Description Shortly after finding the love of his life, Connor has these strange shivers now and then. First, he tries to deny everything, but the truth can’t hide for long. Connor’s cock grows with each shiver. Year after year after year.
|Updated||17 Nov 2018|
Wyatt looked exactly like his profile pic. He was waiting for me under a lamppost, half leaning against it, the bulb casting a spotlight on his face.
“Nice to meet you,” he said.
“Glad to see it was really you I was writing to all the time.”
“What? You thought my photo was fake?”
“Not fake—just… polished, maybe.”
“Well, I’m glad to put you right on that score. Come on in.”
The cafe was only a few feet away, and that afternoon with Wyatt turned out to be the best date I’d gone on all year. He was smart and funny and had an amazing ability to keep a conversation going without letting it get stale—especially welcome to me since it was a skill I didn’t have.
Time flew by and we agreed to a second date.
“This is just a little private survey. How far do you go with a man on a second date?”
He had this crooked smile I couldn’t resist. Sexy little bastard. He was right: it was only the second time we’d met, and Wyatt was pretty drunk, but still sweet. We were at a bar and the music was just right: not too loud, not too quiet.
“It depends,” I said, letting myself flirt with him. I was mesmerized by how well his shirt fitted his toned, muscular body and how tightly his jeans were cut. “When I look at you, I want to do… third-date things.”
“Then I guess we’re both lucky boys, because I still have some values, hahaha!”
I punched his arm and smiled, and he grabbed his arm and moaned in mock agony, like I’d hit him with all my strength. At same time, I felt a hot flush through my whole body—at first I thought it was a feeling of attraction to Wyatt, but it felt really weird because a second later it was concentrating in my groin area. I could feel my dick swelling bigger, but it didn’t feel like an erection. Just—bigger.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just excuse me for a second.”
I escaped to the bathroom to see what was happening to me.
The sun was burning, the earth radiating with heat, but we were holding hands anyway. I only had a tiny window of time for my lunch break, but he’d wanted to see me anyway. After our last date at the bar, hearing my wacky description of something that sounded like a fever, he’d bought me a bunch of ice packs.
“Just in case you ignite again.”
“Well it’s pretty hot today, but I’m feeling way better now.”
Did he understand that I was complimenting him? I squeezed his hand, and he smiled.
Wyatt was turning out to be just about the sweetest guy I’d ever known. I wondered if I was falling in love with him.
Later that same afternoon, I felt it again: that rush of heat. It started in my head, flooded down my neck and my stomach, and then rolled further down. I felt it pulsating, my dick getting hard; I looked around to see if anyone in the office was watching. I caught my face in the mirror by my desk—my face was bright red. I rushed to the bathrooms. Was this just how erections felt when you were closer to thirty than to twenty?
We were standing right in front of my flat. It was our third date, and we both knew what that meant. Even though I wouldn’t admit it to my friends—they hadn’t met him yet—I thought I might actually be falling for him. I pulled my eyes away from the chest hair creeping out of the top of his collar to ask him: “Wanna come in?”
“You don’t have to work early tomorrow?”
“Actually, it’s a home office day tomorrow. So, no… I’ve got all the time in the world.” I tried to follow this up with a casual smile, the way he always did, but I guess I failed miserably because he started laughing immediately. Then he got very quiet and I could feel that he was nervous, so I added: “I know this is the third date, but there’s no pressure. If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”
He kept his gaze down, smiling at his shoes. He touched the hem of my shirt with his fingertips and, finally finding the courage to look into my eyes, told me: “Oh, I want it.”
We closed the space between us, our bodies touching in as many places as we could find. We’d exchanged a few kisses at the end of our first two dates, but we had our first real kiss right there, in front of my door.
Wyatt later described our first time as “R-rated heaven.”
He was obviously impressed when I pulled my jeans down, which made me blush like a little girl. My dick had flopped out a little more dramatically than I was expecting, and his eyes widened further as it started to become hard.
“Mr. Big-All-Over—I knew it!”
“Fuck. I know it’s big,” I said, “but let me—”
“It’s all right. I already knew you were big down there from that bulge you’re pushing around in front of you.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and pulled him down onto my bed, unable to stop smiling.
We kissed for a while, and all I could pay attention to was the addictive smell of his body and my heavy tool brushing against my thighs. I’d never noticed before how huge it truly was, but it looked magnificent in Wyatt’s hands.
In past relationships I’d been the bottom, always—but not that night. I took the wheel and I found I liked the force he let me use on him. I put on the condom and lube and I entered him slowly. He cried out in quiet ecstasy, and I marveled at his beautiful face just beneath me—how had it taken me so long to find this man? I moved even closer to him, we kissed some more and he grabbed my ass with both his hands. We seemed to instinctively find a rhythm together—not too fast, not too slow.
Abruptly, I stopped—my head suddenly felt dizzy and out of sorts. After a second, I resumed as if nothing had happened, but Wyatt had noticed. My head must have gotten pretty red for a second; I felt like I was glowing from the heat.
“Connor? You all right?” he asked.
“Mhh? Nghhhh… “
His head was so close to mine, I couldn’t even see his eyes, but he could feel my grunts and thrusts.
My cock felt absolutely enormous at that moment, as if it had grown even a little bigger inside of him. Wyatt gasped for air, and I knew that he could feel the difference too. I started to fuck him even harder.
Wyatt and I were sitting at a bar. Our friends had just taken off. “I thought they’d never leave,” I told Wyatt as soon as they were gone. “You know I love Alexandra, but she could talk through a thousand-year war. And she would fill the thousand years with stories about her. This whole night I’ve just wanted to talk to you. I’ve been horny and hard the whole time.”
