It began with a dull ache all over.
I’d come back from a disappointing Pride and slept late, and when I woke up I felt pretty rough. The rattling around in the spare room startled me and when I sat up, I felt like I’d encountered a bus under less than ideal circumstances.
“What are you moaning about,” my sister said. She’d woken me up — I’d forgotten she was stopping by to grab some of our dads things — and as siblings do, she’d delighted in being extra noisy because she knew I’d been out late.
“Please…”
“Oh hell, you do look bad. Did we stay up too late partying with the gays last night?”
“I’ll have you know I caught an Uber back around midnight. It was too fucking hot, and I was tired of fighting the crowds,” I grumbled. “I didn’t even drink that much, not enough to justify how I feel, at least.”
“You’re such an old man, brother dear,” she said, pityingly.
“If I had earned a hangover that would be one thing, but I honestly didn’t. I’m 37, Darla. I know my limits.”
“Maybe you caught something. Didn’t make out with any patient zero types, did you?”
“Nope. The one guy I was sort of hitting it off with ghosted me and I got annoyed and left,” I said. “Maybe I picked up a flu bug.”
“You need anything?”
“Nah, I’m sure once I pound some orange juice and eat something and take my meds, I’ll be better.”
“Ok, I’m almost done digging up those photos for Donny.”
“Alright, I’m gonna go take a shit,” I said, “and probably go back to bed.”
I stumbled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom, where everything seemed a bit off. I felt dizzy, so I took no chances and sat down to take care of business. It seemed to take forever to empty everything out, and despite the relief it also just felt strange.
It was while I was washing my hands, staring bleary-eyed into the mirror to assess the damage, that I realized what was wrong. And I did what anyone in my situation would do; I shrieked like a little boy and sank slowly to the floor.
*******
I woke to Darla splashing my face with water and shouting my name.
“Dennis! Holy fuck you scared me.”
“Sorry,” I replied weakly.
“Can you sit up?”
I nodded and that went well enough.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“You look like the piss boy,” I muttered.
“Don’t quote Mel Brooks movies at me. Can you stand?”
I considered. I was still feeling weird, but the room was no longer spiraling. Eventually I nodded, and Darla held out a hand to steady me. I stood. A bit unsteadily, it must be said, but I managed to stand up.
“Oh, shit,” she said, and sunk down to her haunches. “What the actual fuck?”
I looked down at my baggy clothing and it all hit me.
“Oh,” I said.
*****
So, about me. I’m Dennis. I’m 37 and I have a very boring job crunching numbers by day. By night, I try to stay in shape, sing in a local gay choir, hang out with friends. I’ve managed to hold onto my looks and my hair — I’m about 6 feet tall, dark brown hair (fairly stylish), short beard, decent shape, good complexion, all that. Haven’t really dated in a few years but still typically get appreciative second glances when I bother to go out. No complaints about my dick — solid 6 inches with nice girth — or my butt, other than the lack of attention they’d gotten from others lately.
All of that had been perfectly true the night before.
Only somehow, I’d managed to misplace about four inches of height.
I no longer towered over my older sister. We were probably the same height, which was weird because she was only 5’7”.
*****
I staggered back into the hallway, past my gape-mouthed sibling, and popped a pod into the coffee thing. It was surreal because everything was just a little off.
Because I was shorter.
“Seriously, Den, what the hell,” Darla said.
“Fuck if I know. Let me get some thinking juice in my skull. Hand me the bottle, please,” I said, pointing at the Costco sized bottle of ibuprofen.
“I don’t think that’s going to fix whatever is wrong with you,” Darla said. “You need to see a doctor!”
“First, I need to get this head and body ache down to a dull roar,” I maintained, “and then I need to eat something. Then we figure out what’s going on.”
“Priorities, dude. You fucking shrunk! People don’t shrink!”
“I am aware. You want some eggs and toast?”
“How the fuck are you worried about eating?”
“Because I am hungry. That, I can fix, while the other stuff is a vast unknown, which starts with me sitting, hungry, in a waiting room while they decide which sort of specialist to bring in for a guy who thinks he shrunk four inches overnight. Scrambled?”
“Sure. I guess you have a point. But what about —“
“Darla, I love you, but I have a screaming head and a body that seems to be making up for size by offering pain. I need food or I will be sick. I need to focus on this, right now, or I will probably have a panic attack. Capiche?”
