The misadventures of Joe Hypercock

By BRK  Patreon Contact Page Twitter
2 parts
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Part 1

My big idea to get away from the weird in my life by spending New Year’s in the city wasn’t going so well even before that weird little guy bumped into me and turned my dick into something you could practically see from space.

All through high school I’d been helping out with uncle’s plumbing biz, and once I had my diploma in hand I got licensed up and branched out on my own, knowing Unc could back me up in a pinch. It went pretty well. I was getting jobs and making bank, but I couldn’t help but notice the way most of my clients met me at the door with this kind of hungry look in their eyes, especially the guys. I mean, I’d kinda noticed the looks and smiles when I when I was doing it part-time in school—I got it all the time anyway. After I went solo, though, it seemed to get more intense, though, like I was giving off sex waves or something. I played into it a little, I admit. Snug compression shirts, pants I could work in that still hugged my butt real nice, stuff like that. I mean, I wrestled all-state three years running and I look it. I’m just under six feet but rangy with a lot of tight muscle packed on, and my chest and abs especially look kind of perfect, like it’d look if you were sculpting a really hot dream guy and you just put your chisel exactly where you wanted every time. I worked hard for this body and it got me to state three times—only I wasn’t wrestling anymore. Might as well use it for something! If I’m good, who cares how I build my business, right?

Finally this one hot banker type was like, how much extra do I need to pay for you to work shirtless? I named a price that was basically double my usual rate (which, okay, was a little low-ball, I was just starting out after all) and he didn’t even blink. Before you know it, a month had gone by and I’d turned into Joe the Shirtless Plumber, and I was busy as fuck.

I worried what people would think, especially family-type people, but everyone was crazy cool about it. Unc thought it was pretty hilarious. He even joked with his clients about offering the same deal, and they’d just laugh and say no thank you. Sure, okay, Unc used to look like John Travolta back when he was in Saturday Night Fever, but now he looked more like the John Travolta from Battlefield Earth, if you know what I mean.

Well, another month in and I started feeling a little weird about it all of a sudden, especially on account of how into it everyone else was. I’d stop in at Benny’s Java on the way to a gig and Benny would be behind the counter and he’d laugh, looking me up and down and be all, “Hey, Joe, what’s with the shirt?” and I’d be all, “Ha, ha, funny, you’re a funny guy,” and he’d just snicker at me as he handed me my coffee. Or I’d be getting a burger in a booth at the diner one Sunday and the waitress’d be all, “Hey, Joe, half price if you eat shirtless!” and I’d be like “Heh, you’d have to pay me,” and she’d be giving me this look like she was considering it. Then the holidays rolled around and all the fam was at our house. Mom asked me to hand out the gifts, and my nerdy-cute cousin Len, who’s, like, three years behind me, was like, “Yay! Shirtless Santa!” and everyone laughed at how red I got and I just ignored them and handed out the gifts with my shirt on.

Weird. Just… fuckin’ weird.

So I decided to drive up to the city to spend New Year’s with my buddy Dolan, who moved up there after graduation with his girlfriend Kat, and use the time away to clear my head a little and figure stuff out. Only at the last minute it turned out I couldn’t stay with Dolan after all, on account of Kat—who’d always suspected Dolan of being bi, I think, at least when it came to me—put her foot down and said no way was she letting me parade around all shirtless in their apartment. I was like, I promise to wear a shirt, you’ll never see a single chest hair, but she wouldn’t budge. So I ended up in a hotel. It was a little desperate, what with it being the holidays, but after sitting in a Starbuck’s calling a hundred places with no dice I started back through my list one more time before I packed it in and went back home, when it turned out one of the big upscale chain hotels downtown had a cancellation and could squeeze me in. I jumped at it. I was socking away so much green I could afford a nice hotel in the city for a night, and, hey, maybe I was due some me-time. Too bad the universe wasn’t done making my life strange.