Wyatt just smiled, glanced around to see if anyone was watching, and then put his hands on my thigh under the bar counter. His hand continued to wander upward as his eyes took my clothes off, until his fingers found the tip of my hard cock.
“There he is… Mr. Big,” he whispered in my ear. “I’ve got to say—I love how big you are down there. Just frigging enormous.”
I grabbed his hand and pulled him forcibly toward the bathrooms.
I’m pretty sure that everyone in that bar heard me fucking him against the wall of a stall. It was pretty rough, much more than the sex we’d had until then, and I’d never seen him so hungry for it. I felt like I was meeting a whole different Wyatt.
I knew that couples usually had a lot of sex in the first few weeks, but six months later Wyatt’s love for me was as fresh as day one. And it was mutual: he was the first partner I’d ever really enjoyed sex with, and it never seemed to get old. I couldn’t get enough of the way he called me Mr. Big.
I’d met his parents two nights before, and now I finally knew why he was such a priceless cutie. The best part was that it didn’t matter how much time we spent together: there was always something new to discover, a new topic to discuss. It was wonderful.
The “episodes,” as I’d started thinking of them, happened now and then; I even went to a doctor about them. He looked and my heart, brain, stomach and even my penis. No dice: I was “perfectly healthy” and there was “nothing to worry about, big man.”
My aunt was getting married again, and we couldn’t stop joking about it. Marriage as holy sacrament, my ass.
The jokes stopped the moment the invitation arrived. Plus one.
“Listen. This will be awful and I fully understand if you don’t want to go.” I was standing next to him in my boxer shorts at the breakfast table. Wyatt hadn’t been to his own apartment in days. Sometimes I wondered if he’d moved in without realizing it. It had only been nine months: wasn’t that a little fast? Well, I wasn’t going to complain… I was working all day and I loved coming home to find a hot meal and an even hotter booty waiting for me.
“No, I want to go. After everything you’ve told me about your aunt and her new lover, I’ve got to meet them.”
“But this is the lame side of my family.”
“Then you better take me with you, or else you’ll die of all the grandmas talking about their hip replacements and dry elbow skin.”
“Their elbows are the driest in the wor–”
“Stooooop it—fine! But I need a new suit. Are you feeling some mall action?”
“That’s the spirit!”
“You should definitely try these on.”
Wyatt held up some jeans with bananas embroidered on them. They were easily the ugliest pants I had ever seen.
“Good way to advertise your equipment, don’t you think? Even if the bananas here are a little small compared to yours.” Half-speaking, half-whispering, he flashed his sexy smile over the rows of dress shirts and suits.
“Any real suggestions?”
“Fine. Try these.”
The moment I closed the curtain behind me I felt that strange feeling rising in me again—the first time in two months. The heat, the rising heartbeat, the prickling feeling that pushed its down from my head to my hips. I was still holding the curtain in my hand when it subsided.
I turned nervously to the full-length mirror, opened my fly, and pulled my pants and underwear down to my ankles so I could stare at my penis. Even at its softest, it was 7 and three quarters inches long. Except now it looked more like 8… or was it just the lighting in here? Before Wyatt had made it his favorite topic I’d never thought of my cock as being particularly big, but now that he was in my life I could see that it was true: I was packing. But I was plenty big already: why did these episodes keep happening? I hadn’t grown at all for a while, but now this was probably the twelfth time it had happened in the last couple of months, and I still couldn’t find an explanation.
“What’s taking so long?”
In record time, I donned pants, shoes, shirt, tie, and jacket, and stepped out without another glance at the mirror.
“What do you think?”
He was smiling, but his eyes were staring at my crotch.
“Well, I love it—but, just for fun, maybe we should try something cut a little looser in the crotch,” he chuckled.
I looked down and stared at the epic bulge created by my half-hard cock.
Wyatt wanted to have sex with me right there in the changing room, but I wasn’t in the mood. Sometimes he gets a little horny even for me.
We were at the airport to fly out west for my aunt’s wedding. It was five in the morning; because I hadn’t been able to get the extra day off of work, we had to travel on the day of the wedding. The closer we got to the security check, the more nervous I got. I wasn’t scared of flying, exactly, but it wasn’t a piece of cake for me either.
Wyatt put his metal things down, walked through the security gate and… silence.
“Come on through, sir,” the man in uniform said, and I felt Wyatt’s eyes on me as I walked through the scanner.
Red lights and the sound of little robots complaining.
“Step to the side and raise your hands, please!”
I did as I was told as the guard waved his little device all over my body. It beeped at belt level. I’d forgotten to take my belt off. I removed it, and the guard started his little find-the-metal game again. It beeped… again.
“No need to worry, sir; it’s probably just your zipper or buttons, but I have to ask you if you’re carrying anything in your pants? Medical devices? Piercings?”
Two hours later we were sitting on the plane and Wyatt was still laughing next to me.
I had been brought into a more private area and had to strip down in front of three different airport agents because no one would believe that I wasn’t packing anything dangerous with me.
Wyatt laughed even harder.
We still had a flight to catch, so I’d shrugged and let one of the officers glance into my underwear. It was embarrassing, but he raised his eyebrows as I shifted my package around so he could see that it was all me.
“Congratulations, sir,” he muttered. “You can go now.”
Wyatt was sleeping in his seat next to me, mumbling in his sleep. Suddenly the whole cabin felt strangely hot. I twisted the air dial above me, trying to get a breeze, but it wasn’t helping. A shiver ran down my spine and the heat became even worse.