*****
There’s nothing like a really good breakfast to quell the roar of poor decisions you made the night before. There is some kind of golden ratio of grease to restorative power involved. Ideally you want mounds of bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, hash browns, all that stuff. In a pinch, however, even overcooked scrambled eggs and toast will suffice. Once I managed a very stressful morning with cheerios with a banana and some chocolate syrup, but that’s pushing it.
So as we sat there eating, I was focused on the lucky accident of having leftover sourdough to make my toast, and wishing I’d bought bacon. I was decidedly not thinking about the absurd circumstances.
Darla gobbled hers quickly, and then just stared at me until I’d finished eating.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Let’s figure this out.”
*****
I kid my sister, but she is a pragmatic person and pretty good under pressure. I tend to simmer and then blow up. She claims that having kids makes all the difference, a theory I remain stubbornly unwilling to test myself.
We retraced the events of the night before, but nothing stood out. It had been a pretty disappointing night. Didn’t drink or eat anything too weird,didn’t make out with random strangers.
Then we broke out the measuring tape and assessed the damage. Weirdly, my weight was close to what it had been: right around 205..
I was definitely shorter by nearly four inches, and my overall proportions seemed to have scaled appropriately. Which meant all of my clothing was going to look ridiculous on me, like a kid playing dress up.
“You know,” Darla said, “you’d probably fit okay in dad’s clothes. He wasn’t as tall as you and he kept in decent shape.”
I was about to quibble, because what gay man wants to dress up like their recently deceased (and decidedly not fashion-forward) father, but it wasn’t like I had loads of good options.
“Fine. Pick something out while I shower, will you?”
I knew my sister; she’d find the most dad-at-his-most-clueless outfit and get a photo of me in it, to be shared with our mutual friends and the family. Let her have her fun, I was still holding back the panic that had been swelling all morning. One thing at a time.
I grabbed fresh undies (I had some stretchy briefs that I’d bought for pride, hoping to make my average junk look bigger) and headed to the bathroom again.
Where I got my second surprise, as I stood in front of the mirror naked. My body looked about the same, at first glance, but on closer examination, the muscle that I’d held onto looked a bit denser. It looked like I had a decent pump. But the other thing was my dick looked a fair bit bigger than I was used to. Both ways. As in, it seemed both longer and thicker, and that was flaccid.
So confusing, the feelings washing through me! It was exciting to think about being fitter and even more so to imagine having a bigger dick. But I needed to shower, so that’s what I did.
I did, however, take a few extra moments to rub one out, and once I was hard, the head of my cock lined up with my belly button. That was definitely new, as was the surprising heft it had in my hands. I blasted my load — a particularly good one — at that bit of confirmation, but my dick didn’t go down, not even after I opted to rinse the soap off with cold water.
*****
I’m sure, growing up, my sister had seen me with a boner. She was just two years older and it wasn’t a big house — and we shared a bathroom. But all the same, that was twenty years ago and I wasn’t keen to show off the state of affairs. The damned thing just wouldn’t go down.
I didn’t often use a bathrobe, but I was glad of it now.
“Left some clothes on your bed, Den,” she hollered up the stairs.
“Thanks,” I shouted back. There on the bed were some jeans and a button down shirt, plus a pair of sneakers. All of them were dad’s, and to my shock, they matched. I wasn’t aware that was a likely outcome based on how dad usually dressed.
I pulled on the briefs and grabbed a tee shirt from the drawer, accepting that it was going to be baggy on me — but it really did look a bit pathetic. Sighing, I tugged on the trousers and pulled the belt tight; they were a little too big in the waist. Similarly, the shirt was tighter in the shoulders and looser in the waist, but it worked well enough for now.
When I tromped down the stairs a few minutes later, Darla was still scrolling her iPad like crazy.
“Word of advice, brother dear,” she said, “don’t search for your condition with safe search switched off. Way too much Rule 34 out there.”
“My condition?”
“What should I call it? For crying out loud, man, you shrunk!”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Take it you didn’t find anything promising.”
“Not in the half hour you were screwing around in the shower,” she retorted.
I pulled out the laptop — mine, not work’s! — and switched to incognito mode. And then I began searching using every trick I’d picked up over the years. Darla peered over my shoulder.
“Shit, you weren’t kidding,” I said, having stumbled across some particular freaky shit already.
