It's New Year’s Eve, and Joe’s having a weird day in the city even before he meets the strange man and his wang gets made stupidly huge.
“All right!” cheered the cabbie, whose name was Jamal. He was checking me out in the mirror with a huge grin. “Can I take mine out too?”
“No!” I said, though he was cute enough. “Just drive,” Shepard said with an indulgent smirk, and gave him an address that was maybe ten minutes away.
On the ride over Shepard made small talk. “So, Joe, do you do this all the time, or do you have a day job?”
Do I regularly get into cabs with handsome, tuxedo-clad corporate executives with my giant, urgent, throbbing erection bent over my shoulder like it wanted to spray the back window white with thick, hot, jizz? No, not all the time. My unaccountable bashfulness came back and I felt my cheeks warming as I met his pretty eyes and said, “Most of the time I’m a plumber.”
Shepard nodded. Then he leaned forward conspiratorially. “Doesn’t it get in the way?” he asked curiously. “Or do you, you know, strap it down somehow?”
“It, uh, hasn’t been a problem so far,” I said lamely.
He nodded again sagely, perhaps having noticed how little it moved around thanks to how extremely turned on I was. Just being in the cab with him, feeling his presence and taking in his very attractive face and what was obviously a very well-put-together bod under that tux and coat, made me want to lean over and stroke his tongue with my own while I guided his hands to my hot, throbbing, half-the-size-of-a-dude tool. Then he gave me one of those crooked smirks I wanted to collect, and my heart literally sped up at the sight of it. “Probably lots of jokes about pipes being cleaned, stuff like that,” he said knowingly.
The prospect of what my job would be like if this situation actually lasted beyond tonight hadn’t really been getting a lot of play in my brain, mostly because I’d been assuming—intently assuming, aggressively assuming—that one way or another this would all be just a weird memory by the morning. I could picture exactly what he meant, though, and given the amount of affectionate needling I got over the whole Joe the Shirtless Plumber thing I had no doubt he was right. “Yeah, for sure,” I said. I added, “And they always act like they’re the first ones to think of it.”
Shepard was still smirking. “I get the same thing,” he said, holding my gaze, his eyes glinting mischievously.
I stared at him a second, then dropped my head in chagrin. My slightly bristly jaw brushed gently against my seven-inch-wide dick as I did so, causing my oversized nuts to churn and surge excitedly, but I ignored the sensations. “I’m so sorry,” I said. I gave him a sidelong look. “How often do you get the ‘dairy’ thing?”
“It’s one of several,” Shepard said equably.
Though I could tell he wasn’t very put out, I said, “I am sorry, Mr.—” But he cut me off.
“Now, now, none of that,” he said. “You’re my date for the evening. Call me Legend.”
I eyed him skeptically. “Uhh…”
He smiled at this. “Or Shep,” he suggested. “Lots of people call me that.”
“Shep” felt too back-slappy fratboy to me, and kind of arm’s-length somehow. I wanted be more intimate and to call him by his first name, if there was a version of it could both deal with. “Can I call you Ledge?” I asked.
He considered. “All right,” he said. The cab turned onto a cross street, and I saw we were almost to the address he’d given. Ledge glanced back at me, with the smirk and the glinting eyes again. “Though I’m hoping by the end of the night you’ll be calling me ‘Legend’ after all,” he said playfully, wiggling his dark eyebrows.
“Ugh,” I moaned. He was positively dripping with fake cheese, and though it was obviously a put-on I had to laugh. “Now you’re doing it!” I said, and he laughed with me.
A moment later we pulled up in front of our destination, a retail formalwear shop on a downtown side-street. Ledge paid Jamal cash for the fare and hefty tip, and we climbed out together. Despite the late hour the store was still lit up like it was open, and inside I could see a few agitated-looking customers being attended to by unflappable employees who were no doubt assuring them they’d still make their posh New Year’s Eve soirées on schedule. As we pushed through the doors a friendly-looking, smartly dressed man with wispy silver hair and little oval glasses perched on his forehead detached himself from where one of the clerks was helping another anxious customer and moved toward us with a smile. “Mr. Shepard!” he said, beaming.
“Cosimo,” Ledge said, shaking his hand. He gestured at me. “I’ve brought you a challenge.”
“So you have,” he said, perking up. Cosimo gave a long professional once-over, and I shifted my weight uncomfortably, feeling the heft and heat of my enormous erection against my chest and shoulder as I did so. He produced an order pad from a back pocket of his baggy trousers. “Name?” he said to me, pen poised over the order sheet.
I meant to give him my proper name, Joe Hackerson. But the unusual word the red-whiskered man had used to suggest me into this state had been floating around in my head this whole time, and now it suddenly t-boned my real name clear out of the intersection. “Joe,” I said. “Joe Hypercock.”
