I woke leisurely, the room brightening in incremental shades of gold, and realized I was alone. As had become my routine, I reached out blindly out for the familiar, warm body beside…and felt nothing but cold, wrinkled sheets. I sat upright, gathering my bearings, and looked around Owen’s empty bedroom. He reported to the work earlier than I did most days, sometimes even in the pre-dawn hours, but never without waking me with a farewell kiss on the forehead. I unlocked my phone, but there were no texts, no voicemails. Tossing off the sheets, I stumbled bleary-eyed and yawning down the hall, pushing open the bathroom door.
“Oh good, you’re up!”
With my brain was not yet firing on all cylinders it took me a moment to register what exactly what was greeting me on the other side of the door. From the waist up, Owen the Insurance Adjuster Extraordinaire was staring back at me, freshly shaven and grinning bright as the morning sun. His black hair was combed back in that perfect coif and he was wearing his favorite tie, emerald green with neon orange leaves to celebrate the arrival of fall. But everything from the waist down was Owen the Walking Sex God. His pale, exposed legs grabbed my eyes first, with the bright argyle-printed socks hiked up his calves, before my eyes traveled upward further.
“What’re you…?”
My voice trailed off as I took in the sight of him standing there. Like some exaggerated imitation of Michelangelo’s David, he stood in counterpoise but instead of clasping a slingshot over one shoulder, his hands were instead extended in front of him, holding aloft his enormous cock. Not even sure Goliath was that hung, I thought as took in the sight of his breathtaking prick resting in his palms. His dick was easily the largest I’d ever seen it, completely maxed out with size, and thicker than ever—and yet ostensibly soft. The hallmark of his raging erection was how proudly it stood upright, snubbing gravity to point at his chin. My mind struggled to make sense of it as I stared at the limp shaft in his hands, nearly fat as a can of soda, protruding forward from as if he were displaying some prize catch of the day. And what a catch it was. It didn’t make sense. Unless…
“Are you that big soft now?” I whispered.
Owen cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t be silly. I’m just jelqing. See?”
To underscore his point, Owen raised his hands over his shoulders. Suddenly unsupported, his enormous dong dropped heavily between his legs, hypnotically swinging back and forth, drawing me in. I drifted toward it like a zombie in a daze, scooping it up in my own hands and gasping at the weight and heat radiating from it. As my fingers wrapped around it, I realized that the steely rigidity of his erection was missing, that the donkey dick in my palms was as flexible and flaccid as I had ever known it to be…only considerably larger.
In the two weeks since his application to the clinical trial, Owen had stuck to the routine that Dr. Stiles had assigned him with a religious enthusiasm. This was due in part to his being unfailingly organized in every aspect of his life already, but even more so because he was excited to greet each day with the prospect of growing bigger waiting for him. To my observations, he had not missed a single dose of Cresivir or spent less than a full hour each evening stretching, stroking, and jelqing his expanding meat. I even had my suspicions that he was sneaking in extra stretching sessions when he didn’t think I was paying attention. It was hard not to notice when a simple trip to the bathroom during a commercial break became a fifteen minute ordeal though. But who was I to complain? I was literally on the receiving end of his growing horse-cock, so if secret sessions of jelqing made him happy and more hung, I was glad to keep pretending I didn’t know about them.
“I wanted to get a session in before work,” Owen said, checking his watch. He turned, reaching for his khakis draped over the towel rack, and pulling his huge penis away from me. I stuck out my lower lip pointedly as he began tucking it away in his pants. “I’ve got to get going or I’m going to be late,” he said by way of apology. “You can play with all you want when I get home tonight. Promise.”
“We’re going to have to get you new pants, you know,” I said, nodding at his bulge. “People are going to start thinking you’ve shoved a softball down your pants.”
“It’s this new underwear you got me,” he said, blushing. He fumbled and pushed around his prodigious bulge in a futile attempt to make it less prominent, but no matter how he readjusted it, it was plainly obvious he was packing well above average. “I appreciate it, babe. Really, I do, but this is why I’m not a fan of underwear. Nothing ever fits and they just accentuate everything.”
