The Biggest Dic

This is a tale of sheer fantasy in all respects. In real life, it is incumbent on all of us to ensure consent in any situation, and to show respect and empathy to those around us—not just with regard to sex, but in every aspect of life.

Dave gulped. Despite the heat of the lamps beaming down on him, he found himself in a cold sweat. Why, exactly, had he wanted to appear on this TV show? This was crazy! Getting naked in public, with his image beamed to the world: this was all so odd. And that wasn't the worst of it. No, the real issue, now, was that so much, so very much, was riding on... on... well, on the size of his cock!

-----

Was it just three months earlier that he had clicked on that popup ad? He wasn't at all sure why he had clicked—he never did that. Maybe it was because the ad's blunt challenge and survey-style format was carefully calculated to appeal to his particular sort of male ego:

"Be honest now, how big is your dick? [ ] small [ ] medium [ ] MONSTER."

In fact, Dave had always been pretty vain about his package. 8 1/2 inches of heaven, he thought to himself complacently, and a slight twinge stirred in his groin. Back in college he'd sowed his share of wild oats, and it warmed his heart now to recall the little gasp of excitement and apprehension, the slight widening of her eyes, when some pretty girl laid eyes on his fully-erect rod for the first time. Awash in these happy memories, Dave's hand seemed to manipulate the mouse on its own, as the cursor wandered over to MONSTER and

clicked

.

He figured he'd see a website touting some penis enlargement product, or Viagra knock-off. Ha ha, the joke would be on them. Or, maybe the system would download a virus—ugh! But instead, a very unusual, very unexpected proposal appeared on the screen. As with the original popup, the copy on the page seemed perfectly designed to draw a man like Dave in further, step by small step: "Got a big dick? Is it stuck in the rut of just one woman? How'd you like to give your dick a little holiday, while making money at the same time? A LOT of money. A person with your unique endowment deserves nothing less!"

For a minute he almost clicked away, thinking it was some kind of male-escort racket. But as he comprehended the actual pitch, his interest became aroused. It turned out the solicitation was for participants in a gameshow, one he'd never heard of before (probably some streaming show or premium cable offering) called

The Biggest Dick

. Like its title, the game's setup appeared to be brutally straightforward. Married couples would compete for huge cash prizes. The winner of each competition was the guy with the biggest dick. And (last but far from least)... the winner would get to fuck the loser's wife!

Dave knew he should close the browser. This was retrograde, misogynist bullshit; dreck that appealed to a person's basest instincts; a throwback to a pre-historic mode of human existence. Yet he couldn't quite summon the will to turn away. His cock was fully awake now, summoned to life by the forbidden notions the page had awakened in his mind: of taking another woman—of taking someone else's woman—and of doing it whether she liked it or not. Then, too, there was something compelling in the brazenness of the pitch. This was a TV show, it was all out in the open, unapologetic, part of the entertainment-industrial complex. There was a kind of sanction to this, a license, that made it even more appealing to Dave.

In fact, Dave had been faithful to Brenda ever since they had gotten married 18 years before. Of course, that did not mean his eye had never strayed—"well, I

am

a man," Dave would no doubt have said if asked; but when pressed he would have had to admit that his fidelity did not stem from any deep moral compass. No, it would be more accurate to say that, when it came down to it, it had simply not fit his self-image to sneak around, to lie, to seduce with false promises. And, if he was being honest with himself, he also appreciated his happy family life, and didn't want to put it at risk. Moreover, Brenda was a fine lover, no doubt about it. Though she'd borne a couple of kids, she took care of herself, and at age 39 had a body that never failed to turn Dave on.

Still, after nearly two decades with the same partner, a certain routine, a degree of banality, was almost unavoidable. Now, as the website baited his ego with the lure of fresh and forceful conquest—tickling his mind with the idea of being with (being inside) someone new—Dave's predictable weekly trysts with Brenda paled accordingly in his memory. Suddenly, somewhere at the nexus between self-regard, lust, and ennui, something seemed to snap inside him. Damn straight, thought Dave, with a sharp mental nod to himself, I deserve a little more fire in life! A cock this fine ought to be introduced to a new woman once in a while! You know what, I'm going to do it!

