aroused, I started leaking precum like a faucet, and now how much I would try and ignore it, the slight movements in my crotch would slide my cockhead through more and more of my gooey juices, starting a positive feedback loop of horniness.

Not to mention that when this thing got going, it really got going. I had been having the most mind-blowing orgasms of my life, but needed to relieve myself more and more often. And once all the blood started heading to my now definitely big, starting to look disproportionate dick, there was only one way out. I would sneak off to one of the single-stall bathrooms at work, even bringing a small prostate massager for my hungry hole, holding back a scream of pleasure that would've alerted the entire office to a bathroom stall covered in globs of semen. I began to fall into this routine fairly easily, purposefully walking out of the room and whatever folder or shoulder bag or colorful vase was nearby as camouflage for an enormous, pulsing bulge. This whole orgasmic routine had worked beautifully, until I met an ironic, erotic fate on the morning train.

I was still half asleep, trying to sip enough coffee to undo the effects of having been out past 2 a.m. for a show I wanted to see, and resolving—yet again—that this was a habit I would one day decide to break. But it had been a good show, not the least of which because of a fitness twink with the juiciest bubble butt. We hadn't spent all that much time eye fucking each other from across the venue before he was grinding his ass against my crotch. The look on his face when he realized what I was packing was almost enough to send me over the edge right then and there. We moved through the pleasantries at the beat of the music—his name's Winston, halfway through grad school, etc.—but alas, we both had early mornings and ended up parting ways, ships passing in the night.

That is, until I got caught up in the reflection of the train doors, leering at an ass that looked all too familiar, and even juicier in the early morning light. If I wasn't mistaken, you could see it jiggle with the rumble of the tracks. His pink gym shorts looked painted on and his matching tank top accentuated his succulent pecs. I recognized his ass before I recognized his face, but couldn't miss the deep brown eyes staring directly back at me. He tilted his head and gave me a playful wink in recognition, proceeding to indulge in the sight of the bulge in my pants that was about to be difficult to hide.

I covered myself with my backpack, incredulous that this man had me rock hard in rush hour and noting with mild annoyance that my dick was snaking even further down my left leg than it had last night. Winston only looked more bemused by my embarrassment, and his adorable scruffy smile wasn't helping the fact that the pressure of my backpack and rumble of the rails were driving me to the point of no return. I began mapping out the path from the train to the office building to the most-likely-to-be-empty-bathroom for when I reached my eventual stop, but wouldn't even be that lucky.

As Winston turned to leave at the next stop, shooting me an almost regretful wink, the twitch back and forth of his perky cheeks was enough to send me over the edge right then and there. My whole body tensed as I struggled to not reveal the sheer power of this orgasm to everyone around, my dick pulsing in its confined space as I shot ropes of cum into my now ruined slacks. Holding my backpack gingerly in front of my crotch, I got off at the next stop and power walked to a department store that I knew was nearby, texting Myron to let him know I'd be late.

So I was a little preoccupied when I returned to the same club a few weeks later with Myron. I was caught up in the fantasy of my subway crush making a repeat appearance, and I could still manage to shove my unruly dick into a tight pair of leather pants. As we lost ourselves to the music, I thought less and less of my random encounter bae, my attention turning instead to enjoying a night out with my friend, who seemed to be a locus of attention himself. Not that he'd noticed, still reliably, delightfully oblivious, but I had to take some credit for putting a look together that would make his ass really stand out—even more than I had hoped.

I leaned in for my now typical fashionista gloating, slurring “Told you you'd look great in those pants,” in his ear. Except I had not anticipated being slightly off balance as I did this, and suddenly I found my hand settling on Myron's waist and staying. Before I could finish the calculus on how long was too long to linger, he gracefully closed the gap between us, his cheeks coming to rest against my crotch.

My suddenly hard dick was surging against my pants, and sent what felt like a jolt of electricity to my brain as it brushed up against Myron's ass. It settled into a consistent heat in my head that clouded my thoughts as I returned the favor, settling into a rhythmic grind. Sweaty and intoxicated, a voice, soft and distant in the recesses of my brain, worried how professionally appropriate this was. But I was in the moment.

The dull heat started to pound at my temples, reverberating into a feeling of discomfort against the fabric of my tight clothes. I rested my head in the crook of Myron's neck as it reached a fever pitch, until suddenly the sensation shot down to my dick. It felt weird, like it was full to burst and pulsing against the seams, even weirder than usual. It felt…too big.

I made up an excuse about having to piss, and before I could register that Myron even heard what I said, I was making a beeline to the back alley. As I dodged expertly among the bumping crowd, having made this exact trek at many a show on many a night, I almost tripped over myself suddenly making eye contact across the room with none other than Winston, my weekday morning bubble booty subway crush. I was brought back to a full speed power walk by the code red emergency signal coming from my cock, and for a second I thought my missed (and found) connection could also see and hear the sirens and flashing lights just below my waist. His eyes were locked onto my junk in what, in the dim lighting, appeared to be some combination of disbelief and ravenous hunger, mouth agape and subtlety long gone.

I made it to the alley, which was, thankfully, empty. As I pulled out my dick, it almost felt stuck, and when I added some extra elbow grease I hauled out something even I wasn't expecting. I had gotten used to the growth—at least I thought I did—but this was noticeably bigger than it was even an hour previous.

“Jesus…” I whispered.

“...Christ,” exclaimed a voice from the doorway, backgrounded by the resonances of untz untz that wandered into the alley with Winston, my flabbergasted crush. I guess my dick was approaching sight to behold territory, but Winston looked almost reverent, biting his lip in anticipation.

This fantasy had already played out in my head multiple times, but I didn't think the circumstances would be quite like this. As another throb of fullness sent a shiver of too muchness, I tried as casually as I could to settle into something resembling a relaxed pose, resting my right hand on the brick wall of the club, and realizing that the booming base inside was only exacerbating the throbbing coming from my groin.

“That's even bigger than I thought,” said Winston.

“Yeah, same,” I replied with a wry smile.

“Can I?” asked Winston.

“Thought you'd never ask,” I said, my whole body tensing as another pang of too bigness pulsed through my body, my dick rising to just below parallel, drooping under its own weight.

Winston seemed to float across the gap between us, gracefully dropping to both knees and resting a hand gently along my shaft. My dick was painfully sensitive and I was driven almost to the edge, fighting a losing battle against the entrance of Winston's nose, sniffing hungrily along my glans, followed by his juicy lips. I couldn't tell if it was three minutes or three hours while he slurped hungrily at my cock, swallowing as much of me as he could as I burst ropes and ropes of thick, endless cum.

I must've peaced out to another dimension for a bit, because suddenly Winston was holding me up with his strong arms, taking advantage of my lapse in balance to go in for a cum-flavored kiss, sensually exploring the inside of my mouth as I caressed his bubble butt, which felt even bigger up close.

