The Tragic and Sorry Saga of Fuckstick Jones
a lighthearted erotic story
Jedidiah (AKA Fuckstick) Jones was born on May 15th, 1985, in the tiny hamlet of Busted Nut, West Virginia. His parents were Sara and Mayfield Jones, farmers.
Being farmers, and with seven other children to feed, the Jones family didn't have two nickels to rub together much less spend on 'doctoring'. Consequently, Sara's pre-natal care consisted of her husband telling her, on those days when she just didn't feel right, "Ain't nothing wrong with you a day in the fields won't cure." She never had an ultra-sound or any other test that might have told them prior to the birth that something was wrong with the baby.
Not wrong, technically, just very unusual.
When Sara's water broke and she felt the first contraction they sent their oldest daughter, Betty Lou, to fetch the midwife. After having seven kids they figured this one would pop out without much fuss, so time was essential.
Betty Lou was the fastest runner in the family. Having four older brothers, a father who sometimes drank a bit too much, and crazy Uncle Barry living in the old outhouse down by the duck pond, she either had to run like a deer or forget saving herself for marriage. She was back with Tessy Bucket in no time at all.
When Jed came out they right away figured he had a major deformity. The baby had what looked like a footless third leg hanging down between the other two. Once the initial shock wore off they realized it wasn't a third leg at all.
Mayfield went from being horrified that he'd sired a monster to strutting about proud as any peacock because he'd produced a fantastic specimen of manhood, or at least a specimen with a fantastic manhood, either one.
Doc Pritchard was called in and he and Sara discussed sending the baby to a hospital up north to have the thing shortened but Mayfield was having none of that. He, of course, was not the one who'd be in charge of trying to keep the damned thing covered in a lousy diaper. Baby Jed's prick wriggled like a snake, like some independently minded thing attached to their son's body, and would often work its way out of whatever constraint his mother devised for it.
Jed was going to be a very popular kid.
And so he was.
His siblings found no end of amusement at their baby brother's anatomical anomaly and all the clever ways he chose to exploit it. Sara was just happy she didn't have to buy any more pacifiers, although breaking a kid of thumb-sucking was hard enough. She did not look forward to teaching him not to suck that damned wiener of his when it was nap time. If he kept doing it up to the point it actually started to work she'd never get it away from him.
Of course, talk about the deformity spread through the small community like the proverbial wildfire, and curiosity seekers arrived bearing pies and cakes and the best of wishes, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jed's extraordinary appendage. Someone snuck a picture of him and sold it to a national tabloid but nobody believes a thing they print anyway. Jed's remarkable schlong wound up right alongside Batboy in the Oh Brother! category of believability.
Notoriety just seemed to evade them, and the Jones family was just as glad. Plain people don't appreciate the spotlight.
"He's marked for something special, though," his father would say whenever talk of the boy came up, and nobody argued with that opinion although neither did they offer any possible particulars of just how that something special would be manifested.
In school Jed was never at a loss for something to supply for show and tell, although not in the official classroom capacity. Their one-room schoolhouse teacher was old Miss Marmalade and she would have fainted dead away if he'd whipped that thing out in front of her. But the best show and tell was always in the playground before and after class. That was when Alan Munching brought in the cow's brain in a zip-lock baggie, smuggled to school in his Batman lunchbox in lieu of the ketchup sandwich he usually brought. Alice Crenshaw brought in her big sister's vibrating dildo and that got passed around for a sniff or two. And every once in while Jed would whip out his fuckstick (as his daddy had taken to calling it) and display it to whoever cared, usually after he'd taught it a new trick. The best was having it tie and untie itself into a knot. By the time he went to high-school he could pick things up with it and was hoping to teach it to throw a baseball.
Miss Marmalade, like most people, had heard all sorts of stories about it and found herself staring at the front of young Jed's pants wondering where the hell he put it when he wasn't using it for something, afraid it would rip free of whatever bounds they'd devised to keep it in check, erupting into the classroom and making T-Rex noises as it terrified the rest of the class. By the time Jed graduated she was a nervous wreck and had lost almost all of her three-hundred excess pounds, winding up a fashionable size four when she'd started out wearing leftover tents from the girl-scout camp in nearby Bumstink.
None of the other Jones kids did anything after high school besides work the farm with their parents. It wasn't that none of them had the smarts, but, well, all right, it was that none of them had the smarts. That group collectively didn't have the gray matter of a possum. It scared the bejeezus out of Mayfield that some day he'd have to turn control of the farm over to his kids. His only hope for their future was that either they'd strike oil somewhere like that hillbilly family on TV had or maybe some big-city developer would figure their spread the perfect place for a shopping mall or casino. If they had to rely on their own wits, the family was doomed. Fortunately, Jones was a fairly common name and would not die out with them.