“Joe… Hypercock,” the old tailor repeated blandly as he wrote it out, as if it were the most common and unremarkable name in the world. Before I could correct him he was putting the pad away and gesturing for us to follow him into the back. “Come, come!” he added over his shoulder. My dick quivered eagerly, and I felt a spot of warm dampness on my shoulder through the thick, nubby henley. Bad choice of words, Mister, I thought.
In the back room Ledge took a seat, while Cosimo had me stand in the center under the light and strip to my boxer-briefs. They seemed very brief now compared to what they normally coddled under my jeans, and also ludicrously useless, but I kept them on anyway.
Ledge enjoyed savoring my physique from where he sat, still giving me those bright eyes and crooked smirk. And, as with the comment about my shirt in the hotel lobby, this put me at ease, on account of how I was used to my clients checking me out. It took the edge off Cosimo moving around me and measuring me seemingly in every dimension, humming old Dire Straits songs to himself for some reason as he did so, until he got to the waist.
“Forty inches,” he said to himself, writing it down.
“What?!” I objected.
Cosimo glanced up at me over his little glasses. “Now, young sir,” he said, “I’m sure you’re very proud of your tight little waist—”
“I’ve been a 31 as long as I can remember!” I said, a little defensively.
“No doubt,” the tailor agreed. “But we have to make allowance for your…” He cleared his throat. “…ha-h’m,” he said.
“But—” So far I’d gone with the flow, but here’s where I pulled up short. Everything that had happened to me—my friends turning me out, me losing my coat, the red-whiskered man, Fourchak, the giant cock, Ledge thinking I was the escort he’d hired—and, yeah, the thing I balked at was not keeping a 31-inch waist on my damn pants. What a lame-ass.
“The only alternative,” Cosimo carried on unperturbed, “would be to have your… ha-h’m exit through the fly. But honestly, I don’t think the flies on our tuxedo trousers would easily accommodate its, er, girth. And you most likely would not appreciate the press of the zipper’s teeth against your—”
“All right, all right,” I said, already embarrassed at myself. I glanced over at Ledge, who was chuckling silently at my previous umbrage. “Stop laughing at me,” I told him.
“In a moment,” Ledge promised.
I shook my head and turned back to Cosimo, who was eyeing my titanic wang consideringly. “You’re quite fortunate it bends like that, you know,” he mused, still staring at it.
I couldn’t see the connection with what size my waist was measured at, and frowned. “What do you mean?” I asked.
He looked up at me in surprise. “Why, if it kept going straight up you wouldn’t be able to see a thing!” he said, as if I were being dense. “You’d be constantly bumping into everything!”
Ledge snorted an audible laugh at this, and I threw him a dark look as Cosimo started humming again and got back to the business of getting me ready for the night’s mysterious shindig.
Suitably kitted out with a very snazzy tux, plus shoes, a white scarf, and matching knee-length coat, I soon found myself climbing out of yet another cab to stand in front of the last place I was expecting to end up—a vast, stolid-looking warehouse in the meat-packing district. Faint music and the odd flicker of light seeped out of it, but not much could be seen of what was going on inside. I glanced questioningly at Ledge, but he only smiled and ushered me forward. At the door the pair of burly bouncers instantly let us in, obviously recognizing my companion, and soon we were inside the event.
The huge space was lit like a rave, with lots of iridescent colors and shifting beams of light, but the music was not nearly as loud as I expected and was more retro thumpa-thumpa dance mix stuff than anything cutting-edge, as if Ru-Paul were deejaying a 90s night theme party. The huge crowd was pretty clearly all upper-crust corporate and society types in tuxedos and smart-looking ankle-length dresses, though it seemed like there was a good mix of ages, races, gender, and orientation, which I was glad to see. Some people were dancing, others were conversing in pairs or clusters, others still were gathered around the upstairs bar. I stared out at the shifting multitude, and my surprise must have been written on my face.
“You were expecting maybe a fancy ballroom done up in early Versailles decor?” Ledge teased. “Butlers and canapés? String quartets playing The Four Seasons?”
We checked our coats and my gym bag at a little cubby by the door, and moved down a few steps into the main space. There were a lot of hot guys of varying ages, I noticed as we moved through the chattering throng, and though no one reacted with shock or dismay to my enormous, rigid and very visible equipment, more than a few of the model-handsome men gave me and it a very appreciative look or three. My towering wang thrummed with the beat of the music and the proximity of all these hot-blooded men, and I wondered anxiously just how long I would last.