He broke our kiss to gingerly pull my phone out of my pocket and shoot himself a text. “Forgot to do this last time,” he said, with a quick roll of his eyes. “My friends are going to start wondering where I ran off to, but you should call me,” he said, slipping the door back open and disappearing inside.

As I came back to reality in the crisp night air, I realized that I actually did have to pee, relieving my softening dick behind a dumpster, and letting my eyes drift up to the full moon above, lavishing in the residual orgasmic pleasure. I heard the door open and began a lazy smile, thinking Winston had come back for seconds, and instead saw Myron staring agape at the appendage that I had tried—and failed—to hide from view. I made up something quick about the line to the bathroom as I somehow got my dick back into my too tight pants without breaking eye contact with Myron's incredulous expression.

I wasn't enjoying becoming familiar with that look, but the initial shock does die down, I guess. We were back to work the next day like normal, chatting here and there about the show the night before, not talking about the elephant in the room, but also not worrying about it. Honestly, I felt more comfortable in the office after this, knowing that Myron is aware of, and apparently cool with, my mysteriously expanding cock, surprising myself with how much tension I'd been holding over weeks of carefully controlled movements and positions. I guess the secret's out, I thought with relief. At least between us.

So when Myron's contract was reaching its end, I proposed a send-off at one of my fave hiking spots. I'd been promising to take him there for a while—not that he was all that enthusiastic about it—after he mentioned he was familiar with it but never went. As I was leaving to pick him up, I caught myself in the mirror, admiring my very cute, but maybe less practical, outfit, and seeing my own eyes bug out at the bulge in my hiking shorts. I don't think I had worn those since the previous summer, and by the looks of it they were not prepared to handle my growth spurt. At this point, I was getting used to the stares in public and just wanted to look cute, but by the look of the seams on the thin material, I decided to pack a backup just for peace of mind. I reasoned that it might be it for these shorts but they could easily get me through a hike with no mishaps.

Turns out I was comically wrong. Maybe I started off too intense and too fast, but I could almost feel the fabric fighting for its life, stretched tight around my junk. Myron and I took a strong lead early on, though I was gradually getting slowed down by the discomfort in my crotch. We took a breather at a bend in the trail, deciding to wait for the others to catch up. As I caught my breath, I gave myself a moment of respite, resting my hand on my knees and appreciating the cool breeze across my face and, distressingly, along my cock, bobbing lazily in the open air.

Myron sprang into action while I was still registering the situation, shooing me off the trail and away from prying eyes. Much to my grim satisfaction—and his surprise—I whipped out my backup pair and slipped them on, getting the zipper over my prodigious cock just as our coworkers rounded the corner.

The rest of the hike was thankfully uneventful, and I was perked up by being proven right about the waterfall at the end. When we got drinks after, I stayed with Myron until his roommate, Ty, could take him home. I thought it was the least I could do, seeing as I had now accidentally flashed him twice. At some point, with sufficient alcoholic lubrication, we finally did address the elephant in the room. I felt comfortable enough around him to address my recent changes, but I hadn't expected his response. I thought it was just him messing around, but as I reminisced over the past six months, it really felt like the gears were starting to slide into place.

“But the other guys in the office,” I said, still in mild disbelief. “I mean, they look like they're decent, but I don't think anyone's got all this,” I said, gesturing at my overstuffed crotch.

“Might be like, a proximity and time thing?” offered Myron. “I'm just as confused as you are.”

“Proximity and time…right, we share an office eight hours a day and a dancefloor all too often. So if you had a roommate or something—”

“Well.” Myron's eyes widened in epiphany as I remembered that he does in fact have a roommate who's supposed to be taking him home. In fact, I guessed that must be Ty approaching from behind Myron, their heavily tatted stoner look an interesting foil to Myron's more restrained appearance. I assumed it was them by the work uniform, and this, in the context of Myron's recent revelation, was confirmed by the bulge snaking past the bottom of his apron to his left knee.

As they approached with a basket of fries, I noted that Ty's gait seemed slightly off, as if they had to accommodate for their trouser snake, but they seemed accustomed to the extra-long appendage.

“Hey,” they said to Myron, “kitchen's closing soon, you want these? Someone didn't pick up their order.”

“Uh, thanks dude,” said Myron, still lost in thought. “Oh! This is Miguel, I've mentioned Miguel, right?”

“Yeah, great to meet you!” exclaimed Ty, turning to me and revealing an up-close view of the pipe that maybe they thought they had made inconspicuous.

As they walked back to the kitchen to start closing, my eyes lingering on their lithe frame and peculiar walk, I thought out loud to Myron, “You've been roommates for a y—”

“A year. Yup,” replied Myron, a hint of apprehension in his voice.

“What do you mean they're growing around you?” I asked Myron, driving us home after my shift finally ended.

“Like, ya know…bigger,” he said from the passenger seat, splaying his hands for emphasis.

“Hmm, I mean your booty's been looking pretty nice lately,” I laughed. “You sure the boys just aren't a little too excited?”

“No, I mean like, you've noticed yours is much bigger than it was a year ago when we moved in, right?”

“Yeah, definitely, but that was like a late growth spurt or something. It happens.”

“When does it happen? You're 28.”

“Okay, fair.”

“And Miguel's is much bigger than it was six months ago when I first started working in his office.”

Of course, I had noticed the prominent bulge in Miguel's khakis, but Myron sounded like he had some firsthand details of his boss's supposed growth. I made a mental note to squeeze that tea out of him later.

“Six months?” I asked, my interest piqued, and the gears began to turn in my head. “Then if you're right, he might be in for some fun times pretty soon,” I added with a chuckle.

Several months previous, on a clear winter morning, I was trying something new. Myron was starting his new job with his studly li'l office mate, which was changing the dynamic in the house somewhat, for the better, I hoped.

We'd moved in together last summer having barely known each other—we were both in dire straits trying to find a new place, and a mutual friend connected us—and had settled in to a surprisingly chill dynamic. Neither of us was the 9 to 5 careerist type, leading us both to string together personal projects, freelancing, and whatever seasonal or temporary gigs we needed to get the rent paid. Consequently, we had domestic routines that were always shifting, sometimes work-from-home, sometimes office gigs, sometimes third shift, so this recent change was nothing new. We had fallen into a routine of constantly adjusting to each other's routines, which may have only worked because we really did get along as friends. Not that we had much choice, practically living on top of each other in what used to be the cozy attic of an early 20th-century mansion turned into affordable (read: poorly maintained) apartments. At the time, I was working as a ghost writer while bartending on the side, so my mornings were pretty open and I let Myron have the run of the place bopping around getting ready for work while I stayed snug under a generous layering of blankets, also kept warm by the heat emanating from the all too familiar weight laying against me.