“Yeah, but you look so good in them,” I said, sidling up to him. “In only them.”
He smirked. “You’re lucky I have a crush on you.”
“Sounds pretty gay to me.”
“Hush,” he said, pecking me on the cheek and ruffling my hair. “Got to go. See you tonight!”
Normally, I would have jumped in the shower to getting ready for work myself, but since I’d had to unexpectedly cover a coworker’s shift the week before, I had the day off. I drifted out of the bathroom and gazed around Owen’s apartment. The aroma of him clung to everything around me, as if he were still standing beside me, but it radiated most strongly from his bed. I stumbled back into his bedroom and within minutes was jerking off to the memory of his monster meat from the night before and then again this morning. This is really happening, I thought to myself over and over as I lay there panting afterward. A shower and a cup of coffee later, I was on the couch in my underwear, wondering what to do with my day. I gazed around Owen’s living room again. All at once it occurred to me that outside of the four walls of his apartment or my own and our occasional dinners out, I had rarely seen Owen out in the world. Who was he when he wasn’t with me? What was he like to his coworkers and friends? And then there was the most obvious question of all. Did they know what he was packing?
Half-scheming, half-innocent, I decided that a surprise lunch date was in order and swung by our favorite deli for a couple of a salads on my way to his office. I managed to find a parking spot at the furthest end of the sprawling lot adjoining his office complex and as I meandered toward the guest entrance, brown paper bag in hand, I found myself wondering how many of Owen’s colleagues had had the pleasure and surprise of seeing his huge bulge on display. I’m dating the office stud, I thought proudly, and hurried to the doors with a little more pep in my step.
A geriatric security guard behind the desk glanced up lifelessly as I entered.
“What’s your business?”
“Dropping off lunch for a, uh, friend. Owen Evans.” I waited as he keyed something into his computer with all the haste of a tortoise, before extending a laminated guest pass to me.
“Third floor,” he grumbled, hiking his thumb at the elevator.
As I waited for the elevator to descend, two men entered the lobby, cups of coffee in hand. Each wore dressed in sharp business suits that looked like they cost several thousand dollars apiece. I suddenly felt underdressed in their presence. Or would have, if it hadn’t been so abundantly clear that I was invisible to them. With a ding, the doors slid open and I stepped inside, moving to back to give them room. Neither even so much as glanced in my direction as the doors slid shut again.
“Best metrics on the team, my ass,” the first of them said. He struck me as college athlete-turned-businessman, with his barrel-chest straining the buttons on his sports coat. “Fucking ridiculous.”
“Dude, Travis, just let it go,” the second sighed. “Everyone knows why he got it.”
“Exactly my fucking point. Promotions should be based on merit. Merit. Not how—“ He stopped short, biting his lip, and for the first time seemed to acknowledge my presence with a fleeting glance over his shoulder. He dropped his tone. “All I’m saying is, he’d better watch himself.”
With a ding, the doors slid open again and my douchebag companions departed, heading is separate directions. I was greeted by a sea of cubicles that stretched to other end of the room and a melody of gently clacking keyboards and ringing phones. A directory posted on the wall directed me through the labyrinth of cubicles, to an office at the end of a hall. Inside, a desk was situated facing the windows, its occupant with his back to me. I was suddenly struck by how well I recognized the back of Owen’s head. When had we reached a level of familiarity and intimacy that I could identify the shape of him even from behind? I knocked softly on the doorway.
“One sec,” he said, holding up a finger. “Need to finish up this email real quick.”
“Well in that case,” I said. “I can just go.”
He spun about-face lightning fast, nearly toppling from his chair as he leapt from it with a grin a mile wide plastered across his face. Before I could so much as finish my sentence, he was on top of me, pulling me into a tight hug and clapping me on the back excitedly. In the next breath he was suddenly holding at me at arm’s length, his brow furrowed gravely.
“What’re you doing here? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
“Fine, it’s fine. Everything’s great. I just thought I’d surprise you with lunch. Is that…okay?”
He sighed, the lines of concern melting from his face, and pulled me into a second hug.
“Of course,” he said warmly, and ran his fingers through my hair. “You’re too much.”