The cab on the way down was really hot inside for some reason, so I pulled off my coat and set it on the seat beside me. I started watching the skyscrapers rolling by, and then we pulled up in front of this really swank-looking one and I realized it was my hotel. I paid with my card using the thing, distracted by how wild it was I was going to be staying in a place like this, and I got out of the cab pulling the strap the medium-sized gym duffel I was using for luggage over my shoulder, staring up like a damned tourist, and then the cab drove away and that was when I realized I’d left my coat in the cab. I turned and almost ran after it, but we were on a busy avenue and it was gone in a second. New Year’s Eve in the city and maybe forty degrees, and I was standing there on the curb in a muscle-hugging long-sleeved navy henley I’d bought for work (before it had turned out I didn’t need them), butt-hugging boot-cut jeans, and my old scuffed Doc Martens. At least my wallet was in my pants, and not my coat.

There being nothing else for it, I sauntered through the revolving doors and into the lobby. It was pretty impressive—the ceilings were at least two stories high, and the decor was all in whites, browns, and reds with only minimal touches of gold, silver and chrome. The floor was carpeted in slate gray, a nice change from the expected marble (which I always wondered about in big lobbies—marble’s really loud, so why do they keep using it?).

I stopped more or less right in the middle of the space to look up and admire the impressive chandelier directly overhead… and that’s when things took a sudden left turn.

Directly ahead of me were a bank of elevators; the left wall of the lobby was mostly taken up with a really long front desk, the concierge, and other hotel services. In between, twisting gently down into the lobby from behind the elevators, was a wide curving staircase done in dark, burnished wood. As I stared up at the chandelier, half-dazzled by white light glittering on thousands of glass facets, I heard a commotion from that direction, and when I turned to look I saw the strangest looking little man clattering down the steps at top speed. He had bright eyes, a hawklike nose, and up top was this shocking red hair in a ring around his bald head. He also had ferociously bushy sideburns (which seemed like they were a slightly different red) and whiskers of the same sort on his bulbous chin. His clothes—blazer, trousers, open-collared shirt—were dark and very loose, so much so I was expecting him to catch his heels on the hems of his pants as they flopped around and send himself flying; but he was as sure-footed as a mountain goat, and he was hooting and giggling as he pelted down the steps, like running for his life was something he found exhilarating. What a nut.

To my dismay he took in the lobby in a flash and fixed on me, and as soon as he’d gained the carpet of the lobby floor he made a bee-line straight for me. I gaped and started to take a step back, but he was on me almost instantly.

“You’re perfect,” he said gleefully. Before I could protest he shoved something the size of a potato into my hand and closed my fingers around it. “Here, hold this a second,” he said. My sense of bafflement was quickly overtaken by the crazy sensations I was getting from the thing he’d handed me, and I raised my hand to stare in wonder at this thing I was gripping tight. It was a red-tinged stone, all rough and shapeless and pretty much unremarkable—except it felt alive with pent-up energy. It was like the stone wanted to do something, like a dog straining at its leash, wanting to run and have all the fun it could possibly have.

All of that flashed through my brain in a second. I caught motion from the curve of the stairs out of the corner of my eye, but the little red-haired man reached up and grabbed my chin and turned it toward the elevator banks. At the left end, directly facing me, was a wide mirror as tall as the elevator doors, and I saw myself in them in my sexy clothes and my attention was kind of arrested. Not my usual reaction, honestly, but in that moment my head was exactly not on straight, and I saw myself almost as a stranger, or as another me, detached. Then the little man spoke again, and the way he spoke, all calm and commanding and gleeful all at once, it slid right into the very center of my brain as I stared at my own reflection. “Now,” he said intently, “try not to think of having a huge, giant, colossal, enormously erect hypercock!”