The flight attendant brought me an ice water. I gulped it down, and when no one was looking I pressed an ice cube to my forehead and I swear to God it made a hissing sound against my skin. The cubes were gone in seconds, leaving just icy water drops dripping into my cleavage, accompanied by a shivering sensation that I now recognized. The rush to my groin hit me with a far-too-pleasant feeling, and just when I thought it was subsiding, the rush started all over again. My cock was getting hard now, my jeans becoming more snug than I could remember them ever being. I’d never had two episodes back-to-back before—when it was over I was sweaty and out of breath, but my cock was hard as a rock. I needed some relief, but Wyatt was sleeping and I didn’t want to wake him. My hands covering the tent in my jeans, I limped to the toilet and jacked off under the dimmed lights. In that tiny airplane bathroom I felt bigger than ever.
We were sitting under a tree after the ceremony was over and everyone was congratulating Aunt Mirren. I could see my parents shaking hands and hugging everyone.
The journey had gotten off to a rough start, but everything had been perfect since. Especially now, with Wyatt sitting next to me and holding my hand as we sat in the sun listening to the wind whistling through the blooms in the tree.
He pulled his hand away from mine for a minute, and when he grabbed it again there was something else there. I couldn’t identify the object in my palm until he let go and let me get a good look at the ring in my hand.
I felt the smile on my face blooming like a flower in time-lapse video, and I nodded.
We kissed, and it was like a fever rush. His tongue in my mouth, his breath on my lips—until I realized that the sensation wasn’t just from him—I was growing again. I tried to concentrate on Wyatt, but he had already noticed the now-even-more-impressive bulge in my suit pants.
“Glad to see you’re truly happy,” he said, and continued kissing me, his hand still on my crotch.
It wasn’t a big wedding ceremony—one wedding per year was enough for the family (and this one with two men—no fucking way, Aunt Mirren!). We kept it simple: a beautiful dinner with our parents and a separate party with our friends. I was glowing with heat all evening long, and when I looked in the mirrors around us I saw that I was as red as the wine in front of me. Wyatt and I had little silent conversations over the dinner table, just with our eyes, when no one was watching.
Next came the honeymoon trip. Wyatt had actually wanted that big ceremony with 200+ people, so how could I say no to two weeks in the Maldives? Soon we were at the airport again, and this time I passed the security check with no problem. Still, I knew what Wyatt was thinking when I saw him waiting for me on the other side, giggling and giving me two thumbs up.
After ten days on the beach, there was only one swimsuit I hadn’t worn yet and it was a Speedo. I hadn’t worn one in years. I’m a confident man, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t necessarily want everyone to see what I had to offer. But the beaches were so private that once a few days had gone by without our seeing another human being, I finally felt safe enough to change into something a little sexier.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the door locked, and turned uneasily left and right. I couldn’t remember it having been such a tight fit back then—was it just the perspective, or was I really that hung? I could remember seeing other men on the beaches but their packages never looked like this, did they? Wyatt must be right. I am Mr. Big.
I was born for the ocean, I learned that week. I felt like a merman, darting through the water like a fish, able to dive for nearly a minute without catching air. Wyatt was more of a sitting-and-drinking-alcohol-from-a-coconut type of guy. Which was exactly what he was doing when I came out of the water that afternoon.
He put his book down to stare when he heard me approaching. I followed his gaze to see what he was seeing—my whole body dripping wet with blue saltwater, my broad shoulders waving and my thighs flexing with every step in the sand—and, yes, Mr. Big was there, too, about as subtle as a burning barn at night. It was pretty obscene, and I noticed Wyatt glancing up the beach, making sure we had this part of the beach to ourselves.
“You should join me in the water sometime,” I said. “It’s so refreshing.”
My junk was almost pressing into his face.
“Not as refreshing as the view from right here. What’s up, big boy?” he asked me, fondling the tip of my low-hanging, skin-tight package with his fingertips. The monster bulged forward in response to his touch, stretching my Speedo to the limit.
“Careful there,” I said. I lay down next to him, but his eyes never left my package. I saw why: now that he’d started getting me excited it was so big and full that you could actually see into it from the side. Part of my balls and wrapped-up cock were actually exposed to the sunlight.
“Connor, how big are you down there? For real?”
I laughed. “You’re asking the wrong guy! You’ve probably looked at my cock more than I have in the past year and a half. Why are you asking?”
“Don’t know—it’s just, I’ve seen it, and numbers are one thing, but—hell, man—it just looks so fucking big today. Don’t you think? Like, record big.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” I smirked, “and I think I like it. I know how big I am down there, so you don’t need to tell me, my little honey badger.”
“This,” he said a little louder, leaning over and grabbing my package with his right hand—shit… it was too big for his hand. “This is porn star huge!”
“No, really. There’s no way you were this big when we met over a year ago.”
He gave my cock and balls a gentle massage, and I could feel them pulsating bigger still.
“If you really want to know, it’s… probably 8 and a half inches,” I said, the tingling sensation making my voice crack.
“Connor, I’m so horny right now.”
He stood up and found a new seat on my lap. My cock was out of its prison in no time, swinging up to point to a spot above my navel.
Was 8.5’’ really that big? But Wyatt could take it no problem, right? Maybe I really was a stallion.
Wyatt gave me the best blowjob of my life there on the beach. His skills were legendary and I was close to cumming in under a minute, but I tried to hold it back a while longer… my heart was racing, the heat rising in me until it spilled down into my pulsing cock. This was the first time I’d been able to see it grow with my own eyes; as I watched it looked like between a quarter- and a half-inch of new flesh was suddenly swelling out of my groin and into my extending cock. Wyatt’s eyes were closed and he didn’t see or feel it. Good God, was this real? Was it the heat? I had been in the water all day, my head exposed to the sun and drinking nothing but saltwater and alcohol. After I came in great broad ropes all over my stomach, my head felt dizzy and Wyatt grabbed me a water from the distant bar. In the meantime, I rolled my cock back into my Speedo. It was a hell of a tight fit.
I had another episode the same night. Then another one on our flight back.