“You’re at least getting some better results than I have….no, wait, what’s that?”
This particular link was for what you might have assumed was a role play section on one of the more popular naughty sites — except, it wasn’t. It was under an anonymous questions area. And there were a few.
Hey guys I am a little worried, I woke up and I was shorter, does that happen? I’m 22 and i figured I still had a little growth left in me, but I must be two inches shorter. What can cause that for real?
WTF I SOMEHOW STARTED LOSING HEIGHT I AM 55 IS THIS NORMAL
AITA? Impranked my roommate last month by shrinking his clothes. This month, mine seem to be getting bigger. I got real mad at him but now he says he didn’t do anything. The more I think about it I can’t figure out how he could have done it as a prank, and I feel bad for yelling. But I’m also freaked out.
Half a dozen other entries followed similar patterns, and all of them since last fall.
“That’s kinda weird,” Darla said, “isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I think maybe I should see my doctor, he’ll have records showing the difference. Maybe there’s some kind of, I dunno, wasting thing?”
“I hope so. I mean, I hope he knows what’s up. Any other symptoms?”
I hesitated. “Yeah, actually, but I would rather. It say.”
“Brother dear, it cant be any weirder than this.”
“How about if I’m pretty sure my junk is bigger?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. It’s probably just that you’re smaller.”
I nodded, but I was pretty sure that was not the case. But I had no real measure and wasn’t going to whip it out for her to take a reading.
*****
After a bit of unnecessary worried nagging, she bowed out — the kids had some kind of afternoon thing for scouts and her hubby was away so she was playing chauffeur . Obviously that’s after extracting a promise that I’d go to the doctor first thing, and let her know if anything changed.
The afternoon drained away as i scoured the internet, but almost all the leads turned out to be duds — mostly fantasy, plus a rare post from someone equally worried (or convincing enough to fake it).
However, one other problem became obvious pretty quickly: I was pretty horny. And I’d been prowling various kinky forums looking for help, which meant I ended up skimming way too many sexy posts. Now that I’d exhausted my search capabilities, I figured I’d clear my head with a wank. And I’m not gonna lie, the heft of my larger dick was calling my hand in a way it hadn’t before.
Whatever else was going on with my body, a bigger dick and the slight muscle growth were definitely trades I would happily accept.
*****
Somehow, documentation makes things feel real, so I wrestled with the notion of tracking my measurements. But something told me my changes weren’t over. Whatever was messing with my body didn’t feel, well, finished.
I opened up a google spreadsheet and down what I thought I had been.
Height: 6 ft, 0.5 inches
Weight: 215
Chest: 44
Waist: 36
Dick: 6 inches
And now?
Height: 5 ft, 7.25 inches
Weight: 209
Chest: 44
Waist: 32
Dick: 7 inches
Those latter numbers were undoubtedly more accurate than my guesses for a starting point, but they’d do for now. I wasn’t too fussed about precision.
It was interesting that my chest was the same size and my waist had shrunk a bit, because when I flexed a bit, I had a hint of muscle instead of the “haven’t really got fat yet but definitely not in great shape” body I’d been sporting. Maybe a few months of gym time might have produced a similar result. Well, aside from the lost height and extended cock size. Now, you could tell I was flexing, and a little prodding suggested it wasn’t an illusion.
But damn, my dick was actually bigger. Longer, certainly, and girthy in a way it hadn’t been. As I swelled up, I added another measurement.
Penis girth: 5.4 inches.
Now what?
Practical matters first. Clothing was needed, but until I got a handle on this, I was not going to want the stress of work stuff. So I emailed my supervisor and my usual backup, apologized, said I was sick and I’d be out until I was cleared by a doctor.
I’d call the doctor in the morning.
I salvaged another few options from dad’s closet and tried them on; they’d do in a pinch. Underwear was trickier because dad preferred boxers and I could already tell that was a poor option. Even flaccid I was a solid five inches now, and that required a little management. Plus, I didn’t like the idea of using dad’s undies.
And then I spent another hour or so trying to find anything that might explain my condition….only to get distracted by my libidinous urges again. I blew two more loads that day, and wondered how one effectively measures balls, because mine felt a little heftier, too.
I scrounged a fairly large supper and watched a movie, and fell asleep halfway through it. Popped a few Tylenol and went to bed early.