OK, that was all well and good for Dave to decide for himself, but how could he get Brenda on board with such a crazy proposition? She was no prude, but still pretty conventional. Pretty risk-averse. How could she ever be reconciled with a 'game' that treated women as prizes? She disdained the idea of prostitution, he knew, and he suspected she would find this idea somehow even more degraded. Nor would she ever put her body at risk—she simply would not take the chance of being opened up to some random stranger, to be used at his discretion. No, he concluded regretfully, however tempting the idea might be to him, he would have to let it go. After all these years he understood his wife, and appearing on such a gameshow would simply never fly with her.

Even so, his cock remained stiff as he logged off.

-----

Fate is a funny thing, though, and maybe it really was meant to happen. The answer to Dave's conundrum came by surprise that same afternoon when their elder son, Evan, bounced into the house after school. "Mom, Dad!" he shouted, "I got something back from Stanford! An envelope! A

thick

envelope!"

What? Dave thought. Evan was a sharp kid, but his grades weren't that hot. How the hell did he manage to squeak into Stanford? Right on the heels of that thought, however, came the inkling of a clever idea. A sly, brilliant idea.

This

was one lever that might conceivably shift Brenda's thinking.

That same night he brought up

The Biggest Dick

to her. He knew this would be a delicate operation, and that he would have to play his cards carefully. In fact, if he'd seen himself clearly at that moment, he would have been surprised by the ruthlessness of his manipulation. But he only had one thing on his mind. Taking a deep breath, he plunged in: "Brenda, you would not believe this game show I heard about on the internet..." In order to give it a little more legitimacy, he pretended he had heard about it in a 'media trends' article online. Using that as cover, he sketched the outlines of the game honestly (might as well rip off the bandage, he thought), yet with as positive a spin as he could manage for such a debauched notion.

As expected, she was outraged—in fact, she seemed disturbed that he would even bring it up, like it was a nightmare best left hidden away. "Dave, that's horrible!" she said, "that's like, like, cave men or something! Revenge of the jocks. Treating women like meat! God, what kind of society are we living in when it tolerates things like that going on?!"

"I know honey," he soothed, "it is awful. I am just as disgusted as you are!" A hollow silence hung in the air. "But...," Dave continued, somewhat lamely, "I guess the couples that take part in something like that must not think of it that way... they must think of it like... like a competition... like they're a team, working together... And the article said the show pays out a

lot

of money... I guess that can make a big difference to some people..."

"Hmm...," Brenda replied warily. Dave knew this was the make-or-break moment. In for a penny, in for a pound, he said to himself, and plunged ahead. "In fact... I'm embarrassed to say this now, because it's obviously unthinkable, but I know that the money is what brought that show into my head... it's just... it's just that I'm so worried about how we're going to tell Evan, after all his hard work and getting admitted, that there's no way we can pay for Stanford."

(There was a tiny kernel of honesty here: Brenda and Dave were pretty careful with their money, and had saved enough to put the kids through State, but there really, truly was no way Stanford was ever going to happen.)

While he worked to wring every last drop of emotional pressure from the situation, Dave shifted behind the table so the tent in his pants was less visible. He let his face scrunch up a bit. "I'm dreading having that conversation; it's going to kill him. And then Erica—she just seems to have found her footing in high school; how is she going to react if she sees Evan's hard work didn't pay off? ... I'm just so worried about the kids losing their path, their ambition. So the idea of finding some way... any way... to give them the best possible chance... it just seemed like a ray of hope. Like maybe I was meant to read about that game. Crazy, I know."

Was it shameful, unforgiveable, to use his kids as pawns in some twisted spousal negotiation? He knew it was. But in truth it was not Dave that was in the driver's seat at the moment—no, it was really his cock sitting across from Brenda at the negotiating table, and it knew what it wanted.

Furthermore, it was gaining the upper hand. Dave wasn't over the finish line yet, but he could see from Brenda's expression that in just a few seconds the utterly unimaginable had become conceivable. Now that she was beginning to conceive it, however, her voice became more agitated. "Dave," she said with a high tremor, "maybe I'm not understanding you. I'd love to find the money for Evan too. But this game you're taking about—you can't possibly think we should

do

that, do you?..." He looked her steadily in the eyes without speaking. "I mean, Dave... wouldn't that mean... wouldn't that mean some other man... might have sex with me?... That makes me feel kind of sick... You would be OK with that? It doesn't bother you?"

