* All participants in sexy sex are over the age of 18. Apologies to Mr. David Bowie for the title. *
It might have appeared that Tom was one of those people who are born to lose. By all rights, he should have had everything in the world going for him, but that was far from being the case.
His father was the only blacksmith for miles around their prosperous little burg and so their family was quite well-off, having one of the only houses in the town that had glass windows. You would expect that Tom would have followed in his father's trade and become just as successful, attracting a good wife and raising a family of his own.
But Tom was a sickly child and seemed to never develop any muscles. At eighteen, he looked like a much younger boy and nothing like his strapping mountain of a father. That actually caused some talk in the town, but Tom's mother was adamant that she had never lain with anyone other than her husband.
Tom was at least fairly intelligent, if not particularly quick-witted, so he was apprenticed to the most successful local merchant. A life as a lowly clerk wouldn't make him rich and might not get him a good wife but he wouldn't starve and he wouldn't have to depend on his family.
He seemed unlikely to form his own, however, as the girls in the village, all of whom he had known since they were children, seemed to regard him as being something less than husband material. Sarah, a lovely brunette and his best friend growing up, seemed to have set her cap on the son of the constable, who was likely to take his father's place if his father got the appointment to the court guard that he was seeking.
He saw his more robust male contemporaries capturing the rest of the available girls, pairing off with them to start their own families and futures together, while he worked his drudgery of a job and contemplated his reduced prospects.
After work one mild summer's eve, Tom slowly walked home to his father's house, which was set just a mile from the town. He was in no particular hurry, and in fact was dreading going home and being derided again as a weakling by his father. He seemed to do it out of habit now, as it was clear that no amount of cajoling or shaming was going to make Tom suddenly sprout muscles or dexterity.
As Tom walked through a clearing in the woods, he idly glanced down at the clover growing on either side of the path and wondered how long it would be before the local rabbit population ate it down to nothing. Then he stopped short, sure he had seen something extraordinary.
Sure enough, as he bent down to look more closely, he found the four-leaf clover he was sure he'd seen. What fortune! It was well-known throughout the lands that one could wish on a four-leaf clover and it would invariably come true.
Now, a cleverer lad might have come up with a wish that would have ended his travails and landed him where he wanted to be -- wealthy, healthy and married to Sarah (or some other local girl, he honestly wasn't that picky).
But during his long nights of introspection, when he bemoaned his fate and the cruelty of the world, he had started to blame his circumstances on his own lack of physical gifts. In fact, his obsession had narrowed its focus down to specific areas. A specific body part, to be honest. He was convinced that if he were, shall we say, better endowed, his fortune would be made.
So, grasping the four-leaf clover in his hand and closing his eyes tight, he raised his face to the setting sun, and made his wish. He wished he was blessed with a bigger dick than anyone around his town had ever seen.
There were a number of issues with this wish, some of which are probably obvious to you, dear reader. But the one that came to haunt Tom was one that might not be as apparent. When nothing immediately happened, he sighed and went on home, looking forward to the supper that his mother would be making.
It wasn't until he was trying to fall asleep on his pallet that night that he started feeling a tingle in his crotch. He was sure it was his imagination at first, as he had been thinking lascivious thoughts about the beauteous Sarah. But soon he realized that his cock really did seem to be growing.
And growing. And growing. And growing.
By the time the tingling stopped, he stood up and realized that his penis now hung down below his knees! He went outside to the privy and stroked his cock and it grew even more, until it was eighteen inches long, as big around as his upper arm and hard as a rock.
It finally struck him that, being surrounded by farmland, he should have been more specific in his wish, like maybe a bigger dick than any other *human* in the area. With the bulls and horses and donkeys and other farmyard animals around, clearly people had seen some *big* dicks!
Tom wasn't exactly displeased by his situation, although ideally he had hoped for something half the size of his new endowment. Using both hands, and thinking about Sarah, he worked the skin up and down until he covered the ground around him with spunk. Then he went back to his pallet on the floor and laid down, vowing as he fell asleep that he would find a way to put his new cock to good use.
The next morning, he walked into town with a much jauntier step than usual, anticipating the sudden change in fortune that he was sure such a prodigious unit would produce. So he was somewhat taken aback that nothing seemed to change. Young women weren't throwing their arms around his waist, begging him to pleasure them. The men he passed didn't look at him with some new-found respect.
It hit him that a massive new cock meant nothing if no one knew about it. And the baggy trousers that he (and every other man in the village) wore were not particularly revealing of his groinal area, so to speak. What was the point of having the world's largest unit if no one was aware of it?
He considered just walking into the tavern after work and dropping trou, but realized that would probably get his ass beaten rather than excite any potential mates. Instead he tried walking through the town square while pulling the back of his trouser leg back so that the outline of his enormous dick was obvious to anyone that might look.
That did not quite get the reaction that our friend Tom was looking for. He heard some gasps, which encouraged him, but they were followed by titters, chuckles, and not a few outright guffaws! He couldn't understand it! Then he heard whispers of "zucchini" and "gourd" and "delicata squash" (seriously, I wouldn't kid you about a thing like that) and he realized that everyone thought he'd stuffed a vegetable down his pants.
After such a fine start to the day, Tom headed home in a much more melancholy mood. He now possessed the biggest dick anyone had ever seen, but it seemed to be of no use to him. He slowly walked the path towards home, eyes downcast.
Near where he had found the cursed four-leaf clover, he caught a glimpse of something as the late afternoon sunlight glinted off of something shiny. He stopped and stepped over to see what it was.
It proved to be an old brass oil lamp, probably fallen off a tinker's cart as he went from town to town. It had seen better days and Tom idly rubbed it against his sleeve to see if he could shine it up and maybe sell it for a silver penny or two.
Suddenly, he felt the lamp twitch and smoke began pouring out of it. He almost dropped it but hung on, despite doubling over, coughing uncontrollably. When he finally wiped his eyes and raised up, he was faced with an apparition the likes of which he had never seen.
There was the figure of a man floating before him, a powerful man with arms like Tom's blacksmith father's but where he should have had legs, he faded into smoke. He was dressed outlandishly, wearing a silken blouse and robe and with a turban covering his head above a neatly-trimmed beard.
"You have released me from the lamp, Master. I will grant you three wishes, after which I will be free and be able to get the hell outta this dump. Sheesh, what a pig-sty!" said the figure.
Tom cowered away from the apparition, his arms raised to cover himself in case he was attacked. When it became clear that that was unlikely, he lowered them and looked more closely. "What the hell are you, sir?" he asked.
The djinni (for that is what I'm sure you have realized already that it was) looked at Tom with undisguised disdain and replied, "I am the djinni of the lamp, Master. I thought I kind of made that clear. Are you perhaps dull-witted? That will make this whole transaction interesting."
Tom straightened up at that, being rightfully offended at the tone being taken by this being that was, on paper at least, enthralled to him for at least a short period of time. He gathered himself and took a deep breath to calm down and think. Wishes had been mentioned, and he wanted to avoid the mistakes of the past couple of days.
"I believe you mentioned three wishes, did you not, oh djinni of the lamp? What are the conditions surrounding those wishes?" Tom said, feeling himself clever that this time he was doing a little research first.
The djinni looked at him coolly. "Conditions? Oh, I guess there are a couple of them. You can't wish for additional wishes. You can't wish for something unlimited, like infinite wealth or boundless love. Everything has limits, including the djinn. And, dude, don't go asking for something that doesn't exist in this time, like a flying car or a jetpack. I don't know why everyone seems to want a fucking flying car," the djinni practically muttered the last comment to himself.