Most people, I imagine, might be freaked out to wake up to chest-high morning wood insistently pulsing against the fabric of the sheets and the hair of my torso in anticipation. But I guess I had had time to adjust to this mysterious growth spurt that had started the previous summer and didn't seem to be stopping. I let an exploratory hand dance along my shaft, sending a shiver of pleasure down to my toes, then lifted my dick slowly, feeling the weight of it, and let it fall against my chest with a wet thwack into a small pool of precum that was already forming. Not wanting to ruin a third set of sheets this week, I pulled myself reluctantly out from under the covers and grabbed an old towel from the hamper, my hardening cock bobbing in the cool morning air as I got set up and got to work, dimly registering the sound of Myron leaving.

The week before, I had been camming (another side gig, with some play mixed in) and received an interesting message. With one hand running up and down my long dick and the other pushing anal beads into my hole (the scene carefully positioned for the camera), I almost missed the question that popped up in the dialogue box: Can you suck it?

Truth is, I had never been one for blow jobs. I've never liked the feeling of someone putting their mouth to south, so to speak. I'm usually somewhere on the ace spectrum. Depending on the person, I can take or leave sex, but I certainly know how to take care of myself with enthusiasm. So I hadn't considered the possibility of sucking my own dick, or even if it would be enjoyable.

Of course I had seen videos online of guys successfully getting their lips around their own cock heads—at least one freak of nature making it some way down the shaft—but I never imagined myself at that level of talent or expertise. I had just assumed it was some magical combination of being super flexible and super hung. But that comment stuck in my brain. And apparently one of my handful of horny digital followers thought I had the latter if not the former.

So I took the plunge. As I tilted my face down, ungracefully straining my neck, my lips met the salty stickiness of my head, already excitedly leaking. I lapped up my own precum as I traced the curvature, still sleepily nuzzling around my slit until I finally went all in, getting my lips just past my glans and sucking carefully on my own member.

I was immediately hooked, reveling at first in the novelty of sucking my own dick, but slowly falling into deep pleasure. I had never been all that great at cock sucking, but this was lovely. I was still getting used to a dick was constantly larger than I remembered it being, but I managed to get as much of myself into my own mouth as I could before hitting the limits of my own flexibility.

Periodically, I would lift my mouth away, leaving viscous trails of spit and pre, and marvel at the sight of it. As if the dick I remembered from several months ago, that I had assumed was just my standard issue member, had somehow been scaled up. As I slipped the head back past my lips, I let out a heavy moan as I almost gagged on the gush of precum that erupted. I continued with this routine until I felt an orgasm imminent, sending tremors through my body as I worked diligently, my hands playing up and down my shaft. Finally, that all too familiar pulse erupted from deep inside, traveling up my shaft and sending ropes of jizz into my mouth, which began covering my face as I pulled my cock head back into the cool morning air.

Okay, I thought. I get the hype.

I guess in the weeks and months previous I had taken note of the fact that my dick had been hanging lower and lower, but I hadn't noticed until that fateful morning. Those first six months with Myron had been a whirlwind of re-adjusting to roommate life as well as navigating our own wacky schedules, habits, and routines. After a few months, more and more of it filled my hand every time I jerked off, which I chalked up to being inexplicably, increasingly horny. My subscribers clocked the changes well before I did, but I had been used to a steady stream of messages and comments heavily influenced by their lustful gaze and my own use of flattering angles. And if they wanted to get caught up in the idea of some fantastical growth spurt, I figured let 'em. I was there for the fantasy anyways.

My new talent quickly became my new obsession, and after I debuted it on cam, I got a deluge of new subscribers, tips, and engagement. And with that, the small frustration of facing discourse about how my dick simply couldn't be real, along with all manner of carefully dissected screenshots alleging everything from silicone to photoshop. As one person said, Their dick was already big, they don't need to do this fake shit. But the money was good and I figured I was already selling a fantasy one way or another. And if people believed it was fake, that meant less attention from people wanting an explanation that I couldn't really provide, or god forbid, wanting to meet irl. Besides, I didn't think of it as more than a party trick, albeit one that ended with very mind blowing, and very real, orgasms covering my face with gobs of jizz. And the crowd, per usual, would go wild.

Thankfully, the growth slowed down around this time, and the claims of dick deception slowed down with them. And with Myron out of the house at his new 9 to 5, I could really take my time becoming intimately acquainted with what I was packing. As I settled into this new routine, and as late spring rolled around, I wore less and less around the apartment, especially when Myron was at work. Not only had my dick grown long enough to tap politely at my chin, but it was getting difficult to last more than several hours without draining the beast.

One day, with nothing better to do until the shift at my new kitchen gig, I fiddled with the recipe for my homemade pot brownies, underestimated how strong they are, and ended up spending the afternoon splayed on the couch, dozing in a sunbeam. I was falling in and out of the weirdest dream about some guy that was somehow magically inflating dudes' butts through horny chaos magic, culminating in some sort of showdown in the forest. I had already gotten myself off three times that day, so I guessed my constantly aroused mind was getting creative. And, plot twist, I awoke to see Myron's cute buns turning to lock the front door as he got home from work. I had to meet this new boss who was overhauling his wardrobe, his ass looked great these days.

“You're not gonna believe what happened last night,” he said. “I was at this show with Miguel and, I, um…”

He trailed off, intently staring, and then intently not staring, at the general area of my crotch, currently featuring a thin pair of tie-dye sweat shorts for the warmer months. I didn't think Myron had thought all that much about my recent gains downstairs, he always seemed not to notice, or at least not to notice for too long. As he set his things down, he tried to stammer out something about this party they had hit up the night before, unsuccessfully trying to string phrases together. I decided to give him a chance to reset with a “You're home early! They finally let you go?”

He switched gears and glanced at me quizzically, responding, “It's 5:45, if anything my bus was late.”

“Ah. Fuck,” I groaned, realizing that the warm afternoon sun streaming through our living room windows had adjusted to the lengthier day with summer approaching. I, however, had not, and was already late for work. What was left of my high began quickly wearing off as I sprang from the couch, my semi-soft monster moving with its own inertia and threatening to flop out of my shorts—and likely short-circuit Myron's already weary brain.

I threw my backpack together, grabbed some shoes, and headed to the door. I figured I could show up looking messy and change into the backup uniform I kept in my locker.

“Look, I need to head to work, fill me in on the rave later, okay?” I said, shooting him a lazy smile as I headed out the door. “And invite me next time!”

As I was hustling downstairs and half jogging down the sidewalk to my car, I got the same looks from passersby as the one from Myron; entranced, but desperately trying not to be. As I strolled up to my subcompact hatchback—what I would call retro, distinguished even, but most would call old—I caught myself in the driver's side window reflection. Specifically, I eyed a bulge that made even me gasp. Okay, well, that explains some things, I thought, mentally hitting myself for inadvertently showing a bunch of unsuspecting pedestrians much more than I'd intended.