The question actually took Dave aback. He felt so confident of winning that he really hadn't considered all the possible scenarios, at least not seriously. And, in truth, it would bother him. Brenda was no virginal maid when they met, but she had not had many lovers. Now, for nearly 20 years, no one had had access to her body except him. That did mean something.

His cock pulsed, however, as if to remind him who was in charge (and he had to admit, it had never let him down). No, it was just chickenshit timidity to think that he would fail. He couldn't back down now. "Oh babe," he crooned reassuringly, "that would be unthinkable to me. You're my all. But it's simply not going to happen. I mean, not to be crass, but you know I'm built like a porn star. There is no way we could lose—no way that... that... would happen."

This logic resonated with Brenda. She was a tall girl, a leggy 5'11" (just a couple of inches shorter than Dave himself), and truth be told, the couple of boyfriends she had had before meeting her husband in college had not quite possessed the equipment to fully satisfy her. Junior year, when she was introduced to Dave's dick, it was love at first sight; and ever since, while officially toeing the politically-correct "size doesn't matter" line, she had secretly felt lucky to have landed someone so 'big' down there.

She mused in silence for a minute, two minutes, and then, in a slower, huskier voice, went on: "But Dave... if you did win, wouldn't that mean that you'd have to have sex with another woman?" Her husband was more prepared for this line of questioning. "I guess I hadn't really thought about it that much. Maybe there's some way to get out of it," he lied. (Who am I kidding?!, he asked himself incredulously.) "I'm not sure if that's possible or not. But you know that's not what I want baby, I'd just get whatever I had to do over with as quickly as possible. This is all about Evan." Dave wasn't sure she bought any of that load of manure, but it appeared that she was at least willing to pretend she did.

The clock continued to tick noisily on the wall. Dave's mind whirled, trying to think what he might say that could shift the needle. Then, all of a sudden, Brenda seemed to have reached a decision, or perhaps it was a resignation. "Dave, this all still sounds crazy to me. I really don't feel good about it. But I know sometimes I'm a little too by-the-book and need to loosen up. And I know you want the best for all of us. So I guess if you

really

think this is a good idea, then I'm willing to find out more and consider it."

Dave's cock gave a leap for joy—that was game, set, and match.. "It's going to be so good for Evan, dear!" he said, as he took Brenda in his embrace.

-----

The production company ran a high-quality operation and was free with its largesse. The two received a cashier's check for $1,000 just for applying to be considered as contestants. Dave and Brenda did have to earn the money, however, since there was a weighty binder of forms and documentation to be submitted. The producers seemed to have very particular parameters for the couples they selected, and were unwilling to tolerate the fakery that was typical for most reality-shows. For example, to weed out any sham couples, they required extensive evidence that the two had been a happily and faithfully married for at least seven years. Similarly, they required that couples show the proper degree of financial stability—so that they would be neither too desperate nor too cavalier with regard to the show's payouts, Dave figured.

Also, they definitely were looking for regular folks with normal jobs—porn stars, strippers, even actors and dancers and vid-stars were excluded from the game. This was a bit of a relief to Dave. After the initial rush had subsided, Dave had to admit to himself that he did not have the biggest dick in the world. He knew all the medical statistics said his penis was an extreme outlier. It was also, as far as he could tell from the gym or from 'male bonding' at drunken college fraternity affairs, the largest he had ever seen in person. Still, although it would not have appeared out of place in a porn video, he had seen bigger dongs in that context from time to time. So the idea that he was competing against 'normal folks' and not porn stars bolstered his instinctive confidence that he was destined to win this.

Finally, the producers had requirements around looks, of course. This was television, after all, and the producers had no interest in airing ugly or overweight people. Fortunately, Dave and Brenda were solidly qualified in that department. Dave had a hawkish charm and just a scattering of grey in his full head of hair. Brenda was not what you'd call glamorous, but she had a sweet, friendly face, large blue eyes, an endearing scatter of freckles, and long sandy-brown hair with a bit of a wave to it. Dave had worried that the screening process might scare Brenda off, but it was all very decorous. Current headshots and (medically-confirmed) BMI numbers were enough to get them past that final hurdle, and into the game.