*****
When I woke in the morning, I still had the full body ache, and once again my toilet time was unpleasantly vicious. I chalked it down to pigging out last night, but despite that, my weight seemed fairly stable, around 212. I knew better than to worry much about a few pounds here and there, but considered I may want to have a better sense of my fluctuations.
But then I looked in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, I realized I looked a bit more…compact.
I called and lucked out, my usual doctor had an opening that very afternoon. I told the receptionist about my body aches and hinted I had other more private concerns to discuss.
Now I just had to kill a few hours. I’d save the measuring for the doctor’s office. Well, most of it. I grabbed some food and turned on the idiot box.
Before an hour passed, the aches intensified and I popped a few pain pills, but a few minutes after I did so, I had another problem. Namely, my cock was demanding some attention. I figured it would take my mind off things if I banged one out in the shower, and the hot water would probably help with the aches.
By the time I was finished, nearly three hours had passed and I had to scramble to make my appointment.
*****
I arrived at the doctors office about five minutes before my appointment, and checked in with the receptionist, who handed me a tablet with a bunch of electronic forms. And in fairly short order, the nurse collected me and took my vitals. She seemed surprised that I asked her to measure my height as well, but not as surprised as I was.
“Five feet, six inches on the nose, and 218 for the weight,” she said. “Let’s do your temperature and pressure.”
“Those numbers feel a bit off,” I said. Had I lost another inch and gained five pounds? Since breakfast?
“You can have the doc double check, but I wouldn’t worry about the weight, you have a fair bit of muscle for your size. Temp normal range, and the BP seems good, too,” she said.
I sat there on the examination table, just trying to process her off handed comment. When she left I looked at the arm she’d used for the blood pressure cuff. Curious, I made a fist — and was surprised to find a dense firmness as my arm tensed up. There was muscle there in my forearm and (a quick flex) yeah, an actual bicep! I experimentally prodded my chest and found it unaccountably firm.
“Howdy, Mr Dennis,” Dr Bentley said. “So, what seems to be the issue?”
“This is gonna sound weird, but I am pretty sure I’m shrinking. Like, the nurse measured my height at 5’6”, and I was a little over 6’ last time I checked.
“Huh, that’s a new one. But Sarah is pretty short herself, so let’s put your mind at ease,” he said. “We will double check in a moment. Looks like the other vitals are good. You’ve put on a few pounds, though….” He looked over his glasses at me, as if noticing for the first time. “If you’ve been hitting the gym, muscle does weigh more than fat.”
“No such luck.”
“Really? Did you change your diet or something? No changes to meds?”
“Nope.”
“Any new medication I don’t know about?” He seemed a little suspicious. “I can’t report you if you are, but I’d caution —“
“No, I’m clean, man. I barely even drink, I haven’t been to the gym in a year, haven’t changed my routine.”
“Huh.” He had me step on the scale and double checked the height, as he promised. “Five foot six, on the dot.”
“That’s why I’m freaking out a bit. Yesterday I noticed I was the same height as my sister and she is 5’7” exactly. Pretty sure this just happened.”
“That’s a new one on me, then. Can you think of anything that you ight have been exposed to?”
“I haven’t done much but work for the last six months. I did go to a festival this past weekend, so maybe I picked up some kind of bug,” I suggested.
“That would explain the aches, but you seem to be in better health than your last three visits. You’re just shorter, and,” he sighed, “I have no guesses as to why. Sometimes men in their 30s and 40s compress a little, but not like this. Has anything else changed?”
“My waist dropped at least one size since Saturday. The shorts I wore to Pride are loose now.”
“Anything else?”
“Um,” I said uncomfortably, “my penis seems to be bigger, by about an inch. And my libido has been kind of a lot the last two days.”
“…huh,” he said. “I will make a note. That could be a result of increased fitness.”
“Yeah but even if it was that, how did I get fitter overnight?”
“If I knew that, I’d be too rich to care. But clearly I don’t have the secret to instant muscle tone and a bigger penis, so here I am, sharing this mystery with you.”
That wasn’t the answer I’d come looking for, but to his credit, Bentley read the room pretty quickly.
“Sorry, that kind of slipped out. I think the best thing is to run some tests and keep an eye on things. Meanwhile, get some rest and hydrate.”
I left several vials of blood and a pee sample lighter, but with no real answers.