There weren't many onlookers as I slipped into the kitchen through the back—my co-workers were busy, and it's not like they weren't already aware I was packing something major. Thankfully, I did have a pair of black work slacks waiting for me in my locker, and while my bulge was less visible, they were definitely more constricting. Around this time, I noticed that my gait had been changing slightly as more and more of my cock took up any given pant leg, but the last time I had worn these was several inches ago and they hadn't had time to adjust, making my stiffened posture painfully obvious.

I wore an apron at that job that covered just enough of my lap to mask the fact that I was sporting an unmistakably, unexplainable, ungodly dong. But as spring turned to summer, more and more of it began to show from out of the bottom, especially when increasingly studly and sweaty hikers wandered in with fewer and fewer layers. When I finally saw Myron's boss, Miguel, sitting with him across the bar, I almost sported a boner that threatened to wrap halfway around my hip.

When things calmed down—in the bar and in my pants—I decided to introduce myself with the gift of fries, and some made-up story about a customer who didn't pick up. As I approached, I felt some weird magnetic energy, like I was being drawn to Miguel. Specifically, like my dick wanted to point due north to his own unmistakable bulge. Based on how uncomfortable it was getting to walk in those pants, I guessed that my cock was responding accordingly. At this point, I was used to the blatant stares of people who thought they were being subtle, but Miguel was laser-focused on my crotch with a look that implied he was trying to piece together a deeper story.

I don't know what came over me, other than the fact that he was cute and I enjoyed messing with my roommate, but I decided I might as well show off the goods, giving Miguel an indulgent view of my trouser snake from multiple angles. As I walked away, I felt that same tug from behind, as if I could feel his eyes drilling into me.

Ever the gentleman, Miguel had insisted on hanging with Myron until I finally got off my shift, not that I was complaining. As we parted ways, I took my own indulgent look at his perky backside in those tight khakis, that weird feeling of connection slowly fading as I jumped into the car with Myron. We sat in silence for a little while, the space between us filled with the sound of my after-work chillout synthwave playlist.

“So,” he said. “I have a theory.”

“Is it about this hot boss you've been keeping from me?” I asked.

“No, it's, Miguel? No…so I think—”

“Because frankly I'm disappointed you've kept him hidden for this long,” I interjected.

“Dicks keep growing around me,” finished Myron. “I think.”

I sat in silence for a few beats before laughing at the absurdity. “What?”

And then he laid out his whole theory as we drove toward home. With previous people in his life and their unexplainably large members, wrapping up with Miguel and me.

“That's a hot story,” I said. “Complete nonsense, but hot.”

“You never suspected something was off, like you never saw a doctor about it?” he asked.

“No, it works fine,” I said. “Works better even. It's just really, really big.” I adjusted in my seat slightly from becoming reminded of the size of my appendage, not to mention all this reminiscing about my dick was getting me worked up. Sucking myself off after long kitchen shifts was an otherworldly experience, and I was looking forward to getting home. Actually, I was getting more and more worked up as the conversation continued. All this talk of expanding dicks and the past year of growth was activating a ticking time bomb that was creeping down my pant leg.

“What's wrong?” asked Myron, looking worried as I could no longer hide the fact that I was visibly distressed.

“Well,” I said, gesturing at the lengthening bulge, my breathing becoming heavy. “Once it gets going, it really—”

“Gets going,” said Myron. “Yeah, I'm starting to pick up on that. Can I do anything?”

“No, it's fine, we're almost ho—augghhhh.” My dick surged against the fabric of my slacks, painfully constricted against the confines of material that for some reason was not designed for a raging monster cock. It felt white hot against my leg, furious at the lack of attention, and urgently trying to garner some relief.

“That doesn't sound fine,” replied Myron, worry entering his voice.

“No…really…happens all the time,” I squeaked out, my mouth salivating at the thought of my massive member finding its rightful place between my lips. My belly followed suit with a rumble of hunger, echoing the yearning I could feel deep in my throat. “I just…” I tried to adjust myself into a more comfortable position, but only succeeded in sending a jolt of pleasure through my body that was so intense I almost lost control of the vehicle. Myron grabbed the wheel and began dutifully steering as I took deep, calming breaths.

“Is this normal?” he asked.

“Well, 'normal' is relative,” I quipped with a wry smile, one of many truisms I liked to throw out to his annoyance. “But this is…a little more urgent than I expected.”

“Okay, well, we're almost home, just focus.”

“Okay,” I breathed. “Focusing.”

I kept my eyes on the road, trying to let myself fall into the smooth electronic rhythms coming out of my speakers. I thought about ice cold showers and used car commercials and every rude customer from the past week. But definitely not about Miguel's perfect bubble butt. Or my roommate's pillowy buns. Or my roommate's pillowy buns meeting whatever it was Miguel was seriously packing down there. Or how even that would pale in comparison to the pipe that was sending waves of agonizing pleasure up my spine as I felt every square centimeter of contact squished between the fabric of my slacks and my own sweaty leg. A sensation being made all the worse by the steady drip of precum that was threatening to start gushing as my taint began to contract and pulse with anticipation. I was swimming up to my eyeballs with orgasmic need, struggling to coherently process the cacophony of sensations and stimuli, and managing only a soft “Oof.”

“Oof?” asked Myron. “What's 'oof' mean?”

“I, um, don't think we're going to make it,” I muttered through clenched teeth. With my hands at 10 and 2—and Myron's at 4—I heard the unmistakable sound of what I didn't think was possible outside of my subscribers—and my own—weird fantasies. With a series of steady, sharp rips, the interior seam of my pant leg finally gave up in the face of the log extending from my groin. My dick, finally free, thumped against the steering wheel then rose with surprising grace directly to my eager, waiting lips. The growth had thankfully slowed in recent months, but as I tasted and felt my own hot, sticky, mushroom head before seeing it rise into my field of view, I came to a realization somehow more exciting—and upsetting—than the one on that fateful morning six months previous. If things were to continue on their current trajectory, my fully hard cock may soon reach past my mouth entirely. I was terrified by the prospect of losing easy access to my schlong for the most comical of reasons, while also titillated by the prospect of learning anew the meaning of too big. I realized that I really didn't know how long this mysterious growth would last, and even worse, if it would ever end. I decided I might as well enjoy it before things became truly unwieldy. And besides, there was only one way to get this thing back down.

“Do you mind if I…?” I asked.

Myron, my passenger princess, hand still gingerly holding the wheel, was rendered speechless by the scene before him. I let him finish the question in his head.

“Um, well, go ahead,” he stuttered.

With orgasmic relief flooding through every cell of my tense body, I gave in, swallowing as much as I could into my waiting throat.

