I am a long-time reader and a devoted fan of many of the skilled writers on this site. This is my first attempt at erotic fiction. The story is a little ridiculous and the premise is highly unrealistic, but I had fun writing it. I would love any comments, and would particularly appreciate any constructive ones. I welcome them either in the comment section or directly by email. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy.
All persons in the story are fictional and age 18 are above. I also want sincerely to thank NP, who edited this story. His comments, advice, and critiques were invaluable.
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Hello everyone. My name is Gordon. I am 20 years old, and I'm beginning my sophomore year at Big State University. I'm taking Introductory Creative Writing as one of the electives towards my major. Yes, I'm an English major. Yes, I know most would consider that choice rather foolish, and, yes, my father agrees. Finally, yes, I understand it's utterly insufferable when a wannabe writer commences his story by writing about writing. I'll keep this short.
On the first day of class, my professor said we all had to create a daily writing journal. He said writers are like athletes, our writing skills are the muscles we have to train to be elite, and that training must happen every day. Then he belabored the point with something about basketball players, and that's when I began to suspect he was a former jock himself.
He also said he didn't care about what we wrote. He didn't even care, at least for this journal, whether the writing was good or bad. Given that freedom, I decided to write some stories about my time in high school.
I attended Valhalla High, which is an elite four-year public high school in my hometown. When I graduated, about four thousand students attended Valhalla across all four grades. It was easy to get lost there, which was pretty much my m.o.
I actually graduated in the top five percent of my class at Valhalla. I smoked a little dope, but I didn't hang out with the stoners. I had some friends who acted in all the plays, but I never joined drama club. I worked out regularly, and swam every morning at the local Y, but I never joined the swim team, even though it won championships and ranked first in the state. I aced my calculus and statistics classes my senior year, but never joined the mathematics club. Perhaps you can detect the pattern.
What made me a bit standoffish was that I have what some might call a quite unusual physical "gift," though I often argue it's better framed as a physical "disability." Indeed, once you read more about it, you might even call it a "special need."
To be blunt, I have an unrealistically large cock. I know; guys always lie about the size of their cocks, but I don't. Mine is truly unrealistically large. Yes, I have measured it many times, and my doctor just shakes her head every time I go for a physical. When it's fully erect, it's fourteen inches long with a circumference at the base of the shaft of twenty-two inches. I know it's hard to believe -- hell, I often find it unbelievable, and the thing is literally attached to me -- but I promise those numbers are accurate.
Anyway, I decided to turn my daily writing journal into an anthology of sorts -- stories that almost all revolve around my gift, my disability, or whatever else you want to call it. What follows is the first.
Ana Shine and the Unrealistically Large Cock
I have known Ana Shine since middle school, but we were never that close until the end of our senior year of high school. One incident in particular brought us much closer together in a hurry.
In high school, Ana was a bit of an enigma -- though unlike me, not one that skulked about and avoided the sunshine. She was smart and beautiful, kind and sassy. She was popular, but never worried about it. She made excellent grades, but never flaunted it. She came from a wealthy family, but never dressed or acted like it. She was also a bit of a bad girl. She liked sex, and liked it with both boys and girls. She liked to take risks, and she truly never seemed to give a fuck about what anyone thought about her. She was her own muse and spirit.
I'd known Ana since she'd moved to town before the start of seventh grade. We were friendly, and would talk on occasion, but were never that close. Ana always had enough charm and charisma to hop in and out of the popular circles whenever she chose. Her lack of belonging was transcendent. The little brass rings of life that other kids would kill to obtain were, in Ana's eyes, anchoring chains that would never find purchase in her world.
It's just after sixth bell on a Thursday afternoon during the spring semester of my senior year. I am heading to my last class of the day, which is swimming time trials. I took the class because I needed one more PE credit to graduate and I love swimming. I despise the class, however, because of the lard-ass coach who teaches it. Because I despise it, I am often late, as I am today.
As I slowly approach the pool locker room, I spy Ana Shine -- god, she's gorgeous -- also approaching from the perpendicular hallway to the right. We acknowledge each other with head nods and smiles. We are both late, which is not unusual. As I follow Ana into the locker room, I cannot help but admire how damn tight her blue jeans fit, and I try not to gawk at her round firm butt. I don't succeed, but I promise I tried.
The Valhalla High pool locker room is a common locker room for both boys and girls. To allow students privacy, the locker room has a number of small changing stalls; think dressing rooms in a department store, which is something you might recall from an old TV show or movie. They're divided equally between stalls for boys and stalls for girls. One larger unisex stall exists next to the coaches' office in the center of the locker room.