*****
I’d come back from a disappointing Pride and slept late, and when I woke up I felt pretty rough. The rattling around in the spare room startled me and when I sat up, I felt like I’d encountered a bus under less than ideal circumstances.
“What are you moaning about,” my sister said. She’d woken me up — I’d forgotten she was stopping by to grab some of our dads things — and as siblings do, she’d delighted in being extra noisy because she knew I’d been out late.
“Please…”
“Oh hell, you do look bad. Did we stay up too late partying with the gays last night?”
“I’ll have you know I caught an Uber back around midnight. It was too fucking hot, and I was tired of fighting the crowds,” I grumbled. “I didn’t even drink that much, not enough to justify how I feel, at least.”
“You’re such an old man, brother dear,” she said, pityingly.
“If I had earned a hangover that would be one thing, but I honestly didn’t. I’m 37, Darla. I know my limits.”
“Maybe you caught something. Didn’t make out with any patient zero types, did you?”
“Nope. The one guy I was sort of hitting it off with ghosted me and I got annoyed and left,” I said. “Maybe I picked up a flu bug.”
“You need anything?”
“Nah, I’m sure once I pound some orange juice and eat something and take my meds, I’ll be better.”
“Ok, I’m almost done digging up those photos for Donny.”
“Alright, I’m gonna go take a shit,” I said, “and probably go back to bed.”
I stumbled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom, where everything seemed a bit off. I felt dizzy, so I took no chances and sat down to take care of business. It seemed to take forever to empty everything out, and despite the relief it also just felt strange.
It was while I was washing my hands, staring bleary-eyed into the mirror to assess the damage, that I realized what was wrong. And I did what anyone in my situation would do; I shrieked like a little boy and sank slowly to the floor.
*******
I woke to Darla splashing my face with water and shouting my name.
“Dennis! Holy fuck you scared me.”
“Sorry,” I replied weakly.
“Can you sit up?”
I nodded and that went well enough.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“You look like the piss boy,” I muttered.
“Don’t quote Mel Brooks movies at me. Can you stand?”
I considered. I was still feeling weird, but the room was no longer spiraling. Eventually I nodded, and Darla held out a hand to steady me. I stood. A bit unsteadily, it must be said, but I managed to stand up.
“Oh, shit,” she said, and sunk down to her haunches. “What the actual fuck?”
I looked down at my baggy clothing and it all hit me.
“Oh,” I said.
*****
So, about me. I’m Dennis. I’m 37 and I have a very boring job crunching numbers by day. By night, I try to stay in shape, sing in a local gay choir, hang out with friends. I’ve managed to hold onto my looks and my hair — I’m about 6 feet tall, dark brown hair (fairly stylish), short beard, decent shape, good complexion, all that. Haven’t really dated in a few years but still typically get appreciative second glances when I bother to go out. No complaints about my dick — solid 6 inches with nice girth — or my butt, other than the lack of attention they’d gotten from others lately.
All of that had been perfectly true the night before.
Only somehow, I’d managed to misplace about four inches of height.
I no longer towered over my older sister. We were probably the same height, which was weird because she was only 5’7”.
*****
I staggered back into the hallway, past my gape-mouthed sibling, and popped a pod into the coffee thing. It was surreal because everything was just a little off.
Because I was shorter.
“Seriously, Den, what the hell,” Darla said.
“Fuck if I know. Let me get some thinking juice in my skull. Hand me the bottle, please,” I said, pointing at the Costco sized bottle of ibuprofen.
“I don’t think that’s going to fix whatever is wrong with you,” Darla said. “You need to see a doctor!”
“First, I need to get this head and body ache down to a dull roar,” I maintained, “and then I need to eat something. Then we figure out what’s going on.”
“Priorities, dude. You fucking shrunk! People don’t shrink!”
“I am aware. You want some eggs and toast?”
“How the fuck are you worried about eating?”
“Because I am hungry. That, I can fix, while the other stuff is a vast unknown, which starts with me sitting, hungry, in a waiting room while they decide which sort of specialist to bring in for a guy who thinks he shrunk four inches overnight. Scrambled?”
“Sure. I guess you have a point. But what about —“
“Darla, I love you, but I have a screaming head and a body that seems to be making up for size by offering pain. I need food or I will be sick. I need to focus on this, right now, or I will probably have a panic attack. Capiche?”