I blinked, really caught off-guard by the words. But you know what happens. The moment you’re told not to think about red-and-green candy-striped elephants dancing a kick-line on the stage at Radio City (as Unc explained it to me once), of course that’s all you can think about. I was told not to imagine my reflection looking back at me with an enormous, impossibly huge and super-hard wang—so guess where my mind went. Now, I had a decent-sized set of equipment already, and my own sex appeal had been kind of on my mind lately, so the idea of me having a big dick already had a place in the things I thought about when I thought about sex. Now, though, my fantasies went into crazy overdrive. I could picture it—actually see my own perfect bod sporting this suddenly enormous, impossibly huge and super-hard wang in the reflection. And seeing it fed my imagination like shoving coals in a furnace. It was like my brain was let loose by the prospect of actually seeing what I imagined. Breathlessly I let my mind rocket out of control, and the thing, that big, beautiful thing… it got huge, and beyond huge, and suddenly I was staring hard, mouth agape, at the most stupendously monumentally gigantic uncut dick in the universe, as thick as my leg and thrusting up from my straining jeans like a sequoia, and the thing was so huge that, no joke, I could still only see my face on account of how my dick had this bend to the left near the top that I’d been fascinated by from the moment of my very first boner.

In my hand, I barely noticed as the rock throbbed and flared, and then subsided, its potency palpably reduced. Something in the space around me seemed to shift and twist, and abruptly the spell broke and washed away like melting sugar. I was standing there in the lobby, and… it was real.

The weight of it almost unbalanced me, but the red-whiskered man grabbed me by the waist to steady me—and also to move behind me, for reasons that became clear seconds later. The heat came next. The thing seemed to radiate warmth, not only where it pressed against my chest—in the chill of the lobby I could feel it on my face. I felt it in my legs and groin, too, from the much larger balls I now had straining my jeans. (These were slightly expanded to accommodate my new equipment, I noticed afterwards, because the magic was that thoughtful—but I was still crammed in pretty tight down there.) Then, all at once, came the visceral tidal-wave rush of being massively turned on and needing to get off, more urgently than ever before in my life. It almost dropped me to the ground, and I kept my knees straight only with difficulty. My pulse pounded loud and fast in my temples, and my breath was quick and shallow. My blood was boiling with arousal. I had what felt like basketball-sized nuts and they were shouting at me, like they were achingly full of insane amounts of hot jizz and they ready to blow all over everything and paint this entire upscale lobby and everyone in it with hot, high-pressure spunk.

But before I could even come to grips with that, I finally focused on the gorilla that was barreling toward me from the direction of the curvy grand staircase, and I finally understood what Baldy McStonegiver had been running from when I’d first seen him.

The thing was massive—all the more so for having, in addition to the car-sized shoulders and chest you expected in a giant gorilla, an equipment of not two but four massive hairy arms, the hands and knuckles of which were as vital to his terrific speed as his feet. His sharp, ferocious teeth were bared, and his dark eyes were fixed—not on me, but on the weird little man who was even at that very moment thrusting me forward a step from behind.

Grodd-and-a-Half finally fixed his eyes on me—and stopped dead, arresting his momentum by deftly gaining some traction on the carpet with his foremost hands while pushing back with his feet. In the space of a heartbeat he was still, and his frightening gaze was now fixed, almost anxiously I thought, on my giant, throbbing wang.

I stood there huffing, my heart trying to bash its way out my chest, staring at the four-armed gorilla that was staring back at my colossal member, which, only seconds into its existence, was already demoted to being the second weirdest thing in my life.

The gorilla snorted, leaning forward on his arms as if it wanted to be sure what it was seeing (and, for all I knew, smelling), then pulled back, turning its head slightly in a way that seemed almost… deferential? The red-whiskered man giggled. “I knew it,” he said.

“What did you know?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the mutant beast.

“The only thing that would intimidate him!” the weirdo said.

It took me a second—but only a second. I glared at him over my shoulder. “Wait—let me get this straight,” I growled. “You were being chased by a giant four-armed gorilla from the Whatthefuck Dimension, and you knew the only the only thing that’d get him to step off was a giant wang?” The red-whiskered man nodded eagerly. “And so you gave me one?” I persisted.