It's a miracle I managed to keep my eyes on the road through tears of unrelenting pleasure as I slid my lips down more and more of my own overgrown shaft. Any other drivers whose gaze wandered in our direction must've gotten quite a show. How many times do you get to see someone milking their own megacock behind the wheel of a moving vehicle—which, come to think of it, would be a great idea for premium content. If my subscribers were starting to stop believing all of this is real, then I might as well lean into the novelty.

We pulled up to our building, miraculously getting a parking spot right out front, and I could finally focus enough to get myself over the threshold of release, using my free hands to work more of the shaft and wander down to massage my taint, periodically squeezing my nutsack, which felt swollen with pent up need. I had given up being concerned about the fact that Myron was still sitting there like a deer in the headlights, instead focusing solely on bringing myself to climax.

But the finish line remained elusive. The harder I worked the more intense my dick pulsed with an angry heat. I swear, I could feel it growing with every heartbeat, stretching slowly to the rhythm of my strokes, pumping with more girth than I thought my own esophagus could handle. I was stretched to the limit, gagging on my enormous tool and losing myself in waves of orgasmic bliss, until finally I came.

And came.

And kept cumming, pumping what felt like an endless reservoir of jizz into my throat until I could no longer swallow it all, pulling my engorged head from my mouth as it continued shooting ropes of cum onto the ceiling, the dashboard, the backseats, and yes, my awestruck roommate, who had not taken the chance to flee the vehicle in terror, opting instead to take shots of warm goo directly to the face. After what seemed like an eternity, I ran out of spunk, or at least my body no longer had the energy to keep shooting indefinitely. My ungodly dick began to deflate, still leaking as it fell softly against the steering wheel.

There are no words to describe the awkwardness of turning to see your roommate casually wiping globs of your warm jizz out of their hair.

“So I'm guessing that was not normal?” he asked.

I took a beat and responded, “No…no, that was pretty new,” letting the tension sit in the air between us before we both burst out in deranged laughter.

“I…somehow will find a way to make this up to you,” I said.

“I'll take the first shower. You can start with laundry.”

I woke up half expecting—and dreading—my morning wood to be kissing me gently on the cheek. I was certain I had had some sort of growth spurt during the incident last night, and was at a loss for what to do with a cock that could literally eclipse my face. But, to my pleasant surprise, it only went up to its usual spot, right at the chin. Small victories, I thought, as I leaned down to give it a gentle kiss before I began dutifully sucking myself off.

As I bumbled through my morning routine, even more groggy than usual from last night's events, everything felt slightly off. Moving through space was a slightly different negotiation, the bathroom counter wasn't quite where I expected it, and my toothbrush felt different in my hand. My dick, however, felt very much the same, gargantuan as usual but at least a familiar mode of gargantuan. I still marveled at the sheer size of it, pointing down to the toilet bowl under its own weight as I relieved myself. What am I gonna do with you? I thought, giving it a gentle shake to clear any remaining drops. I had passed through the realm of comical and ridiculous months back, and it was surreal getting used to an appendage that could only be described as unbelievable. How would I even begin to explain this to people, let alone keep it successfully hidden in public? Problems for a different day.

I threw on a crop top and my usual pair of sweat shorts, noticing that my clothes also felt slightly off on my body. As I ambled into the kitchen to find Myron making coffee, I adjusted my dick to run along my hip, but the shifting movement of my legs and my lack of underwear caused it to fall straight down, poking out the bottom of my shorts. I decided this would also have to be solved later, and besides, my roommate had been through a wildly more indecent experience not twelve hours previous.

“Hey man, sorry about last night,” I said. “It was kind of an emergency situation, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, I guess it is…somehow my fault,” Myron said introspectively, his eyes landing on the python swinging in my loose sweats.

“You're still on this theory,” I laughed. “The magic dick situation?” I gave a thoughtful scratch to the scruff of my chin.

“You still don't believe me,” accused Myron, turning fully from the coffee pot to lean against the counter, folding his arms in his usual defensive stance.

“It's not that I don't believe you,” I said, holding up my hands in mock surrender, “it's just that I would maybe like more of a preponderance of evidence. More than my…condition and the fact that your boss happens to have a really big dick that you keep getting to peek at for some reason.” My eyes came out of a roll to narrow on Myron, trying to catch him off guard by turning the tables toward whatever workplace dalliances he'd been keeping from me.

“It's not like that,” he retorted, his eyes widening. “It's a couple of mishaps and coincidences.”

“Just a few.”

“A couple.”

“Almost a pattern.”

“Be that as it may, how do you explain last night?”

“How do you explain it?” I returned, but decided to play along. “Honestly, I could have sworn it grew again.”

Myron looked taken aback, his head tilting to the side. “Well, I mean, it did.”

“Hmm, I don't think so. I'm pretty familiar with this guy, I'm thinking he may have finally plateaued.” I leaned casually against the kitchen cabinets and sat my butt on the counter, that feeling of slight disorientation still sitting with me. Everything in the space just felt a little off. I wasn't trying to put my dick on display, but at this point, I had given up hope of hiding this thing. “Can't even imagine things getting even more disproportionate.”

“No, that's what I mean,” he said, staring intently at me. “It grew, but so did the rest of you.”

I laughed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “The plot thickens,” I said mockingly. “Let me know when the coffee's ready,” I said, turning to head to the next room and whacking my forehead into the top of the doorframe.

He rushed over to catch me as I fell on my ass. My balance was completely shot as I realized that my center of gravity really was significantly higher than it had been last night. My crop top wasn't just uncomfortable, it was constricting, and, taking notice of the hem, was actually never cropped, even though it sat just above my belly button. I noticed that my shorts, similarly, covered much less of my thighs than what I expected. My gaze turned to my long, long legs, the heels of my feet resting completely outside my house slippers.

Okay, I thought. He might have a point.

To my credit, I made it a whole month before I found myself cuddled up against the morning sun with my now-former employer, Miguel. With my contract up, I took an amicable exit, figuring out what was next and hoping it wasn't another 9 to 5. As much as an office tempo doesn't work for me, I did miss Miguel's company. Though I also breathed a sigh of relief from no longer being responsible—I hoped—for the worsening crisis of his pants seams. He seemed to have a similarly mixed set of feelings as I finished packing my office things, wincing as he got up to give me a goodbye hug. By this time, there was little point in trying—and failing—to hide the ridiculous bulge that reached most of the way down to his knee, yet by the looks of it these pants hadn't been through the latest round of alterations. His pipe looked downright suffocated in there, fighting for its life against the reinforced seams.