*****
There’s nothing like a really good breakfast to quell the roar of poor decisions you made the night before. There is some kind of golden ratio of grease to restorative power involved. Ideally you want mounds of bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, hash browns, all that stuff. In a pinch, however, even overcooked scrambled eggs and toast will suffice. Once I managed a very stressful morning with cheerios with a banana and some chocolate syrup, but that’s pushing it.
So as we sat there eating, I was focused on the lucky accident of having leftover sourdough to make my toast, and wishing I’d bought bacon. I was decidedly not thinking about the absurd circumstances.
Darla gobbled hers quickly, and then just stared at me until I’d finished eating.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Let’s figure this out.”
*****
I kid my sister, but she is a pragmatic person and pretty good under pressure. I tend to simmer and then blow up. She claims that having kids makes all the difference, a theory I remain stubbornly unwilling to test myself.
We retraced the events of the night before, but nothing stood out. It had been a pretty disappointing night. Didn’t drink or eat anything too weird,didn’t make out with random strangers.
Then we broke out the measuring tape and assessed the damage. Weirdly, my weight was close to what it had been: right around 205..
I was definitely shorter by nearly four inches, and my overall proportions seemed to have scaled appropriately. Which meant all of my clothing was going to look ridiculous on me, like a kid playing dress up.
“You know,” Darla said, “you’d probably fit okay in dad’s clothes. He wasn’t as tall as you and he kept in decent shape.”
I was about to quibble, because what gay man wants to dress up like their recently deceased (and decidedly not fashion-forward) father, but it wasn’t like I had loads of good options.
“Fine. Pick something out while I shower, will you?”
I knew my sister; she’d find the most dad-at-his-most-clueless outfit and get a photo of me in it, to be shared with our mutual friends and the family. Let her have her fun, I was still holding back the panic that had been swelling all morning. One thing at a time.
I grabbed fresh undies (I had some stretchy briefs that I’d bought for pride, hoping to make my average junk look bigger) and headed to the bathroom again.
Where I got my second surprise, as I stood in front of the mirror naked. My body looked about the same, at first glance, but on closer examination, the muscle that I’d held onto looked a bit denser. It looked like I had a decent pump. But the other thing was my dick looked a fair bit bigger than I was used to. Both ways. As in, it seemed both longer and thicker, and that was flaccid.
So confusing, the feelings washing through me! It was exciting to think about being fitter and even more so to imagine having a bigger dick. But I needed to shower, so that’s what I did.
I did, however, take a few extra moments to rub one out, and once I was hard, the head of my cock lined up with my belly button. That was definitely new, as was the surprising heft it had in my hands. I blasted my load — a particularly good one — at that bit of confirmation, but my dick didn’t go down, not even after I opted to rinse the soap off with cold water.
*****
I’m sure, growing up, my sister had seen me with a boner. She was just two years older and it wasn’t a big house — and we shared a bathroom. But all the same, that was twenty years ago and I wasn’t keen to show off the state of affairs. The damned thing just wouldn’t go down.
I didn’t often use a bathrobe, but I was glad of it now.
“Left some clothes on your bed, Den,” she hollered up the stairs.
“Thanks,” I shouted back. There on the bed were some jeans and a button down shirt, plus a pair of sneakers. All of them were dad’s, and to my shock, they matched. I wasn’t aware that was a likely outcome based on how dad usually dressed.
I pulled on the briefs and grabbed a tee shirt from the drawer, accepting that it was going to be baggy on me — but it really did look a bit pathetic. Sighing, I tugged on the trousers and pulled the belt tight; they were a little too big in the waist. Similarly, the shirt was tighter in the shoulders and looser in the waist, but it worked well enough for now.
When I tromped down the stairs a few minutes later, Darla was still scrolling her iPad like crazy.
“Word of advice, brother dear,” she said, “don’t search for your condition with safe search switched off. Way too much Rule 34 out there.”
“My condition?”
“What should I call it? For crying out loud, man, you shrunk!”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Take it you didn’t find anything promising.”
“Not in the half hour you were screwing around in the shower,” she retorted.
I pulled out the laptop — mine, not work’s! — and switched to incognito mode. And then I began searching using every trick I’d picked up over the years. Darla peered over my shoulder.
“Shit, you weren’t kidding,” I said, having stumbled across some particular freaky shit already.