Life went on. Our sex life kept getting better, maybe because Wyatt was constantly asking me about my cock. He wanted to measure it. I told him not to be ridiculous.
“I’m a grown man.”
“No! You’re a growing man.”
“This is silly. At my age? Have you ever heard of something like that?”
“Wyatt, I get it. I’m a fucking stallion. But take it from me, I’m not growing down there.”
After that conversation, he always made sure to comment on my size when we had sex, acting like I was always a bit bigger than the last time. What could I say? I liked it, and I came even harder when he talked to me like that.
After two weeks of constant swimming, my shoulders looked even wider after our honeymoon. On the other hand, I was starting to get a little gut from all the food they were serving us. I asked Wyatt if he wanted to join the gym with me so we could train together, but he declined: “I’m good.” I kissed him on his hair and whispered: “Yes, you are.”
So it was just me and my gut at the gym.
The lady at the front desk showed me around on my first day; I was a little overwhelmed by all the equipment. She said she wanted to write me a training plan, but first she needed to know how much I could lift. “You look pretty big, so I’m guessing we won’t have to start from the beginning.”
“Actually, I’m just here for my tummy. Anything else would be a nice add-on, but that isn’t really priority one.”
“Got it. Then let’s begin.”
Unfortunately, half an hour later I had an episode right in front of her. I had to drop the weights to make sure I didn’t fall unconscious.
“Everything all right? We shouldn’t overdo it on the first day.”
“No,” I gasped. “I’m fine.”
“Great,” she said. “Do another set.”
Two weeks later I was starting to enjoy the new exertion of lifting. My tummy was already disappearing. Another side benefit: all my jeans and pants were starting to get really, really tight—because of my ass adding muscle mass, I guess.
There was one more thing I had to get used to. I’d never gone to boarding school. I’d never lived with other guys in a college dorm. I’d never played team sports, and never hit the showers with other guys. So this was a really strange feeling for me, changing in front of total strangers. The first week, I didn’t shower at the gym because I told myself that I was going to be home in less than an hour, but Wyatt started to notice that my jacket was smelling like my socks, so I didn’t really have a choice.
The first time I went to shower there, I had another major episode the second I opened my locker. I grabbed onto the door to steady myself and took a second to breathe.
“Everything is fine,” I told myself silently.
Another man, younger than me, entered the locker room and started changing a few feet away from me. He was sitting on a bench and pulling his shoes off when I undressed for the shower. This was so weird. It wasn’t a problem in front of Wyatt, but he was my husband.
I turned around to grab a towel and my shoes and my package slapped against the locker door with a loud smack. I reopened it and put my stuff inside. Then I pulled my boxer briefs down and my cock tumbled out with another slap. I grabbed my things and moved off toward the shower when I noticed the other man had been staring at me the whole time. His eyes were glued to my crotch and he was mouthing a voiceless “fuck.”
I just smiled and kept on walking.
There was another man in the shower who was staring, too, but he moved off pretty fast when I caught him peeping.
Men can be so strange.
“Sorry, I’m late, no time for breakfast,” I shouted, running wildly through the kitchen. My stomach rumbled, and I turned back to grab something Wyatt had cooked for my special day. It was our biggest client and I was in charge of the presentation.
I had just grabbed a waffle when Wyatt whistled for me to come back.
“You can’t go out like that!”
“Why? It’s the suit from Aunt Mirren’s wedding.”
“Are you kidding me, honey? If that’s what you looked like back then than I don’t know why nobody said anything to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dude, your bulging insanely down there. Mr. Big is literally waving your career goodbye.”
“Fuck,” I said, “you’re right. The dry cleaner’s ruined it. Fuck.”
He grinned. “I can’t let you and Mr. Big out like that.”
I ran back upstairs to change. On my way down I had another episode. The third that morning.
We were leaving the sauna after 30 minutes of sweating and whispering into each other’s ears. Our bodies were glistening and ready for the ice bath.
“Did you see the guy on the other side?” Wyatt asked me.
“Do you mean the guy or the guy?” I growled.
“Yeah, the buff one.”
“Wide like a double door.”
“Yeah… man, that guy had no shame.”
“Why? Because he was built like a brick wall?”
“What? No. Didn’t you see… ah!” Wyatt let out a squeal as we entered the ice-water pool.
“Damn, is that cold! Fuck, my dick is freezing.”
“That’s what I mean. He was staring at your dick the whole time. For like a solid half-hour.”
“Oh, that.” I shrugged. “Everyone stares at it. At the gym too. I’m used to that.”
“Yeah, but just because it’s huge it doesn’t mean that he can’t be polite. I didn’t stare at his microscopic dick.”
“Let’s see how big you’ll be after this bath.”
“Shut up, big guy!”
Wyatt’s cock really was small by the time we left the basin. Mine was still majestically large, and the feeling of regaining my natural size in the locker room was shivery and wonderful. And there it was again: everyone was staring.
Winter was almost over, which meant it had already been six months since our wedding. The days flew by, and I loved every single one of them.
“Did you wash my underwear?” I yelled down the stairs.
“If you didn’t do it, then yes.”
“Nice job, honey badger.”
I walked to the living room where Wyatt was sitting and reading something about Italy as a vacation destination. He looked at me over the edge of his magazine.
“What’s this about your underwear?”
“You would see if you’d put that magazine away.”
He lowered it. “Wow,” he said.
I was wearing one of my favorite pairs of boxers that I’d bought half a year ago, after our honeymoon. Half an inch of my cock was peeking out of the leg. This particular pair had always been a bit short for me, but now I found I liked them even better.
Wyatt was clearly speechless, but he managed: “I promise I didn’t wash them too hot … “
Wyatt’s father was celebrating his birthday with a small family dinner: just his parents, Wyatt, and me. Wyatt was telling them about our plans for the summer when I felt the volcano rising in me.