“The same could be said for you,” I said and nodded at his crotch. He blushed and I wondered if, even fleetingly, he too was envisioning what I was: throwing myself against him, hands fishing into his pants, and hauling out his huge cock right there in front of his coworkers see so I could present him like livestock at a country fair. Unless I was mistaken, he must have been imagining a similar scenario because I could have sworn I saw his massive bulge swell. He glanced over my head to make sure no one was watching and readjusted myself.
“That’s your fault, you know,” he growled.
Before I could toss back some witty remark, a looming figure appeared behind me. I turned and was surprised to fid the brutish figure from my elevator trip known as Travis. Once again, he hardly seemed to notice me, barging forward into the office without so much as acknowledging me.
“Evans,” he barked. “We need to have a word.”
“Now’s not a good time, Travis,” Owen said. “I’ve got company.”
“Fuck you and your DoorDash bitch,” Travis said. A vein thick as a pencil throbbed menacingly in his neck as he flexed his ham hock sized fists. “You need to rescind management’s offer. We both know that shit is undeserved. It’s obvious why they picked you over me. Some bullshit diversity and inclusion mandate to satisfy the bleeding hearts libs at corporate. Advance the queers for doing half the amount of work the rest of us are saddled with, is that what’s going on here? How many guys did you have to beg to blow to get this office?”
He had advanced on Owen like charging bull, backing him against his desk. I looked to my boyfriend for some sign of alarm or signal that I should fetch security, but was surprised to find no trepidation in his eyes or body language. Although the thug chest-bumping him was nearly twice as wide as he was, Owen stared back placidly.
“If I may,” I said suddenly, stepping between them. Both of their eyes swung toward me in surprise, as if I had just dived headfirst into shark-infested waters. And I might as well have. To date, I had only been in one legitimate fight in my life and had come out on the losing end with the black eye to prove it. I wasn’t eager to revisit those painful days of recovery that had followed, but could not stop myself once I began talking. “Hey, there. Hi, the name’s Mark. I’m not actually with DoorDash, believe it or not. I’m Owen’s boyfriend. As in: the guy he’s fucking. And as the guy he’s fucking, I think I can provide some insight into that question you just posed. Believe me when I tell you that insofar as Owen and blowjobs are concerned, he’s not the one who does the begging.”
Travis stared down at me with all heavy-browed understanding of an ape. I could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he debated clobbering me. And then all at once he tossed back his head released a loud, incredulous laugh.
“Jesus fuck, Evans,” he said. “Your girlfriend has more balls than you do!”
“Wrong again there, Travis,” I said, and reached for Owen’s crotch. Singling out one of Owen’s balls through his pants was no easy task, I knew, given their size and tendency to roll loosely around in his huge sac. But given that they were neatly (if not tightly) packed away in the underwear he had squeezed into that morning, his entire heavy package was easy to summarily grasp with one hand and thrust forward. Travis glanced down, mouth dropping open at the sight of the protrusion of manhood, and took a step back. “See? Balls like a prize-winning bull.”
“That can’t be…” Travis stammered. “No one is that…”
“Oh, but he is, and then some. You should only be so lucky as to see it and trust me, if you did, you’d be the one begging to blow him. So how about you take your homophobic bullshit and go play in someone else’s sandbox today, okay?”
Something akin to panic flickered across Travis’s face as he continued backing toward the door. I couldn’t blame him. I recalled the incredulity of having laid eyes on Owen’s bulge for the first time, how mind-altering the realization was that so enormous a set of cock and balls could exist…and how much I’d desired to see more. And now, thanks to his diligent efforts and routine dosages of Cresivir, he was even more breathtakingly hung. I could only assume similar feelings were flooding Travis’ psyche now, confounding and destabilizing the deep-rooted cornerstones of masculinity and sexuality. It would’ve been nearly a cruel thing to do, if it hadn’t been so well deserved. With one last shuddering glance at my boyfriend’s over-packed crotch, Travis turned and fled. When I was sure he was out of earshot, I turned to the silent Owen beside me and offered him a sheepish grin.
“Oops?”