“Of course! It was the obvious solution.” The little man said. He was remaining behind me, but he was quite calm, trusting in the power of my mighty cock.

“Why didn’t you get your own?” I demanded hotly.

He looked aghast. He glanced down at his short, scrawny body and then back up at me. “The very idea!” he said, sounding almost bewildered. “Why, think how silly I’d look.”

“How silly you’d—” I glanced back at the gorilla suddenly, afraid he’d made a move while I’d been glaring at the little weirdo, but the massive beast was exactly where he’d been a second earlier, staring warily at my own massive beast. In turning my head to look properly at him, though, I noticed that something very much was not happening in the lobby around me—namely, panic and mayhem at the sudden introduction of an enormous, mutant jungle death-monster galloping right into the middle of their swank urban hotel lobby. The front-desk clerks were going about their business, guests were checking in, bellhops were hauling luggage around on those long carts with the bar on top to hang stuff, and though there were a few people sitting in the nearby lobby chairs who were watching our encounter with casual interest, absolutely no one was screaming and pointing hysterically at either the giant hairy ape or the giant throbbing wang in their midst, and no platoons of cop cars were descending on the hotel with guns drawn and terrified expressions on their faces, like they knew guns were never enough in cases like this. The complete lack of impact from the events I was witnessing was almost alarming.

“What the—” I muttered. To the little man I said, “Why isn’t anyone losing their shit over there being a fucking gorilla in the lobby?” I wasn’t going to mention the other thing.

“Oh, no one pays much attention to anything having to do with me,” he said carelessly. He pulled back the soft cuffs on one wrist and checked a nonexistent watch. “Oh, but I have to go,” he said abruptly. He looked up at me again, eyes twinkling like fucking Christmas tree. “Good luck!” And with that he ducked behind me—but when I looked over my other shoulder to find him, he was gone!

“The fuck?” I exclaimed. I quickly looked back at the gorilla, but he was still there. “What the fuck?” I said, because I had no idea what to do, but it came out almost conversational, like we were strangers sharing a taxi or something.

The gorilla snorted. He was still eyeing my giant wang distrustfully. “Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’m not gonna fuck you with it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The gorilla said nothing. Someone dinged a bell over at the front desk, and a bellhop came and retrieved another pile of luggage, trailing behind the large midwestern family gabbling happily to themselves and completely ignoring the giant four-armed gorilla and the guy with the titanic dick that desperately needed stroking and touching and various other ministrations.

The lobby was silent for a second or so. The gorilla snorted again. Unpleasant thoughts assailed the back of my brain: was he expecting me to fuck him with this thing?

The fact was I was going to need to fuck someone soon, or at least get off, and how I was going to manage that I had no idea.

Suddenly the elevator pinged, and out stepped a very handsome man in his late thirties with loose, dark hair falling on the shoulders of his tailored tux, talking briskly into his cell phone. A dark wool overcoat was folded over the other arm.

“—the biggest you have, right?” he was saying. “Yes, I’m sure. Just make sure he’s waiting in the lobby for—oh, I see him. What? No, he’s already here. Okay, bye.” He put the phone away and made straight for me while shrugging into the (very fashionable) overcoat, completely ignoring the four-armed Kong currently engaged in a stare-down with my cock.

The handsome man in the tux now stood before me and clasped my arms just above the elbows, looking me up and down appraisingly. He was almost my height, maybe an inch shorter, but compared to me he carried himself like a demigod. His hazel eyes lingered on my newest attribute. “Man, they weren’t kidding when they said you were the biggest,” he mused. He let go and straightened, and as his eyes flicked up to mine a soft smile curved his lips, making him twice as good-looking. My basketball nuts begged me to let them shoot jizz all over him, and I fought them back with some difficulty. His dry cleaner would kill me.