My head felt like someone had set it on fire, and I started sweating everywhere. The feeling wandered downward like a cold hand. It became hard to breathe, and then I felt the strange sensation in my dick again. I should have been used to it by now, but every time felt like the first time. It wasn’t stopping, either, but I tried to make sure no one would notice. There was another surge in my already-overgrown penis and at the same time every muscle in my body contracted hard. Then it happened again. Then again. The fifth episode was the strongest, and I must have made a noise as though I had a stomach cramp or something because Wyatt’s mother immediately started asking if the food was okay.
“It was so amazingly good! I’m so sorry, I felt a little dizzy for a second, but it’s over already. Don’t know what that was.”
As Wyatt’s parents were clearing the table, he leaned over to me and asked: “How many times?”
“Five,” I said.
He just stared at me. My shirt had turned three shades darker from sweating so much.
I woke up to Wyatt yelling at me. Still half-dreaming, I muttered, “Th—thank you … “
“Open up, open up!”
Connor was the kind of birthday guest that gets way more excited about everything than the person who’s supposed to be celebrating.
His gift was packages of underwear. I must have looked puzzled because he immediately started to explain.
“I was trying to figure out what you needed, and you didn’t drop any hints this year like you usually start doing two months before your birthday, so I had to think of something myself. What does Mr. Big need? And then I got the idea, and at first I thought maybe it didn’t even exist, but happily it turns out I was wrong!”
I unboxed the first of what looked like more than 20 pairs of undies and boxer briefs. And then I realized.
“It’s all underwear for men with big cocks!” Wyatt shouted happily. “Guys who are huge like you! Happy birthday! Try them on! I want to see you in them!”
My heart was racing as I got out of bed. As I tried the first pair on, Wyatt said, “I’ve seen how they look on the models on the website, but I had to know how they’d look over a package like yours.”
I turned around. Wyatt looked like he was having trouble breathing. I had to admit that this underwear wasn’t only super comfortable—it actually made my junk seem even bigger.
“Come here, big boy! I want that bulge in my face, now!”
I didn’t wear them very long.
On my way to our first wedding anniversary (time passes so fucking fast!), I had another episode on the train. A double episode: they’d been happening more and more often lately. When it was over, I glanced down at my pants and oh, my fucking god, even with all my clothes on I was bulging like a horse. How could I see that over the whole day? My bulge was so big it was practically pushing my zipper open. For the rest of the trip, whenever anyone glanced my way I instinctively covered it with my hands.
Over our anniversary dinner Wyatt and I talked over the past year. The atmosphere was calm and soothing, until I told Wyatt about the incident on the train. Just thinking about that gave me a hard-on.
“So, my big boy enjoys being such a stallion, huh?”
His hand drifted farther under the table until he found my package and tried grabbing it with only one hand. He should have known by now that that was impossible.
The dynamic between us changed then. Suddenly, Wyatt looked serious. “Connor, this isn’t funny anymore. Well, even if it is, we have to talk about it. You! You’re growing down there! When I met you two and a half years ago it wasn’t this big—you can tell me it was as many times as you want, but I know you know it’s not true. You’re growing like a horse down there and it’s getting incredibly obvious. When I saw your bulge when you walked in here I thought my eyes weren’t working right. And now I can see Mr. Big swelling up while I’m talking and it’s even more obvious. It’s fun, I know, and I love it too. I love how strong you are in bed, I love your colossal cock. But what happens if it doesn’t stop?”
“Maybe—maybe you’re right,” I said. “I guess I was just scared of how you would react.”
“Great,” said Wyatt authoritatively. “Now that that’s cleared up: you definitely need new clothes. The days of briefs and skinny jeans are over, big guy. Your junk has officially become way too big for that combo. And when is it going to stop? Have you visited a doctor? Please tell me you have.”
“Several times,” I said. I was glad he wasn’t screaming at me for not telling him.
“And? How long will it be?”
“They can’t tell me anything because they can’t give me a diagnosis. They agree that it’s happening but there’s nothing actually wrong with me.”
I was sitting at my desk. Between my computer and the papers that surrounded me there were at least four or five things in front of me that needed my attention, but I couldn’t concentrate. It was 11 o’clock and I’d already had 9 episodes that day. And of course, I was wearing the wrong pants because I hadn’t listened to my husband. My cock was literally pushing my fly open a little farther every minute and I was constantly busy zipping it back up again and again. The “Hung Man” underwear made me bulge even more. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t stand up from work that day until everyone else was gone.
Boxer briefs were over for me now. No more tight underwear in public, I promised myself.
Now I just had to hope that my boss wouldn’t call any spontaneous meetings that day, because my monster was just getting harder and harder and I wasn’t sure I could even walk in my pants anymore.
Two months after that, I was lying in bed with Wyatt, reading an article on my phone while he watched TV. Wyatt was naked and my hand was resting on his formidable ass, caressing it with my fingertips. Typical Sunday morning.
All at once, I felt the hot flush rising. I fumbled the phone, almost dropping it on my face. Wyatt didn’t notice the first or the second episodes, but he glanced up as the third wave hit me, surging from my brain down through my chest and stomach until it hit the dick in my generously cut boxer briefs—I only wore them at home now. As soon as he realized what was happening, he grabbed the sheet and yanked it down, exposing my trembling package to the light.
“Shit, Connor. Sometimes I really forget that you’re still growing. That looks gigantic.”
“I think the extra large underwear is going to be too small soon,” I admitted. “It’s always especially huge right after it grows.”
“I have to measure it. I have to know.”
“Why? You want to tell your friends, huh? Do they know about this?” I asked, shaking my hips back and forth. My package shifted heavily, the sound of the straining fabric music to Wyatt’s ears.