“You’re at least getting some better results than I have….no, wait, what’s that?”
This particular link was for what you might have assumed was a role play section on one of the more popular naughty sites — except, it wasn’t. It was under an anonymous questions area. And there were a few.
Hey guys I am a little worried, I woke up and I was shorter, does that happen? I’m 22 and i figured I still had a little growth left in me, but I must be two inches shorter. What can cause that for real?
WTF I SOMEHOW STARTED LOSING HEIGHT I AM 55 IS THIS NORMAL
AITA? Impranked my roommate last month by shrinking his clothes. This month, mine seem to be getting bigger. I got real mad at him but now he says he didn’t do anything. The more I think about it I can’t figure out how he could have done it as a prank, and I feel bad for yelling. But I’m also freaked out.
Half a dozen other entries followed similar patterns, and all of them since last fall.
“That’s kinda weird,” Darla said, “isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I think maybe I should see my doctor, he’ll have records showing the difference. Maybe there’s some kind of, I dunno, wasting thing?”
“I hope so. I mean, I hope he knows what’s up. Any other symptoms?”
I hesitated. “Yeah, actually, but I would rather. It say.”
“Brother dear, it cant be any weirder than this.”
“How about if I’m pretty sure my junk is bigger?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. It’s probably just that you’re smaller.”
I nodded, but I was pretty sure that was not the case. But I had no real measure and wasn’t going to whip it out for her to take a reading.
*****
After a bit of unnecessary worried nagging, she bowed out — the kids had some kind of afternoon thing for scouts and her hubby was away so she was playing chauffeur . Obviously that’s after extracting a promise that I’d go to the doctor first thing, and let her know if anything changed.
The afternoon drained away as i scoured the internet, but almost all the leads turned out to be duds — mostly fantasy, plus a rare post from someone equally worried (or convincing enough to fake it).
However, one other problem became obvious pretty quickly: I was pretty horny. And I’d been prowling various kinky forums looking for help, which meant I ended up skimming way too many sexy posts. Now that I’d exhausted my search capabilities, I figured I’d clear my head with a wank. And I’m not gonna lie, the heft of my larger dick was calling my hand in a way it hadn’t before.
Whatever else was going on with my body, a bigger dick and the slight muscle growth were definitely trades I would happily accept.
*****
Somehow, documentation makes things feel real, so I wrestled with the notion of tracking my measurements. But something told me my changes weren’t over. Whatever was messing with my body didn’t feel, well, finished.
I opened up a google spreadsheet and down what I thought I had been.
Height: 6 ft, 0.5 inches
Weight: 215
Chest: 44
Waist: 36
Dick: 6 inches
And now?
Height: 5 ft, 7.25 inches
Weight: 209
Chest: 44
Waist: 32
Dick: 7 inches
Those latter numbers were undoubtedly more accurate than my guesses for a starting point, but they’d do for now. I wasn’t too fussed about precision.
It was interesting that my chest was the same size and my waist had shrunk a bit, because when I flexed a bit, I had a hint of muscle instead of the “haven’t really got fat yet but definitely not in great shape” body I’d been sporting. Maybe a few months of gym time might have produced a similar result. Well, aside from the lost height and extended cock size. Now, you could tell I was flexing, and a little prodding suggested it wasn’t an illusion.
But damn, my dick was actually bigger. Longer, certainly, and girthy in a way it hadn’t been. As I swelled up, I added another measurement.
Penis girth: 5.4 inches.
Now what?
Practical matters first. Clothing was needed, but until I got a handle on this, I was not going to want the stress of work stuff. So I emailed my supervisor and my usual backup, apologized, said I was sick and I’d be out until I was cleared by a doctor.
I’d call the doctor in the morning.
I salvaged another few options from dad’s closet and tried them on; they’d do in a pinch. Underwear was trickier because dad preferred boxers and I could already tell that was a poor option. Even flaccid I was a solid five inches now, and that required a little management. Plus, I didn’t like the idea of using dad’s undies.
And then I spent another hour or so trying to find anything that might explain my condition….only to get distracted by my libidinous urges again. I blew two more loads that day, and wondered how one effectively measures balls, because mine felt a little heftier, too.
I scrounged a fairly large supper and watched a movie, and fell asleep halfway through it. Popped a few Tylenol and went to bed early.