Jed had apparently made out at both ends, getting the lion's share of brains as well as dick. He was no Einstein, but his grades were good enough to send him to college on a scholarship. So, the fall after he turned eighteen, Sara and Mayfield packed his bag and tearfully put him on a bus for the big city of Knocker Downs, Kentucky.
People in Busted Nut get easily blasé about things, and Jed's masterful schlong was no exception. Consequently, his sense of being special had waned years before, so it was with an open heart that Jed arrived on the campus of Upton University where it took all of five minutes for his secret to be discovered.
The bus ride had been exceptionally uncomfortable and Jed had to empty his bladder as soon as he found the dorm. Two other guys stood beside him in the community bathroom when he unleashed the beast and Jed became an instantaneous celebrity.
Temporarily nicknamed The Snake, he was subjected to the ignominy of having his member measured. College students tend to be very precise, although their powers of estimation leave much to be desired. They grabbed a common foot-long plastic ruler first and then realized the folly in that and went back for a yardstick.
Jed's dick measured out at twenty-eight inches.
"How big is it when erect?"
Jed shrugged because he had no idea.
"You've never had a hard-on? A boner? A stiffy, a woody?"
Indeed, although his cock had been, for a while, a source of great discussion and interest back home in Busted Nut its sexual potential had never come up (to coin a phrase). No girls had ever been fascinated enough by the rumors to take him on and guys just automatically assumed that a young man with such a monstrous dick was constantly pleasuring himself, which was as far from reality as possible.
Speculation among Jed's dorm-mates was that a full-fledged erection might take so much blood away from his brain that he'd pass out and never get to use the blasted thing, but to make sure they pledged to get him tested as soon as possible.
Finding a volunteer coed at good old Up U was not at all difficult. Finding one that didn't mind her efforts being captured for posterity in digital photography narrowed the field a bit, but eventually the wannabes were weeded out and a sophomore named Julie Pismire was successfully recruited.
Jed had never been with a girl before. He'd kissed one, but apparently having a treasure in his pants did not equate to any aptitude for lip-locking. He'd been so inept a kisser that she refused to even consider trying that again with him and passed word around their quaint little community of what an absolute loser Jed was. Kissing him was, in her opinion, "...like kissing the wrong end of a monkey." How she came by that analogy was never adequately established, but the reputation might as well have been etched in stone and Jed finished out his teen years quite alone and lonely.
A person is more than whatever anatomical oddity they are burdened with (or graced with, depending on one's point of view), so it might do well here to give you an overall picture of Jed Jones.
Jed at eighteen was just shy of six feet tall, thin but not bony, muscular from a life spent working the farm but not disfigured like some of those steroid-enhanced body-builders who look like walking homes for wayward tumors. The current Governor of California comes to mind.
He was not handsome in a GQ sense, but far from homely. A new hairstyle (anything but the way it was when he walked off that bus, cut according to how much stuck out when his mother's salad bowl was plopped on his head) would help, as would a new wardrobe. Some of his new friends tried to talk him into various body piercings but Jed wisely declined. He had kind eyes that were a soft green color and gentle hands that belonged more on a concert pianist than a farmhand.
And he had the biggest dick on record.
As for the young lady his friends had procured for his coming-out experiment, Julie was relatively short (just a tad over five-two) comfortably slender but not emaciated like all those size-00 Hollywood robots, with long dark hair and straight white teeth and deep-set dark eyes that a man could easily drown in. She had a wide mouth and ruby lips, and when she arrived at Jed's dorm room for the Big Event she wore a tight pair of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, sneakers and ankle socks.
Jed's roommate, Cliff, was there, as were Tom and Burt, the two young men who had discovered Jed that first day in the lavatory. Frank was there also, and he was the cameraman, armed with a dangerous looking digital movie camera and two digital SLR's. The room was barely big enough for them all to fit in much less move around in without tripping over each other, but space was made on and around Jed's bed (the lower half of a set of bunk beds) for Frank to maneuver about and get the best angles. The significance to science and society in general of what was about to transpire was not lost on any of them, except perhaps Jed who understood only that he was about to get laid for the first time.
When Jed and Julie met there were no violins playing, no tinkling piano forming a backdrop to some romantic encounter, just a bunch of sweaty guys and one very defensive-feeling girl. Julie had never been surrounded by so much testosterone in her life, not even the time she personally 'congratulated' her high-school football team for winning the big Turkey Day game against their staunch rivals across the river. It took her three days to wash the cum out of her hair after that night, but still the sensation of heightened sexuality she felt then was no match for the rabid lecherous anticipation she felt in that dorm room.
The best defense being a good offense she said, "Let's see what ya got," disposing of any preamble and thus any doubts about her ability to perform as advertised.
With coaxing from his friends, Jed opened his pants and rolled out his cock.
Julie almost bolted for the door.