“Obviously they know that you’re hung like a horse, honey, but not because I told them. They know because you present your package like a prizewinning beast at the county fair.”
“I see. I see. Okay, get the ruler, I’m curious too.”
He sprinted to his desk like a kid on Christmas morning. Meanwhile, I lowered my boxer-briefs to let the monster fuckpole get some air.
He pressed his way-too-small ruler against the base and measured several times. “Sorry we don’t have a tape measure,” he said.
“Clearly it’s time to get one,” I said.
Wyatt did the math and whispered, awestruck: “14 and half inches of solid beast cock. Now Mr. Big finally has some numbers to back him up.”
“I think he’s very grateful to you,” I joked, my cock getting harder as I spoke. Thankfully just harder and not bigger.
We both forgot the TV as Wyatt smiled and leaned down to give me a blowjob. A few weeks ago he’d started having trouble getting the head in his mouth, but he worked diligently and managed to make it fit.
Halfway through, I realized I was having another episode, but Wyatt didn’t stop. He just paused the mouth action and continued stroking with two hands as he observed: “Your balls seem bigger, too.”
“Yeah,” I gasped. “They’ve been growing the whole time. But I’m glad they’re not as prominent.”
“They’re as big as potatoes.”
“Like I said, not as prominent.”
Summer came, and with it our vacation to Italy. It was a beautiful country, filled with even more beautiful people.
On some beaches, it almost seemed like they had a contest going on to see who could wear the least without actually being naked. That wasn’t a competition I could win anymore. I would have set a high bar with my old body, I imagined now: a nice big cock in an ample Speedo—beautiful. If I tried that now I’d end up in jail, probably.
Wyatt tried his best to cheer me up about my beachwear restrictions. He bought me a swimsuit from the same company he’d gotten my birthday presents from, and it fit surprisingly well. At least, it succeeded in hiding some parts of my foot-plus of dick. But things became difficult when my dick grew between trying it on and actually wearing it to the beach.
I was lying on the beach, minding my own business, when a double episode crashed over me like an avalanche. Wyatt was immediately worried, as usual, but the only thing that concerned me was the ripping sound coming from my super-sized briefs. I got even more stares than usual as we left the beach, and I wondered how many home videos I was featuring in. I’d probably be able to google for my own PornHub video by the time we got back home.
I finally caved in: that afternoon we bought the longest and unsexiest shorts in the world. 0 points for me, 1 point for my colossal cock.
“We have your new scans here, Mr.—”
“Connor, please. We’ve been through enough and you have seen more of me than anyone else has.”
“Sadly true,” Wyatt added from his chair in the corner.
“Well,” the doctor continued, “with new scanning technology we’ve now got higher resolutions of all your x-rays… “
“We still couldn’t find anything.”
“Again?” asked Wyatt, disappointed.
“So, what’s the plan? We just keep on scanning every few years and hope that someday you find something and that my dick won’t become too big to handle?”
“Connor, I’m sorry about your situation, but this is all I can do for you right now. You’re still able to get erections—that’s a wonderful sign! If things become much for you to handle, there’s always reduction surgery.”
“Bet that’s a first,” Wyatt laughed out loud.
“It’s just the two of us,” Wyatt said. “Why did you buy so many French baguettes for breakfast?”
It took him a second to see it.
“Connor, please tell me that’s not your dick between those baguettes.”
“Hahaha hahaha! Sorry… wanna take a bite?”
Sometimes I woke up at night and couldn’t really tell where my dick ended anymore. Was that crazy? It was so long that I was having a hard time keeping track of the tip of it. It was almost 16 inches long now. Wyatt measured it one night just before we had sex for the first time in two weeks, the longest we’d ever gone. It hadn’t been intentional; we’d just been busy living our lives.
My eyes were already closed, my body covered by the blanket, when I felt his hand fishing for my cock. Sometimes, before he went to sleep, he had to move it back to my side of the bed, or I had to relocate it so he didn’t roll over it in the night. But this time he didn’t let go after a few friendly squeezes. His hand wandered further down and he grabbed me hard by the balls; by that time my hard cock was pressing against his upper arm.
I didn’t open my eyes; it was part of the fun to make him work for it, to let him make me give myself up to him.
Soon I could feel his tongue on the tip of my dick. I chuckled because it tickled, but then the erotic waves hit me and I started to move my hips to his contagious rhythm. Soon his tongue was everywhere, all over my cock, and it felt incredible. I felt my own pre running down the skin of my hardwood. He picked up the tempo again, stroking me even faster. I felt like the earth was shaking.
“I can’t wait for you to grow even bigger!” Wyatt whispered, and I could hear his grin in the dark.
“Just give me some time and I’ll show you what ‘big’ truly means.”
“Come on, big boy. You close?”
“God, Wyatt, so close. Don’t stop.”
Yet instead he slackened his rhythm a little, making me crazy. My eyes were still closed, my face contracted in glorious pain, my whole body convolving around the grip of his hand on my massive cock.
“How big do you want to be? Tell me.”
“There’s no such thing as too big,” I grunted.
“That’s right, big boy,” he whispered.
He squeezed my dick back into his mouth, and I immediately erupted like a volcano.
Half an hour later, we were lying next to each other and the only thing Wyatt could say as we both lay there, out of breath, was: “You make breakfast and I’ll clean the sheets.”
We celebrated our third anniversary with a private candlelit dinner at home. Wyatt had insisted that we not go out. At first I thought it was because of my bulging monstrosity, but then I remembered that I wasn’t that big, not yet. I hadn’t had an episode in over half a year. It had reached close to 16 and a half inches long—more than enough wood for anyone.
Either way, we stayed home and Wyatt cooked a delicious meal which we ate in our boxer shorts, enjoying our three-year bond.
“This was a great idea,” I told him as I filled his plate with seconds. “No suits, no ties, no fanciness… just us.”
