This is a work of fiction and does not represent any person, living or dead. This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author.
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Dean often told his friends that being exceptionally well hung sometimes made him consider some type of reduction surgery. But, most of the time, he loved the effect his very exceptional organ had upon women.
Unfortunately, several times during the past ten years of sexual activity, when he met a girl he thought he could fall in love with and marry, she recoiled when they reached the level of intimacy where she became aware of his prodigious genital endowment. Some would suddenly leave, making a variety of transparent excuses. Often they refused further contact with him. A few, only a very few, consented to alternative sexual contact. Most of the time that meant they would provide him relief with their hands, sometimes their breasts, and in a few cases, their mouths. Unfortunately those more orally adventurous young ladies found his peach sized glans too much to encompass.
So, by the time Dean reached twenty-one, and technically remained a virgin, his anatomical anomaly's hindrance of his sexual life, at least with a female partner, left him in a near permanent state of angry depression. What really disgusted him was that the homos seemed to zero right in on him. Apparently they had some sort of size radar, or were better at assessing another man's endowments through their clothing. Time and time again, Dean refrained from punching them out when they made blatant sexual advances, or even tried to caress his crotch.
Not interested in college, Dean bounced around from job to job. Of course he started in fast food, where there were always jobs available. He spent a while in an auto supply store, but found that a poor place to meet girls. And he wanted to meet a lot of girls, calculating the odds pointed out that the more he met, the sooner he might find one that would consent to real sex, instead of hand jobs and very shallow blowjobs. Of course those substitutes were better than his daily sessions of masturbation. Dean assumed, incorrectly, that his higher libido was directly proportional to the size of his penis and testicles. What ever the reason, he had to masturbate several times each day in order to avoid walking around with a near perpetual erection. And when he was erect, it was nearly impossible not to be grossly obvious to anyone looking at him.
So Dean started looking specifically for a job where he could meet more ladies. Luckily, he stumbled upon a bartending job. It was a nice, quite large, neighborhood bar just on the edge of a college campus. And this wasn't just any college; it was a woman's college! Dean just knew that he would finally 'go all the way' with the marked increase in the number of women he'd meet. And, considering that many of them over indulged in alcohol, their generally lower inhibitions would favor him even more. And he was right.
The first week the owner of the bar taught him how to mix all the drinks. It wasn't difficult, especially with a nice little quick reference binder lying behind the bar. By the end of the week Dean could mix almost all the regularly ordered drinks without having to use the reference guide. The downside was that as the junior employee, he had to work the first shift, when there were far, far fewer patrons present. And once he was off duty, the owner forbid him from hanging around to try to pick up girls.
That second Thursday, as he polished the bar, a couple walked in. Though they wore wedding rings, Dean suspected that they were having some sort of problem. They didn't smile at one another and barely spoke to one another. The balding husband, a fifty something guy with a belly that bulged out beneath his coat and depended below his belt, clambered up on a bar stool and ordered a boilermaker, leaving his wife to state her own preference. She took a stool several stools distant from her husband and asked for three shots of tequila, downing the first two very quickly. She then ordered a beer, knocked back the third, and nursed the beer for several minutes.
Dean became aware that she was staring at him as he went about his usual tasks behind the bar. She looked at least twenty years younger than her husband, who was now working on his own series of shots, though he was sticking with whiskey. While Dean, worked away, he felt the cute redhead's eyes upon him, and it began to have the expected effect. He tried to stay up close to the bar, so neither of the two patrons would spot his aroused condition.
As he moved near her to place some more beer mugs in the freezer to chill them, she lifted her hand to block her husband's view of her lips and whispered, "Packing a big gun there, Mister?" Dean blushed and didn't respond.
After her husband slid off his stool and weaved his way towards the restrooms, the lady picked up her purse and walked around the bar. Dean tried to explain that customers were not allowed behind the bar, but she ignored him and seemed to be looking for something behind the bar. Spotting a place near the beer taps, she crouched down and scooted under the bar into an area where a large box of plastic cups usually sat. Dean stepped closer to where she was crouching to repeat his words, but she just shushed him and dug into her purse.
Producing a tube of lipstick, she refreshed the thick red gloss on her very full lips. Dean felt his penis lurch in response. At that time, his bladder apparently empty, her husband returned. He looked around for his wife.
"Where did she go?", he asked as he resumed his place on the stool.
Dean, half scared and half confused, said, "I guess she left, Sir."
"Good riddance. I'm tired of that bitch sucking up all my money and being so cold in the sack!" He immediately ordered another boilermaker. Scooping up the lady's empty beer mug and dropping it in the sink as he walked past towards the beer taps, Dean grabbed a chilled mug and filled it. Then as he placed the fresh beer in front of the man, Dean felt hands massaging his erection through his slacks. Almost immediately, he felt his zipper being tugged down slowly. A warm hand slipped inside his zipper, and then through the slit in his boxer shorts and began massaging the lower half of his stout shaft.
