All of my adulthood, I always knew I had a huge penis. Larger than most, larger than life itself, it consumed my thoughts and actions. I made decisions based on how my penis would react, or how it would be perceived.
I never got stage fright standing at the urinals when another man stepped up next to me. Whizzing away confident in my manhood, I sometimes caught admirers out of the corner of my eye. "You should see the size of that guy," they'd say to whomever, my huge penis erasing all inhibitions of conversation.
A big penis was good for the ladies too, as you can imagine. Word got around the bars about my size and the women started flocking in. One after another, a girl would take me out, have her way with me, then recommend me to her friend. I was being used, well, my freakish side show was being used, but neither of us cared. Most men have nicknames for their tools. Some are more open about sharing them than others. Stanley, like the power drill, seems to be popular as are other masculine names. I've never had the pleasure of hearing anyone call their cocks 'tulip', or 'rosebud'. A girl gave mine the name 'Texas' after a romp between the sheets. She said with a sly smile that the biggest cock she'll ever have should be named after the biggest state of the union. Seeing her enjoyment, I didn't want to ruin her moment in the sun by correctly pointing out that Alaska is much larger. When she started to talk in a slow sexy drawl, I suppose the way all Texas women talk, my Texas, Tex for short, got on his high horse and remembered her Alamo.
I had so many girls calling on me, wanting to sample the fair, that naturally my mother, as my dad had passed away, began to catch on. My underwear was always a little damp and she did the laundry, so her, being a bright woman, noticed. Well, maybe she wasn't too bright after all because she thought I was masturbating in my shorts. She'd tell me, "Bob, you know a man is born with only so much semen. If you use it all up, you won't be able to have any kids." [Which reminds my of a good joke: What do women and whales have in common? Both swallow sea-men.]
Anyway, my mom didn't have to convince me to stop having orgasms, I was tiring out. Like a first round draft pick that has a few good years, shows promise, then fades away. People wondering what ever happened to so and so. I was ready to retire and heading off to college was the right time to do so. No one knew Tex's reputiation. The tired cowboy was going to hang up his saddle for awhile.
It's amazing that I had saved up enough money during the two years of working after graduating from high school. Being sexed so much, how could anyone but the most driven continue to work toward their goal? But I loved calculus problems and physics, which is why I went into engineering at the U. of Chicago. There, during my junior year, I met the sweetest woman in my life. She could challenge me intellectually. And maybe most important of all, she wasn't a sex freak like every other college student. In fact she was saving herself for marriage. We got married our senior years and everything started out great. A little mandatory love making on the honeymoon and occasionally there after. What really impressed me, was how she took to my cock. She didn't know any better. Being a virgin, she must have thought all men were hung like the stallion I was. Not once did she comment on how impressive I was in the sack. This was great. I wouldn't have to be constantly filling her sexual needs. I could concentrate on my career.
Suddenly the bliss in my life changed. She wanted to start a family once we had settled into our jobs. The problem was, our attempts to impregnate kept failing. She went to a clinic and they said she was fine and fertile. My god, was my mom right? Had I used up all of my good sperm for nothing? I was running on empty. I just knew it. They wanted me to masturbate in this little plastic cup. Didn't they know that I needed to save every last once? This might be my last batch I ever produce. All dried up. Nothing left even to artificially inseminate. I did it with shame and sorrow. And a little help from some hot redhead in a magazine.
The tests came back and an astonished doctor said I had one of the highest sperm counts he'd ever seen for an engineer. When I asked how that could be and not get my wife pregnant, he said simply, "technique." I'll have to admit that I never did stick my whole love rod into my wife's vagina. I didn't want to injure the delicate flower. But now my manhood was being challenged, and I knew I'd be up to the task.
Well, nine months later nothing had happened yet. So being the trooper that I am, decided, against my better judgment, to take off of work early and go service my damsel in distress. Arriving home, it wasn't distress that I found, but pure ecstasy. My wife wiggling around on the couch, skirt on the floor, watching porn with some log like figure between her legs. "What the hell is that?" I said, shocked out of my mind.
"It's porn, honey," she said, continuing to do whatever with that log.