As we enter the locker room, Coach Lazarus looks up and scoffs at us both. "You're both late, and all the changing stalls are full. You two were both supposed to arrive early today. You have to swim the mandatory state time test at the start of class because you missed it last week when you both were in detention."
"Oh, yeah," Ana replies indifferently as she takes her swim bag out of her locker. I do not respond, which is my usual tactic with Coach Lazarus. I just ignore him and retrieve my own swim bag.
"Here," he says, "both of you just use the unisex stall, and be quick about it." He tosses me the key to the stall. I never understood why the unisex stall has a key. None of the boys or girls stalls do. I think, however, it's because it doubles as the coaches' changing room.
Lazarus, by the way, is an anomaly. He is the swimming coach of an elite high school team that has won numerous championships, but looks nothing like a swimmer himself. He smokes, and has a triple chin and a huge, belt-hiding beer gut. As the high school girls often suggest, he likely has not seen his own cock without the use of a full-length wall mirror in at least twenty years. He has a large, bulbous, red nose and huge ears that stick out at right angles from his bald head. Nothing about his physical appearance suggests 'sleek,' or 'streamlined,' or 'capable of moving quickly in water.' He is just not how I imagine the coach of an elite high school swim team would look.
Plus, he is just creepy. His nickname among the high school girls is "Double L" or "Lecherous Lazarus." The reasons for that are a story for another day, but if that day ever comes, he won't be the hero and don't expect any plot twists.
Lazarus glares at us both as if our being late is the sole reason for all the current disharmony in the world, and commands, "Both of you get in there now and change."
I saunter towards the stall, unlock the door and enter. Ana, on the other hand, looks mildly annoyed and complains, "Together? With him?"
"C'mon Ana, I know your reputation," Lazarus says. "Don't get prissy. Just get changed and get in the pool, pronto."
Ana looks disgusted, but follows me into the stall. Once inside, Ana turns to me, still looking a bit annoyed, and says, "Give me the key, I want to lock the door. I do not trust Double L. I don't want him busting in here while I am changing because he 'supposedly' forgot we were here."
I shake my head, smile slightly, and hand her the key. Ana locks the door, slowly turns around to look at me, and then, oddly enough, she smiles.
"What the hell, Ana? Why are you smiling? You are not going to pull some stunt, are you?" I wish to deal with Lazarus no more than I have to.
Ana keeps smiling -- or maybe it's a smirk. I am not entirely sure how you tell the difference. "No, nothing like that, G. I just had a thought, and it made me laugh." She walks over to a stool close to me and sits down without ever taking her eyes off me.
My shirt's already off, but with the top button of my jeans undone, I freeze, understandably self-conscious under her gaze. "What's going on, Ana? You're usually cool. Don't start something without at least telling me what is going on."
"You know, G," Ana says slowly, "people talk about you. Rumors abound." She keeps looking at me with that same expression, which I have decided is definitely a smirk.
"So what? I don't care." It's my standard response. I know there are rumors, and I know what they are about, but I have no idea where they originate. Well, I probably do know where they originate, but that disappoints me. I do not kiss and tell, and I have always hoped that I could count on the same from others. And, yes, a few girls, and maybe a teacher or two have seen my physical "disability." I mean, I am a boy. If a girl asks to see my cock, am I really supposed to say no?
"Ana, this is high school... in the age of the internet. Kids talk about everything. I do not join groups and I keep to myself, so people make up stories to explain why. You, if anyone, should understand that." I say all that more curtly than I intend, and turn away from her gaze, though I can still feel her looking. "Besides, I don't know what the hell you are talking about."
Ana chuckles loudly in response to my last assertion, which causes me to laugh, too. We both know I am lying. I look over my shoulder at her, and she is still looking at me with an amused, curious smirk on her face.
"So what?" I protest. "Are you going to change, or just sit there? I will give you privacy and not look your way. I am not creepy -- though you appear to be from the way you are staring at me now." I smirk back at her -- at least I think I do. "Let's hurry up. Lazarus will be banging on the door if we take too much longer."
Ana laughs and smiles almost warmly at me, which is a little strange... not creepy strange, but still strange. "Don't worry about Double L. He has forgotten about us already. He won't remember us until he looks for the key to this place so that he can come in here and jack off to some porn."
"You know that rumor, which I have unfortunately heard before, creates an image I could have lived to my death without having in my head."
"Oh, honey, that is not a rumor, it is a fact. Girls know about such things. We observe; we talk. The name 'Double L' ain't typical teenage slander."
"Jesus," I mutter.
"He has nothing to do with it. That man died for other peoples' sins, not his. Some sins are unforgivable."
"An interesting but understandable position," I reply, speaking more softly than before. There is something more here, but I don't really want to know.