"What's wrong, kid? You suddenly look pale?"
Dean leaned forward, fearing that the man might lean forward and see his wife's hands at work upon his prick, "Nothing. Just a bit tired."
The hand on the outside of his slacks began unbuckling his belt. With his erection poking up above the waistband of his slacks, she couldn't free it without unbuckling his belt, and then the waistband button. As she levered his penis out, pulling his shorts down in the process, Dean heard her gasp.
"You sure your ok, kid? You look as pale as a ghost!"
Dean just shook his head negatively, then almost groaned as he felt the woman's mouth sink down over his glans, and halfway down his shaft. None of his dates or short term girlfriends had ever come close to swallowing that much of his cock when it was fully erect. He felt his knees tremble as her lips traveled back up his shaft and suck at his glans two or three times before sinking down just a bit deeper on her second effort.
The second time she traveled back up to his head and sucked even more powerfully at him, she made an audible slurping sound. Thankfully, Dean thought, her husband didn't seem to hear it, or ignored it. Reaching over to pick up the remote control to the large TV behind the bar, Dean turned it on and flipped around until he found a baseball game, and turned the volume up in the hope of drowning out any further sounds the man's wife might make.
"Hey! Thanks, kid! Now if that bitch was still here, she'd piss and moan until we put it on some bitchy female talk show or some artsy-fartsy bullshit. I'm glad she took a hike."
Dean felt teeth scrap his cock and uttered a defense of the woman without thinking, "Well, she seems like a nice lady."
"Well, kid, you don't have to live with the bitch. Hell, a couple of months ago I bought her a sixty thousand dollar Porsche Boxster and didn't even get a blow job out of the deal. Screw her!"
Dean felt the man's wife gulping at his dick, and realized she was laughing as his huge glans was pressed into the back of her mouth. He vaguely wondered what the joke might be.
For almost ten minutes, the woman skewered her mouth down and around Dean's swollen, ever harder, organ as he and the man exchanged comments on the baseball game. Dean kept the intermittent conversation away from the man's wife, even though he made some foul comment about her now and then.
As time passed, the man commented, "Kid, you aren't pale anymore, but your face is beet red now? You sure you aren't sick or something?"
Dean nodded 'no', turned up the TV a bit more, and wondered how he could suppress the imminent physical reaction that approached at an increasing pace. As his penis began to ooze slick fluid, the woman increased her pace, as if greedy for the salty precursor to his looming orgasm. The more fluid he produced, the more enthusiastic she became.
On one downward stroke, her drunken state caused her to press his glans too hard into the back of her throat. She gagged, choked, and coughed slightly. Her husband looked away from the TV, "What was that?".
Thinking quickly, despite the overwhelming physical sensations he enjoyed, and feared, at the same time, Dean blurted out, "The drain. The beer tap drain makes funny noises all the time."
Chortling, her husband said, "Damn! Guess beer makes anything belch. Or FART!" He slapped at the bar in drunken recognition of what he considered high humor. Dean made an effort to laugh with him.
Suddenly Dean felt slim, spit slickened, fingers pushing his balls apart and massaging the base of his cock. His prick grew impossibly harder, then to his enormous surprise, the fingers slipped further back. Her index finger began to draw light circles on his tight, totally virginal, anal ring. This time Dean couldn't help gasping.
"Kid, what...?" The man looked perplexed and glanced over his shoulder, thinking something behind him surprised Dean. But the bar was empty, the entry unoccupied.
"Just bumped my knee, Sir. But I'm ok."
"Well, be careful. If you go down, then who'd get me a fresh beer?" He shoved his empty mug across the bar to Dean.
Dean nearly fainted at the prospect of fetching a beer. He had to walk several feet to the beer tap, and return, without his huge, reddened, drooling, erection being seen. Thinking quickly, he snatched up a fresh bar towel, which thankfully lay right at hand beneath the bar. Thankfully, the woman realized he was going to have to move, so she removed her mouth and extricated her hand from beneath him. Holding the towel by one end, in his right hand, at waist height, he was able to turn to his left and take two steps to the beer tap. Sliding the freezer open with his left hand, he turned his body so his back was to the man, plucked out an ice cold mug, filled it, then switched the towel to his left hand as he took the beer in his right. Successfully using the towel to screen his organ from the man's view, he returned to stand before his customer. As he wiped the condensation that had dampened the bar from the previous mug, Dean felt that warm mouth return to his organ, and start sucking ever more powerfully. Her hand slide across the lower limits of zipper and lowered shorts and began massaging his anus once more.
Dean didn't last another minute. Working hard to control his breath, he felt his prick lurch and spew forth a preliminary shot right into the back of the woman's throat. Thankfully, she neither gagged or choked. She swallowed that burst of semen, and the next six or eight more powerful spurts, seemingly sucking ever more intensely. As his ejaculation dribbled to a close, she worked at sucking every drop out of him.