“Glad you approve,” he smiled and patted my right thigh. Soon his hand had ambled down to the 7 inches of my cock that were hanging outside the boxer shorts.
I bent down and whispered, “That’s for dessert, am I right?”
“I’m pretty stuffed already. I don’t know if that’s gonna fit.”
We kissed, and soon we were back in bed, the dinner forgotten. The candles burned down slowly as our boxer shorts waited under the table for our return.
“Maybe you should start looking for another job.”
We were walking through the park. Wyatt had clearly been thinking about this for a while, but now he had brought it up so suddenly that I wasn’t sure how to react.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if it keeps growing and growing you won’t be able to walk around in public the way you could before. If you had a home office job, you’d be more independent and it would be a perfect match for your situation. You’re amazing at your job! You could build your own one-man company.”
“I don’t know if we need to worry about that,” I said. “It’s stopped. I’ve measured it every day for the last—”
“I know, but remember when you thought it was going to stop at 12 inches? I’m not trying to freak you out; I’m just saying—maybe as a precaution.”
“I’ll think about it,” was all I said.
About four nights after that I had my first episode in more than nine months.
It had been two months since my growth had started again, but the episodes seemed to work differently now. I was having at least 2–3 episodes a day, and my junk was growing proportionately, in every direction. Not just in length, like before. Even my balls were swelling bigger now.
I quit my job. We moved the furniture and I bought some things to build my new workplace at home. When everything was ready, I stood in the doorframe of my new office—I must have looked a little lost, because seconds later Wyatt’s arms were around my chest.
“Everything will be fine, big guy. Look on the bright side: you won’t have to squeeze into pants every morning now. Enjoy the breeze around your balls.”
“Have you seen them lately?”
“I saw them today when you were in the shower. They’re bigger than ever! I love them.”
The next thing I knew I was pushing everything off my new desk and pushing Wyatt down onto it.
Sometimes I still wore underwear, just for nostalgia. It was good to feel that surreally large bulge shaking in front of me. I had to remind myself that even with no one looking over my shoulder, I still had to work 8 hours a day—sitting naked in front of my Mac didn’t pay the rent. I was playing with my cock so often that I had to wear something to stop me from touching it. I had just broken the 20-inch mark and I was still growing strong. I felt so lucky to have Wyatt: I wasn’t leaving the house as often anymore, but with him by my side, I still had everything I needed. He loved me for who I was and, more importantly, for who I was becoming.
It was nearly our fourth anniversary already. Crazy how the older you get the faster the time goes.
When I woke up, I grinned: part of my dick was lying on my face, my morning stubble scratching the skin of the shaft. In this last year I must have surpassed every horse in the country. There had been times when I’d gotten depressed about it, but a few months ago, there finally came a day when I woke up and suddenly it didn’t bother me anymore. I accepted it. Sure, it would have been nice to know the how and the why, but I was probably never going to know, and I sure wasn’t to let it stop me from living my life.
“Good morning, Mr. Big.” I kissed my own cock. The glans reached over my head now so I couldn’t give myself blowjobs the way I’d used to, but Wyatt was better at it, anyway.
I stood up, my dick staying in the bed as I rose to my feet. I dragged it over the sheets until it fell heavily onto my ankles. That hurt a little—I had to remember to stop doing that every morning.
I stood in front of our sink to brush my teeth while my dick was propped up on the toilet, pissing. Another advantage I would never have thought of.
When I was put my clothes it struck me just how fat my cock had gotten over the last year. It was thicker than my wrist now, 4’’ across at the base, and down to my feet, 29’’ long.
I used a little trick, now, in public. I wrapped the head of it in my sock so it couldn’t poke out of my pants anymore. I knew I looked ridiculous in any kind of pants now, but we lived in a big city where almost no one knew me, so why should I give a fuck?
For our five-year anniversary, we re-visited the Maldives.
I went everywhere wearing my high-compression neoprene wetsuit so nobody looked at me twice. My elephant cock was still pretty easy to spot, but I was doing everything I could to keep attention off of it. We were mostly alone at the beach, though, and I did think about going naked a few times.
One morning we went to the beach and Wyatt stopped as soon as we found our beach chairs.
“Forgot my book… I have to go back. Can you wait to swim until I’m back?”
“There’s nobody here. No one will steal our stuff.”
“Just ten minutes.”
“Okay, but hurry or I’ll burn here in the sun.”
The minute he was gone the heat started to prickle my legs. The black neoprene was good at hiding my bulge but terrible at cooling my limbs. I wanted to swim! After 3 more minutes, when he still wasn’t back, I found myself opening my zipper and dropping my neoprene pants. The breeze on my cock felt like a long, cool drink of water.
“Connor! Are you crazy? What if someone comes along and sees you?”
“We haven’t seen anyone here in like 8 days. It’ll be fine. Mr. Big likes the fresh air.”
Wyatt had to think about it for a second, but a minute later he was dropping his swimwear too, adding: “Mr. Big is looking pretty fat. He’s gotten thicker.”
“Yeah, quite a lot, actually. But he’s not any longer. I hope you can still take him.”
“We can try it tonight,” he said casually, as though we were talking about the weather.
I swam naked. I must have looked like I was attached to a sea monster when I rose out of the water: my cock just kept going and going and going.
That night we sat on the coast and talked for over an hour about the future. We even talked about having kids. When we stood up, I saw our prints in the sand and laughed. Wyatt’s showed just his ass, two round shapes where his cheeks had rested. My prints revealed the shape of my more muscular ass, plus two cantaloupe-sized holes where my big balls had rested and a thick trough where my cock had been.
On our flight back, border security fished me out again—I know why they do it, and I’m not even mad at them, but imagine being in my situation and having to explain yourself to them for the twentieth time. I even think one cop actually took photos of me when I wasn’t watching.