“Lucky that thing curves to the left,” the man teased, nodding at my monster erection.

I blinked at him, not following. “Huh?”

His smile widened slightly. “Because then we wouldn’t be able to see your handsome face,” he explained.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah.” I suddenly felt oddly bashful.

“Got a name?” he asked, as if such a thing might be optional in my case.

“Uh, Joe,” I said, slightly dazed. It was freaking me out that he was not freaking out over my giant appendage, but I couldn’t do anything but go with it. I glanced at the gorilla, and saw he was giving the handsome stranger an unfriendly look.

The man nodded approvingly and thrust out a hand. I started to put out my right hand, remembering only at the last second that said hand was still tightly gripping an apparently magic rock. Hastily I pocketed the stone and shook the man’s hand. “Joe,” I repeated, my last name momentarily escaping me as I took in those beautiful hazel eyes.

“Legend Shepard,” he replied, shaking firmly.

My eyebrows shot up of their own accord as we disengaged, and he looked at me indulgently, ready for it. “Legend?” I repeated. Somehow my confused brain came up with a joke, and I said, “Please tell me you run a dairy,” before I could really think better of it.

He rolled his eyes only a tiny bit. “Legend Menswear,” he said.

“Holy shit!” I said, startling him slightly, though he was still amused. “I’m wearing one of your shirts,” I explained, nodding down at the navy-blue henley that dutifully hugged my every curve and bulge.

“So I see,” Shepard commented, giving my torso, now half-hidden by monster wangage, a lewd look. “Rather a shame that you are,” he added, winking at me. This allusion to my universal “shirtless appeal” was familiar territory at last, and it was my turn to roll my eyes. Shepard’s expression sobered, however. “Actually it is a bit of a problem,” he said, half to himself. He gave me another quick once-over, taking in once again my clingy shirt, dark, butt-hugging jeans, and scuffed boots, making me feel even more self-conscious. “I told the agency the event was black tie,” he said, in the same distracted tone, “so I rather assumed—” He caught sight of the gym bag over my shoulder and eyed it suspiciously. “You don’t have a monkey suit in there, do you?”

I goggled at him a second, then glanced hurriedly at the half-forgotten gorilla. My friend Fourchak still sat exactly where he’d been, watching this whole interchange with deep mistrust from under his dark, looming brows. I turned back to Shepard, who was looking at me expectantly and ever so slightly impatiently. I remembered the question, glancing down at my bag and then back up at him. “No,” I said belatedly. “No, er, monkey suit.”

He nodded, twisting his mouth around thoughtfully before nodding again. “The formalwear shop I use should still be open,” he said, then added with a wink at me, “or will be. C’mon,” he added, and with that he turned and started for the revolving doors. “We’ve just got time,” he added without looking back. He did turn when he got the doors and saw I wasn’t with him. He looked across the lobby at me, dark eyebrows raised. Well? they seemed to say.

Well, indeed. It was either go to a New Year’s Eve party with the super-handsome and very appreciative guy in the tux, or stay here with the annoyed, mutant megagorilla. Kind of a no-brainer, if you put it that way. Plus Shepard probably smelled better.

I twisted to give the gorilla a final look. “Go home!” I hissed. Fourchak bent his head and looked at me sulkily from under his mighty brow, shifting his weight on his four powerful arms. I shook my head and, turning my back on him, headed across the lobby to catch up with my unexpected date.

Part 2

Outside Shepard whistled up a cab from out of the steady flow of traffic on the avenue. When it pulled up he opened the door courteously for me, gesturing for me to go first. I climbed in a little awkwardly, still unused to moving around with this extremely heavy appendage in my way where I wasn’t used to having one. It helped that I was incredibly hard, like iron-girder hard, so that it barely shifted even an inch one way or another as I contorted myself into the taxi. I settled in on the far side of the cab and Shepard agilely slid in next to me.

“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?”

“Shut up.”

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.


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