As the background music shifted to a frenetic dance mix of “Oops!… I Did It Again” Ledge suddenly steered us aside and stopped us in front of a square-shouldered blond about Ledge’s age. His effortless, rugged good looks reminded me of the guys you see on firemen calendars, and dolled up in a black-tie tuxedo he looked positively edible. He grinned at me, checking out my titanic, towering tool in exactly the same way I was taking in the obviously fine chest, shoulders, and arms he had packed away under his form-fitting tux. “This is an old friend of mine, Jacob Lamb,” Ledge told me. “Jake, this is my new friend, Joe Hypercock.”
“Uh—” I started to say, but Jake took my hand without batting an eye at the strange name. “Glad to meet you, Joe,” he said. I noticed he was shifting his butt very slightly to the Britney.
“I’m going up to get drinks,” Ledge said unexpectedly to me, and then he was gone, leaving me alone with Handsome Fireman Guy.
“So, you’re with Shep for the night?” he asked knowingly, making conversation. My heart sank—it hadn’t registered with me until now how heartbreaking it would be not to see Ledge again after tonight. Before I could reply he went on, “I knew he liked them big, but…” He whistled, looking over my monumental tool with considerable awe. “You must be real glad it bends to the side like that,” he added.
“So people keep telling me,” I said wryly. “What’s your reason?”
Handsome Fireman Guy grinned wolfishly at me. “Because otherwise it’d be really tough to kiss you properly,” he said, his eyes zeroing in my full, ready lips.
Just the idea of doing something like that almost caused me to make a mess all over a knot of dowagers in glittering dresses behind me. My basketball nuts were going apeshit. I needed to blow my load like a volcano that’s been holding it back for a century and can’t wait another minute. And even as this need filled me I knew with a clear, incontrovertible certainty that it was Ledge, and only Ledge, I wanted to pull the trigger on my skyscraper-sized climax. I made my excuses to a surprised Jake and hurried through the crowd toward the mezzanine bar. People brushing past me gave me the odd caress of shoulder or hand (inadvertently or otherwise), and by the time I found Ledge waiting at the bar for his order I was panting and desperate.
He smiled when he saw me. “Hey,” he said. He nodded down toward the main floor. “You want to dance?”
“Yes,” I said breathlessly. “But—alone.”
Ledge wasn’t a dummy. He nodded and, taking my elbow, guided me past the bar toward some steel doors half-hidden in the shadows. I expected service corridors or some similar place where we could be alone, but instead I found myself on an empty pier that jutted out directly behind the warehouse. The Hudson River sloshed around us while seagulls cried and the half moon shone down on the New Jersey shore opposite us. It was brisk and cold, but the tuxedo was well-made, not thin and cheap; and with Ledge so close, and my own hot dick seeming to warm everything around it, it didn’t seem to matter so much anyway.
Without speaking Ledge drew me to him, and as we twined our arms around each other’s waists we moved together to the distant thrum of the music within. My whole body was vibrating with desire as we danced, not just my giant cock but all of me, and it was mere moments before our lips found each other. The kiss was so idyllic, so full of exactly the kind of pleasure we both needed, that I simply couldn’t hold back. My climax roared through me, and Ledge tightened our embrace and kissed me with a deep, hungry, heartfelt passion as my nuts surged and squeezed and I started shooting massive arcs of euphoric spunk over my shoulder into the night. It seemed to last an aeon, lifetimes of unbridled joy as I kept climaxing over and over, and when I at last came down from it, still madly kissing my handsome companion, I felt as though I’d been truly transformed—like I wasn’t the guy who’d walked coatless and wide-eyed into that hotel lobby only hours before.
We separated, resting our foreheads together as we panted. “Joe,” he huffed, “I don’t want to pay you for tonight.”
This was such a non sequitur that I had to laugh. “What,” I said, “was I that bad?”
He lifted his face up to meet my gaze. His hazel eyes were dark and frank. “No, that’s not it at all,” he said seriously. “I—I want to date you,” he said, with the very obvious air of a man who, until now, didn’t “do” dating or relationships. “I want to date you,” he repeated. “I want to go out with you. I want to… make love to you. I want to wake up to you and smile to see you in my bed, morning after morning.” He raised a hand and I expected him to fondle the oversized wang that was pressed between us, but instead he gently caressed my cheek. “Does that sound… okay?”
My immediate response was “Fuck yeah,” but Ledge was more grown up than that, and maybe I was a little bit too, now. I thought about warning him that my life was pretty strange lately, and how my gut told me that giant wangs and four-armed gorillas were just the beginning… but I was pretty sure he knew that already.
Instead I said, “Promise to keep kissing me like that, and you’ve got a deal.”
For an answer he wrapped his arms tight around me and brought our lips together in the sweetest, most perfect kiss I could ever have imagined. And he hasn’t let me go since.