Of course, we held on to our rhythm of regular hangouts on a vaguely weekly basis, and it didn't take long until our performance of not-a-date started to look a lot like a date. Maybe now that there was no longer the imagined forcefield of professional boundaries, I was coming to the realization that I may actually have feelings for him. Seemed like he was arriving at a similar conclusion. So I wasn't all that surprised when he asked to meet up not at our usual spot, but at a somewhat hip, reasonably bougie cocktail bar downtown that was all atmospheric lighting, vining plants, and copper highlights. Of course, I was used to his usual dapper, well-coordinated, fashion-forward motif, but what was that cologne? A fresh cut? Tasteful accessories? I was surprised by how my heart could only be described as aflutter as he leaned in for a familiar hug. Though I was intimately and self-consciously aware of how relatively underdressed I was, it did occur to me to wear a pair of slacks that I knew he liked from our old menswear mentorship dynamic. I figured there wasn't much point in still keeping up that particular charade, but my ass looked so perfectly bubbled in the caress of form-fitting tweed.

Somehow, the conversation still felt fresh. I kept picking up on little nuances of him that I hadn't managed to notice in the six months we'd shared an office. The way his eyebrow twitched in a particular way whenever he talked about his family, the fact that we were both allergic to mangoes, or the way he still bit at the right side of his lip where a piercing had been in a past life. The way he kept fidgeting and re-adjusting on the other side of the booth, whether through nervousness or the massive appendage attached to his groin that was tucked out of sight under the table.

“You okay?” I asked, noticing the look of discomfort that crossed his face yet again. I don't think he was quite convinced about my mysterious ability—at this point, one look at Ty would provide unequivocal confirmation—but I had already been present for multiple of his wardrobe malfunctions and could convey enough understanding with a pointed look of concern towards his crotch.

“Between you and me, it's not the worst problem to have,” he said, leaning forward in mock conspiratorial flirtation before reflexively pulling back with a wince. “But these pants are maybe in need of another adjustment,” he said with an embarrassed chuckle.

“Same,” I muttered, fidgeting self-consciously against my own pants. I didn't remember them feeling this tight in the seat and hips when I had put that outfit together. “Maybe we both need his tailor,” I joked.

Miguel followed my gaze across the restaurant to the bar where, even though it was fairly busy, it was obvious to whom I was referring. Seated at the corner, enjoying a glass of white wine solo and alternating their attention between their phone and casual people watching, was someone who looked maybe a few years younger than us, but able to put himself together well enough to visually blend into the level of bougie that this establishment encouraged. It was obvious that he worked out from the tight-fitting short-sleeved button-up stretched taut against his biceps and juicy pecs, but that wasn't what caught either of our attention. Perched on top of the barstool was a supernaturally round bubble butt that resembled two soccer balls shoved together in a pair of slacks that were holding on for dear life. His posture was nearly perfect but naturally relaxed, the arch of his lower back accentuating the hemispheres of his cheeks, not that he would ever need to make that ass even more noticeable. In short, he knew what he was doing, and frankly, so did half the bar.

“Oh, he's really been hitting the gym lately,” mused Miguel, lost in a trance at the sight of this prodigious backside.

“Wait, what?” I asked, before realizing that Miguel's look of lust was also one of recognition, confirmed as his bubble butted acquaintance not only brightly waved when noticing us openly gawking, but got up to stroll over in our direction. I'm sure the barstool breathed a sigh of relief.

“We, um, had a little bit of a fling recently,” said Miguel, trying to fill me in on the basics before our new friend came within earshot.

“Miguel!” he exclaimed, beginning to hold his arms open for a hug.

“Winston!” Miguel returned. He began to rise from the booth but was quickly stopped with a painful “Oof!” and an audible thump against the bottom of the table.

“It's fine, don't get up,” Winston quickly offered as Miguel eased back down and tried to surreptitiously inspect his lap with one hand. There was a tone of accommodation in Winston's voice, but also understanding. Ah. The pieces began to click together in my head.

“You look bigger,” stammered Miguel. “I mean it looks bigger—I mean it looks better—I mean you look better! You look great, is what I am trying to say,” he continued with a nervous laugh, folding his hands neatly on the table as if he forgot what to do with them. “This is Myron!” he said, gesturing toward me like I had just materialized out of the ether. He's, uh, we're coworkers.”

“Former coworkers,” I interjected.

“Right, former. Now we're…uh…we're here…”

“We're here!” I laughed, pulling up to Miguel's place. I had no intention of letting him live this one down. “We're certainly not there.”

“He caught me off guard,” said Miguel with a dramatic shrug.

Honestly, I was glad for Miguel's uncharacteristic bout of awkwardness drawing attention away from how self-conscious I had become. Not that I had ever really cared to measure myself up to other people, but Winston had an impeccable sense of style on top of being built like a fitness model with an ass that could stop traffic. I felt mildly underdressed and underdeveloped. But as soon as he left to return to his glass of wine and his casual survey of the bar, Miguel's full attention was back on me—even if his eyes did briefly linger over Winston's colossal cakes with a glance that looked like he was trying to solve a puzzle. I was glad to feel that the chemistry had never left.

I had driven this time, in reciprocity for him picking me up for that fateful hike. “It's the least I could do,” I said. “I squat in your office for six months, and then you buy me dinner.”

“It's almost like this is a date or something,” he quipped, beaming at my reddening cheeks.

As I drove him home, I kept my hands anxiously perched at 10 and 2, trying not to radiate a lethal dose of nervous awkwardness. This was a date, of course this was a date! I thought. When's the last time I've even been on a date? Like, a swanky candlelit dinner with red wine, dessert, even a digestif. And now I'm driving him to his home where he lives! My eyes drifted down the road, thankful that Miguel had taken it upon himself to grab the aux cord, filling the car with a deep house playlist that he apparently curated just for this.

“Like a mixtape?” I had joked when picking him up earlier that evening.

“Yeah, I hope you like it!” he agreed, with what I was now realizing was a romantic earnestness.

I zoned out in a steady beat that I'm sure he was certain I would like, suddenly remembering—with a pang of a different sort of anxiety—the time not too long ago when Ty's ridiculously huge cock managed to rip through the fabric of pants and coat the interior of their car in a layer of gooey spunk. I went so far as to get it professionally cleaned, fingers crossed that the cleaners wouldn't ask too many questions.

Proximity and time. Was my insistence on picking up Miguel for this date causing his dick to become ever so slightly more unwieldy? Surely, the 15 minutes spent a few feet away from the pipe running down his pant leg wasn't enough to make a difference. We were no longer office mates, but we were hanging out on a regular basis. Potentially even more often if this first date led to a second and a third and…how long until we've settled into a rhythm and it's his turn to drive and we're heading home from the movies or something and his unbearable cock tears through the fabric of his pants, stretching up past his juicy lips and threatening to block his view of the road. There's gotta be an upper limit somewhere, I thought. Or maybe Ty found it, and their entire body responded accordingly. My heart jumped at the thought of seeing just how big Miguel could get, imagining a forearm-thick pole slick with precum, his mushroom head eclipsing his actual head, oozing onto his handsome face. After all, who wouldn't want a few more inches? Or even a dozen more inches? And I had the power—however it worked—to provide.