*****
When I woke in the morning, I still had the full body ache, and once again my toilet time was unpleasantly vicious. I chalked it down to pigging out last night, but despite that, my weight seemed fairly stable, around 212. I knew better than to worry much about a few pounds here and there, but considered I may want to have a better sense of my fluctuations.
But then I looked in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, I realized I looked a bit more…compact.
I called and lucked out, my usual doctor had an opening that very afternoon. I told the receptionist about my body aches and hinted I had other more private concerns to discuss.
Now I just had to kill a few hours. I’d save the measuring for the doctor’s office. Well, most of it. I grabbed some food and turned on the idiot box.
Before an hour passed, the aches intensified and I popped a few pain pills, but a few minutes after I did so, I had another problem. Namely, my cock was demanding some attention. I figured it would take my mind off things if I banged one out in the shower, and the hot water would probably help with the aches.
By the time I was finished, nearly three hours had passed and I had to scramble to make my appointment.
*****
I arrived at the doctors office about five minutes before my appointment, and checked in with the receptionist, who handed me a tablet with a bunch of electronic forms. And in fairly short order, the nurse collected me and took my vitals. She seemed surprised that I asked her to measure my height as well, but not as surprised as I was.
“Five feet, six inches on the nose, and 218 for the weight,” she said. “Let’s do your temperature and pressure.”
“Those numbers feel a bit off,” I said. Had I lost another inch and gained five pounds? Since breakfast?
“You can have the doc double check, but I wouldn’t worry about the weight, you have a fair bit of muscle for your size. Temp normal range, and the BP seems good, too,” she said.
I sat there on the examination table, just trying to process her off handed comment. When she left I looked at the arm she’d used for the blood pressure cuff. Curious, I made a fist — and was surprised to find a dense firmness as my arm tensed up. There was muscle there in my forearm and (a quick flex) yeah, an actual bicep! I experimentally prodded my chest and found it unaccountably firm.
“Howdy, Mr Dennis,” Dr Bentley said. “So, what seems to be the issue?”
“This is gonna sound weird, but I am pretty sure I’m shrinking. Like, the nurse measured my height at 5’6”, and I was a little over 6’ last time I checked.
“Huh, that’s a new one. But Sarah is pretty short herself, so let’s put your mind at ease,” he said. “We will double check in a moment. Looks like the other vitals are good. You’ve put on a few pounds, though….” He looked over his glasses at me, as if noticing for the first time. “If you’ve been hitting the gym, muscle does weigh more than fat.”
“No such luck.”
“Really? Did you change your diet or something? No changes to meds?”
“Nope.”
“Any new medication I don’t know about?” He seemed a little suspicious. “I can’t report you if you are, but I’d caution —“
“No, I’m clean, man. I barely even drink, I haven’t been to the gym in a year, haven’t changed my routine.”
“Huh.” He had me step on the scale and double checked the height, as he promised. “Five foot six, on the dot.”
“That’s why I’m freaking out a bit. Yesterday I noticed I was the same height as my sister and she is 5’7” exactly. Pretty sure this just happened.”
“That’s a new one on me, then. Can you think of anything that you ight have been exposed to?”
“I haven’t done much but work for the last six months. I did go to a festival this past weekend, so maybe I picked up some kind of bug,” I suggested.
“That would explain the aches, but you seem to be in better health than your last three visits. You’re just shorter, and,” he sighed, “I have no guesses as to why. Sometimes men in their 30s and 40s compress a little, but not like this. Has anything else changed?”
“My waist dropped at least one size since Saturday. The shorts I wore to Pride are loose now.”
“Anything else?”
“Um,” I said uncomfortably, “my penis seems to be bigger, by about an inch. And my libido has been kind of a lot the last two days.”
“…huh,” he said. “I will make a note. That could be a result of increased fitness.”
“Yeah but even if it was that, how did I get fitter overnight?”
“If I knew that, I’d be too rich to care. But clearly I don’t have the secret to instant muscle tone and a bigger penis, so here I am, sharing this mystery with you.”
That wasn’t the answer I’d come looking for, but to his credit, Bentley read the room pretty quickly.
“Sorry, that kind of slipped out. I think the best thing is to run some tests and keep an eye on things. Meanwhile, get some rest and hydrate.”
I left several vials of blood and a pee sample lighter, but with no real answers.
*****
