All names and characters contained herein are fictitious and do not intentionally relate to any person, either living or dead. This story is a work of fiction, a fantasy -- so read it with a grain of salt and an open mind. All characters are at least 18 years of age. Voting and feedback is greatly appreciated, especially positive feedback and frequent "fives".
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I was born with a thimble dick. As a boy growing up, my older brother had the nickname "Wang" due to his unusually large size. At the age of 16 he discovered Jesus and decided to save himself for marriage. What a fucking waste. There I was, all through my misspent adolescence, hoping to score with hot chicks (or ugly chicks – I was an equal opportunity pervert), but failing miserably mainly due to my miniscule member (nice alliteration, eh?).
In high school I was the guy who would turn shyly away from the rest of the group while dressing out for gym class. Every time I would try to pee at a urinal in a crowded bar or football game (pee troughs were the worst) I would worry that my piss splash was too light and that the other guys would know I had a tiny dick. The result: dreadful "bashful bladder" syndrome.
I mean, I could have scored with chicks, but I had performance anxiety. I'm not a bad looking guy – about six feet tall, blonde, decent shape (played soccer in school), but I couldn't get past the thought that the girl would be comparing me to the last romeo that fucked her brains out.
So here I am, mid 20's, single, addicted to internet porn, no longer a virgin (uncomplicated, no pressure call girl sex fixed that), but still hung up on my penis size. Women always say "penis size is not important", but I cry
bullshit
on that. I was becoming pathetically despondent and even contemplating suicide when I read an advertisement that caught my eye.
Wulfwinter Laboratories is interviewing prospective male applicants for exciting new sexual technology. Must be between the ages of 18 and 30. Apply at 130 Washington Ave M-F 1:30-3:30pm. Paying up to $1,000 to qualified subjects.
Hmmm? Exciting new sexual technology sounded interesting. Qualified subjects sounded kinda creepy. Especially when paired with the laboratories part of the name. But hell, I could always use $1,000.00.
The next day I called in sick at my shitty job as a restaurant server and threw on a pair of faded Levi's, an old Miskatonic U. tee-shirt, smelly flip flops, and drove my old rusty beater downtown. Wulfwinter Laboratories was in a small, nondescript three-story red brick building on a street corner in the industrial part of town, overlooking the city skyline. Outside it didn't look like much, but the lobby inside was spacious, tastefully decorated with an expensive Persian rug, rich, dark hardwood floors and colorful Peter Paul Rubens prints adorning the walls (fat chicks rock!).
Behind the dark mahogany Queen Anne desk sat a stunning older lady wearing a white lab coat, her hair up in a chaste bun, and an assortment of clipboards in front of her.
"Are you here to apply, sir?" She asked crisply.
"Um, yes, sure… I mean, I guess so." I replied. "What exact—"
"Just fill out this questionnaire and your research liaison will be happy to answer all of your inquiries."
She absently held out a clipboard and gestured towards one of the lobby chairs.
I obediently sat down and began filling out the form. The usual questions: name, birth date, allergies, past diseases -- it was interestingly heavy on the sexually transmitted disease section, naming malaises I'd never even heard of before. I mean, what the fuck is New Guinea Elephantosis? Whatever it was, I checked "no" for all. Difficult to catch an STD when you get laid about once a year and wear a double thick condom because you are screwing a hooker, right?
Under the section "sexual experience" I checked "minimal". For reason in applying, I wrote in "I'm broke and curious."
A few minutes after filling out the form, a cute nurse stepped out through a door and called my name. I followed her back (pert ass in the white nurse skirt gave me a little boner) to "interview room #7", where she efficiently took a small blood sample from my right arm and then left me with my feet dangling from the paper-covered examination table.
After about ten minutes the door opened and a goddess walked in. She was about 5'8", 110lbs, with long golden sleek legs, slender athletic build, her chestnut hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, chique European glasses perched on the end of her pert little nose. She had a smattering of freckles on her beautiful face and her green eyes sparkled merrily as she smiled, showing perfect, even white teeth. She made her lab coat look like an evening gown.
"Hello, I'm Doctor Witherspoon, your research liaison." She held out her hand in greeting and I broke out into a sweat and my heart started palpitating.
I reached out with a sweaty palm and shook her hand. She had a nice firm, reassuring grip.
I started to ask about the mysterious "sexual technology", but she politely cut me off with a wave of her hand.
"Before you ask questions, let me quickly go through this list – kind of a weed-out screening process, if you will."
"Um, okay"
"Your name is Trenton Mitchell Jones, correct? That's not an alias, or phony name you put down?
"Uh, no, that's my name, on my birth certificate and everything."
"How often do you engage in sexual intercourse, Mr. Jones?"
"Um, uh, not too often."
"Would you say it's more or less than once a year?"
"Definitely more."
"Twice a year?"
"Uh, yeah, about that often."
"Is the sexual congress mutually satisfying?"
"Um, mutually satisfying?"
"Yes, do you both achieve orgasm?"
"Uh, I'm not sure…I mean, I do, but my partner doesn't usually care if she does…I think."
"Oh, and why is that?"
"Um, err, because she's a hooker, Doctor Witherspoon."
"Okay, so you have only had intercourse with prostitutes? And do you use contraceptives?
"Yes, and yes – condoms."
"What brand and kind of condoms do you use?"
"Uh, Trojan Slim Jim Ultras – they don't slide off."
"Slim Jim Ultras? Is your penis below average in girth?"
I sighed deeply, "Yes, my penis is small."
I felt about six inches tall, and a bright red flush crept up my neck.
"What would you say if I told you that we might be able to rectify your problem."
"Rectify my problem? You mean, like turn me into a turbo-lover or something?"
"Wulfwinter Laboratories is funded by Wulfwinter Technologies – founded by the great Doctor Ernst Wulfwinter. Dr. Wulfwinter was once like you, shy, introverted, and pathetically small in the genitalia area. He is now a multi-billionaire, and one of his latest ventures is to create the first penis enlargement medicine. After spending hundreds of millions of dollars, our team of over thirty-five scientists think they may have discovered a drug that increases penis size. And we are looking for young men to test it for us."