Scheming aside, I did feel a romantic spark on this date-that's-definitely-a-date. Enough to walk him all the way to his door and even go for a parting peck on the cheek.

Now it was his turn to blush, trying not to fumble his keys as I moseyed back to my car.

“Wait, you forgot something!” he called.

“Oh, what?” I asked, oblivious as he walked purposefully across the distance between us, cupped my cheeks gingerly in his palms, and planted his lips on mine.

“Breakfast.”

We probably would've stood there making out until the sun rose if not for the chill in the air and at least one appreciative whistle from somewhere in the night. He grabbed my hand and led me back to the threshold of his front door, continuing on this time into his condo. I was expecting modern urban minimalism, but it was more houseplants and incense, indulgently lived in, ambient lighting revealing earth tones with olive green accents.

Not that I had all that much time to reflect on his interior design. He was on the couch and then my lips were on his. We were both taking our time, savoring the feeling of the sensual release of long pent-up sexual tension. Less of a dam break, more of a beat drop. His shirt was the first to go, nipples perking up from the sudden chill, encouraged by the exploratory circles of my thumbs. He bit his lip, his breathing becoming heavier and progressing into a soft moan as I ran my fingertips down the topographies of his torso, head lolling back in pleasure a little more readily than I expected. Noted, I thought. In the low light—and with my face mostly buried in the tight curls of his chest hair—I couldn't see the bulge that he'd been fighting all night, but I could practically feel the heat radiating from his crotch. I found it kind of adorable the way his face scrunched in discomfort from what I could only assume was a trouser snake about to tear through the trousers in question. Having a flashback to Ty's unhinged wardrobe malfunction, I thought it might help to get his pants off before they were a lost cause, letting my fingers dance along his waistband, his abs contracting reflexively. As my hand reached his belt buckle, he stopped me with a firm grip, whispering, “Wait, wait, not yet.”

We switched gears, continuing to explore each other's bodies as we rose from the couch and moved to the more spacious bed in the next room. It was my turn to start losing articles of clothing in the process, finding myself crouched on the bed in nothing but a pair of skimpy, light blue briefs. Not that I was planning for this, but they were the only things that could comfortably fit over my ass these days. Regardless, Miguel was thrilled.

“Wow,” he said, as he peeled the briefs down over my bubble butt and off my legs entirely, tossing them across the room. He leaned in, eagerly parting my cheeks with his strong hands to nuzzle into my waiting hole. I moaned in pleasure as his nose was replaced by his tongue, and he began eating me out like he was starving. I was in heaven, fixated on his wide tongue, yet also feeling some kind of energy radiating from him, familiar in a way I couldn't place.

He flipped me over, grinding his crotch against me as he came in for a kiss, breathing heavily into me as his tongue explored my mouth. He groaned in pleasure and pain at the pipe that we could both feel was even more constricted in his left pant leg.

“Do you want to?” I asked.

“Are you sure?” he asked, a look of nervousness settling around his eyes. “It can be…a lot to handle.”

“Trust me. I've seen it all,” I said, with a peck on his cheek.

He stood back up, undoing his pants and lowering them to reveal a pair of compression shorts underneath, which themselves were dutifully containing the monster angrily bulging down his leg. The monster I created, I reminded myself, with a pang of guilt. As he steeled himself to yank down the shorts for the big reveal, his cheeks flushed in a way that was a departure from his usual confidence. I found it cute but also realized that Winston probably wasn't Miguel's only fling in recent months, and not everyone may keep their cool as well as I do when staring down a beast like his. After all, it's not like I hadn't seen it before. Similar to Ty, he was now in the possession of an undeniable, permanently visible bulge that would draw attention whether he wanted it to or not. I imagined some poor guy running in terror from the sight of Tyrannosaurus Dick.

With a breath out, he whipped the shorts off, revealing inch after inch of the delectable schlong that hung from his crotch, quickly becoming more distended now that it was finally free of its prison, bobbing at least a foot in front of him as he fit a condom on, lubed himself up, and leaned back in to give me a sensual kiss. After some awkward positioning, his head was poised at the entrance of my hole. I twitched from what felt like a jolt of electricity, but gave him a reassuring smile as he began easing in and out, slowly at first but with increasing conviction.

I was surprised at how easily he got it in—or that he got it in at all—but my walls were being stretched beyond anything I thought possible. As he started to put some power behind his thrusts and settle into a rhythm, my entire world was the feeling of his dick threatening to break me in half, but once again with that familiar-not-familiar feeling mixing in with the pulses of pleasure spreading from my pelvis. I held on to his shoulders as my head lolled back, losing myself in the lingering scent of his cologne as he speared me over and over again.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, the pleasure on his face shot through with concern.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “I'm good. We're here.”

So I found myself in bed with this man, listening to his light, even breathing as morning sunlight gradually made its way into the room. We had fallen asleep tangled up together under the sheets, covered in sweat and cum, his prodigious cock nestled between us, pulsing lazily to life as his morning wood traced a line of precum against my abdomen. As if to confirm that the rest of Miguel was following suit, a wandering hand couldn't help but greet my right cheek with a firm squeeze.

“Feels even better than I remember,” he said through a half-dozed haze. “You been doing squats in your sleep? Hip thrusts?”

“I think that was you, actually,” I muttered, breathing mock exasperation into the crook of his neck. My hole throbbed with a pleasant warmth at the memory of Miguel's chest-thumping schlong rearranging my insides disrespectfully. I gave him a gentle peck on the cheek as I let my hand absentmindedly play with his semi soft morning wood, already massive enough to put most dicks to shame and nowhere near full mast. He let out a soft moan as I sensually explored the length of his shaft, massaging his precum with my thumb to lube up his mushroom head. It didn't take long before I could feel the blood pumping into his meat, swelling to an absurd length and comically tenting the sheets. He bit his lip in anticipation as I pulled the covers off. Whether through the friction of the fabric across the expansiveness of his cock head or the dread of it being potentially bigger than it was just last night, I couldn't tell. But it hit his chin with a wet thwack, spraying drops of pre onto both of our faces.

“I don't think I'll ever get tired of this,” I said with a chuckle. “But you two have fun.” I got up, sliding lazily out of bed and strolling towards the bathroom, chased by the sounds of audible distress from Miguel, who, beyond now having to deal with this monster on his own, looked genuinely weighed down by the prodigious rod extending from his crotch.