Six and a half years into our marriage, things had grown calm between us. I wondered if we might be starting to get old.
Eating dinner with Wyatt every night, I finally felt like a normal grown-up. I could feel the tip of my dick between my feet: it hadn’t grown in over a year and a half. It was still the biggest cock in the world, but it wasn’t getting any bigger. I stopped playing with it under the table when I felt the wetness of precum squelching between my toes.
“I can’t believe I’ve never asked you this, but have you never thought about working in porn, Connor?”
“I thought about it,” I said honestly. “In the end, though, it was just growing faster than I could cope with. I wasn’t confident about it, so I never followed through.”
“And what about now?”
“Jesus, no. I mean, considering how big I am now? I’d be famous overnight, and that’s not something I ever aspired to.”
I dropped my fork and Wyatt looked over to me.
“Everything all right? Connor?”
I wasn’t answering. Just breathing heavily.
“Connor? What’s happening?”
“It just happened… “
“I just had another episode!” I shouted. It was the first one I’d had in eighteen months, but it felt slightly different, I knew from the second it started. Something wasn’t right.
Wyatt and I and a couple of our friends were on the dance floor. The music was pulsating through my bones and colored lights flickered around us. I could only see Wyatt’s smile now and then, when one of the spots hit his beautiful face. This night out was just what I needed, and I was enjoying every moment of it. The episodes had been back for 2 weeks, striking randomly. They weren’t as consistent as they had been, but weirdly, they felt harder than they’d used to; my whole body would shiver and contract powerfully as wave after wave of sensation flowed up and down my body.
I had one right there on the dance floor, and moved over to the bar without anyone noticing. I clung to my drink, trying to steady myself, and took a deep breath, the buttons on my shirt straining outward. When nobody was watching, I glanced down at my ankle where my cockhead was tucked into my sock.
“Isn’t this big enough already? How much more do you want?”
Of course, he didn’t answer—instead, another episode began as soon as I finished speaking. Bastard.
“Fuck!” I cried. I didn’t realize Wyatt was home until he came running into my home office just as I was starting to calm down. He was still wearing his jacket and shoes. It looked like he’d just come home a few seconds before.
“Everything all right? Why are you screaming?”
“It’s just… nothing,” I mumbled. I knew that I was being an asshole, but I just didn’t feel like explaining. I must have looked like a total loser, sitting there in my super loose sweatpants and 3XL lounge shirt.
“Is it work?”
“No, it’s … listen, Wyatt. I’m sorry. I had a horrible day. I had so many episodes that I stopped counting after 15 or 16.”
His voice lowered in concern. “What can I do for you?”
“You’re sweet, but I guess the answer is nothing.” I threw my pen away from me and closed my laptop. “Guess I’ll just call it a day. I’m going to bed early.”
“Do you want me to join you?”
“That would be lovely, but I can’t have sex after a day like this. I… I don’t want to see it.”
“Okay, then, it’s just us.”
The next day was a Saturday. I was woken up by another episode. I wanted to scream. Was every day going to be a repeat of my hellish Friday for the rest of my life? Until I got so big that our house couldn’t contain my monstrous cock any longer?
I stayed in bed, the blanket up to my nose, but Wyatt made sure I was safe and sound. He was there for the whole day, bringing me food and staying by my side through every single episode.
Sunday was the same. Over the course of the weekend I had over 40 of them.
It was finally time to see the doctor again. I called him on Monday morning. I could hear Wyatt cooking breakfast in the kitchen. I stood up: my cock felt as heavy as before in my sweats, and I hadn’t looked at it up close in three days. I just did not want to. My steps felt kind of heavy and louder than usual, and I was scared of what I would see in the mirror. Now I entered the bathroom, lowered my sweats to my ankles and pulled out my cock like a magician in a theater producing a a rope. Fat and veiny, it sat there in my hands as I took a laborious piss. The strangest part was, as far as I could tell it looked exactly like it had last week. Still monstrous and gigantic in every sense, but still, something wasn’t right.
I shaved my short beard and marveled at how good my neck looked in the mirror. Big and truly built. My days of going to the gym regularly were behind me, but the results were still there. I smiled for the first time in days.
I showered, trying to shake off the stress of the weekend, which seemed to be weighing heavily on my body. My arms, legs and even my head felt more cumbersome than usual, but I was relieved to see that my cock still wasn’t touching the ground, just slapping audibly against my ankles with every step as usual. All the mirrors in the bathroom were covered in fog.
I went commando and only put my pants on; they felt quite snug around my ass. I put a shirt on, went to the big mirror in our bedroom, and shrieked.
Wyatt found me sunken on the bed, almost in tears. My loose, casual around-the-house clothes were practically glued to my frame. The sleeves of my shirt were ready to tear from the size of my biceps. The veins were visible even through the fabric. On the bottom, the shirt was a little too short, and a slice of my hairy, muscled abdomen was visible. My thighs stretched the seams of my pants, and the mass of my cock had torn through the fabric of the other pant leg.
Wyatt whispered: “Step on the scale.”
I did as I was told.
I had weighed one hundred seventy-one pounds for over a decade. I’d never had problems with gaining or losing weight, and was always toned no matter what I did or how much I ate. Now the scale showed two hundred thirteen. A difference of forty-two pounds.
“Take your shirt off!” Wyatt ordered.
“What the fuck,” we said simultaneously as my newly developed physique came into view. My pecs showed definition and cast deep shadows onto my torso where we could see the first outlines of a beefy six-pack. I raised my arms into a double-bi pose, and the seams on my arms literally exploded. Wyatt traced a line over my biceps that ended in my hairy pits.
With clear awe in his voice, Wyatt said: “We won’t be able to hide that for long… “