My ass did feel like it had some extra jiggle to it, not that I was complaining. But it also felt like more than that, like my center of gravity had actually shifted, slightly changing my gait. I have been putting on weight, I thought, patting my belly as I stepped into the bathroom, taking stock of myself in the mirror. What had once been an average, furry six pack—the product, by no means, of any athleticism—had at some point softened into a pudge. Cute, I said to myself, feeling out the extra padding, enjoying some squishiness in new places. Instead of the usual suspect, I thought, turning to the side to see my already-squishy bubble butt, noticing that it looked… “Fat,” I whispered to myself, in mild confusion as to how or when my ass had somehow grown to a donk. Like I was used to a perky bubble that caught stares and the occasional light touch, but this was disproportionate, ballooning out from my lower back. Had I just not noticed? Not that I didn't like it. And not that I hadn't noticed how much Miguel loves it.

I slapped one cheek and felt a thrill of pleasure paired with the sight of a comical jiggle. But I couldn't help but think of Winston last night. While mine was a fun Jello, his were two gravity-defying muscular hemispheres, twitching dramatically back and forth as he walked away. Not that I was jealous. But I thought about hitting the gym, excited by the idea of firming my cheeks up into an even rounder, perkier booty. My ass was already a showstopper, imagine what deadlifts could do.

I jumped in the shower, taking my time to sensually soak up every part of my body, marveling at how ridiculous my ass felt. I caressed my meaty cheeks before letting one hand slip deep between them to start exploring my hole. I fell into a rhythm, thinking about how far Miguel had stretched into my guts last night, and how my hole, though it had just recently stretched beyond its previous limits, had snapped back to its usual tightness, if a little sore. I let one finger slide in, then two, then three, pressing my other hand against the wall to maintain leverage as I fingered myself with increasing earnestness. A slight drop in temperature accompanied the sound of the shower door sliding open, and I turned with a flush of embarrassment to see Miguel join me, one hand gripping the shaft of his unbelievable cock while his lips nuzzled around the head.

“Oh, sorry,” said Miguel, noticing my surprise at the sight of him casually sucking himself off. Except, with his monster cock stretching his lips it was more of an apologetic mix of mumbled groans. “Once I realized I could do this, it's been hard to stop,” he added, briefly lifting his head to speak clearly.

“No, it's cool. Nothing I haven't seen before.”

“Hmph?” hmphed Miguel, mildly incredulous as he sank back into his personal foundation of pleasure.

“Long story,” I said, thinking back to Ty's baseball bat of volcanic jizz. “I'll tell you when you're older.”

He let his other hand take over for mine, thrusting in and out of my hole while we both ministrated on his mushroom head. With our available hands and mouths we still struggled to take care of all the surface area of his thick member, but he still seemed to be lost in pleasure, his eyes rolling back with what looked like a luscious orgasm building as he worked his lips farther and farther over his glans. In the back of my mind, I surmised that he may never be able to deep throat in a similar way that Ty could, because his head was noticeably thicker, sitting atop a shaft that itself flared out from the base, already pushing his lips and jaw to the limit. As his fingers met my prostate, I leaned in closer, both of us losing balance in the steam of the shower, falling into a strange embrace as I lifted a leg to straddle his well-defined thigh.

His fingers were tender and determined, bringing me to climax as the hot water was just starting to run out. The waves of pleasure washing through me had a similar flavor as that feeling last night, like I could feel the energy radiating off his dick. As if waiting for me to break first, he finally lifted his mouth away, letting his rod drop slightly with a wet splat against my shoulder and shuddered as gobs of cum began coating the wall behind me. I could see his delicious cock pulsing outward as it stretched his fingers even farther apart. He looked like he was practically suffering under the weight of his own need, each monumental orgasm becoming too much to handle. I continued massaging the length of his shaft as he pumped volley after volley of jizz, falling into my arms with exhaustion when he finally spent himself.

“Couldn't have done it without you,” he said, leaning in for a cum-filled kiss while lovingly palming my ass cheeks.

After cleaning each other off (again), we reluctantly left the shower to begin actually getting ready for our respective days.

“You need some fresh clothes?” Miguel asked, seeing me gathering enough scattered pieces of last night's outfit to head home. “These might be in your size,” he quipped, as he reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of purple Lycra shorts, pulling them apart to emphasize how stretchy they were, smirking at me with a raised eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes, retorting “I don't think anything you have is my size,” as I defiantly yanked my tweed slacks up over my backside, jumping up and down to get the waistband up as far as possible. Getting the button to close was a struggle, but I figured they would get me home as long as I didn't sneeze, bend down, breathe, or think too hard about them. “I don't remember these being this tight,” I muttered, turning to the mirror to lock eyes on a bubble butt that was definitely visibly juicier than it had been 12 hours previous. My pants had been packed last night, but now they were comically pulling at the seams.

I looked up to see Miguel open-mouth gawking at the sight of my bodacious buns, as if they hadn't just been up close and personal multiple times. He was in the middle of buttoning up a shirt, his dick hanging freely between his legs, stirring back to life for another round. Staring at him staring at me, I noticed his eyes widen in some mix of surprise and glee before registering—my heart sinking—a distinctive ripping sound fill the room. The seam along my over-stressed slacks finally gave up, my jiggly ass cheeks spilling out, looking even bubblier framed by the tattered remains of the seat of my pants.

“This is maybe the best day of my entire life,” said Miguel, a dollop of precum falling to the floor.

I breathed an exasperated sigh. “Just…just give me the Lycra.”

“I don't have any tomatoes from the garden right now, these are store bought, if that's cool. Going for a tofu scramble type situation. Do you need some honey for your tea?”

“I'd be eating stale cereal if I were home right now,” I deadpanned, watching Miguel bop around the kitchen as I sipped a perfectly brewed cup of Earl Grey. He was indeed serious about breakfast, and I sat dutifully on a stool on the other side of the kitchen island as he worked his magic.

“That's also an option,” he said with a wink. “How are those pants treating you?”

“Perfect.” They really did fit great, caressing every curve while being surprisingly comfortable. And it didn't hurt that they gave some extra lift and roundness to my jiggly booty. “I think I need a pair of these.”

“Keep 'em! They belonged to an ex. I think they ended up being too small after a while.”

Too small…I thought, ruminating on how his eyes drifted briefly up and to the side with that after a while. “So you have a type.” I leaned in conspiratorially, elbows on the counter, and mug warming my hands.

“A pattern…maybe?” he allowed. “I mean it's not like you had all that when we met.”

“No, I had to rely on my sharp wit and goofy demeanor,” I quipped, the gears turning in my head. I had always had a cute bubble butt, but it didn't start developing quite this much until these past several months with Miguel. And it became especially noticeable around moments of planned and unplanned intimacy. I took a shot in the dark. “I'm no Winston,” with a mocking smile.

“Well yeah, he had a nice ass,” he said absentmindedly, “but I don't think it looked that disproportionate until we started…Hm.”

How many data points until you've got a pattern? “Hm,” I repeated, taking a deep, pointedly thoughtful sip of my tea, my brain once again running through this complicated scenario that may have just gotten much weirder. “You might just be a good luck charm yourself.”

(More to come)

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