For legal reasons, the show was taped offshore. Free Caribbean vacation!, Dave thought, patting himself on the back once again for making it all happen. Still, both of them were tense on the flight down—how could they not be?—and the mood as they settled into their hotel room was uncomfortable and a bit frigid. The show had sent another binder, full of contestant rules and information, by courier, before their flight. Dave had tucked it in his suitcase, and now he flipped through it aimlessly, before dropping it on the desk. They made you jump through so many hoops just to get here, he thought. Now that he had made it, he didn't want to read about the game, he wanted to get down to the business of playing it. Brenda glanced stonily at the booklet and left it where it lay. Instead she dialed the operator and reserved a slot at the hotel spa. Maybe a massage will calm her down a bit, Dave thought hopefully. Unfortunately, when she returned, it didn't seem to have.

The island air was heating up by the time they arrived at

The Biggest Dick

soundstage next morning. Inside, the production coordinator handed them another cashier's check, worth $5,000, for having been chosen as contestants. Their first day on the lot was something like "coming on down" in the Price is Right. The way the show worked was that the current champion couple would choose from one of four other couples for that day's competition. The other three pairs were unneeded, and free until the next day's shooting.

Dave was a bit dazed by the crowd at first—a thousand people, maybe, mostly young, mostly men. Like a spring-break crowd. And the lights were hot and blinding. Brenda was evidently in a similar mood, withdrawn and cautious. But really it was all pretty easy. He and Brenda chatted awkwardly with the emcee, 'Rocky,' recorded brief video interviews, and then stood on their platform for what seemed like an eternity while the current champion couple scrutinized them (most especially Dave's crotch). In truth it was no more than 20 minutes of shooting. Couple number three was chosen for the day's competition, and the production assistant told them to show up at 11am tomorrow.

In fact, Dave felt that it was all a bit anti-climactic. All those fantasies he had had—of proving his manhood, of taking (possessing, penetrating) another woman—seemed juvenile in the glare of the tropical sun and the polyester-clad banality of the gameshow set. Even Brenda seemed a little bit more at ease, having survived the first day without incident. On day two, Dave truly expected more of the same, and thought maybe he and Brenda could actually loosen up enough to enjoy the beach in the afternoon. Maybe he'd buy Brenda a little bikini in the hotel lobby.

Still, they had wait for the cattle-call to be over first. Standing on his platform, Dave thrust out his pelvis and looked the reigning Biggest Dick in the eye as he sauntered over. Chas, his nametag said. Chas didn't look so tough. He was in his early 30s and tall, but a bit of a beanpole. Sure, length (down there) was the criteria by which victory was measured, but Dave was confident this pencil-neck could never surpass him where it counted.

But then, Dave thought, Chas was bound to see this too, and pick on someone else. And it was a shame, really, since Chas' wife Amy was pretty darn cute. She was a nice 'midsize-model,' about 5'6", slender, with ivory skin, a subtle bust, and smooth, skinny legs. One could call her a bit mousy, perhaps, but he preferred to see her almost-black shoulder-length bob, pointed chin, and trendy glasses as signifying a nerdy girl. He could work with that. Her green button-front dress was on the shortish-side, well-fitting, but not tight or revealing. She had on low heels. God he'd like to know what was hiding under those clothes, Dave thought, but there was no way Chas would put her at risk with a gorilla like Dave.

Their inspections complete, Chas and Amy conferred for what seemed an eternity. Every once in a while they would gesture or point toward one of the platforms. Finally they filled their card. "All right folks," Rocky vamped the crowd, "are you ready for this? Chas and Amy have made their choice!" Basking in the tension crackling across the arena, Rocky turned with a stage-whisper to the huddled couple. "You are sure, now, right?... This is a big, BIG decision (gesturing lamely at Chas' crotch)... maybe one of the biggest of your life..." They both nodded slightly, and Amy said something unintelligible. "Well then," Rocky pealed, "let's pump things up! Let's start the countdown to blastoff! Let's get ready to find out... WHO has THE BIGGEESSSSST DIIIIIICK! (cheers)... Quiet down now folks—you don't want to miss this... For today's 'dick off,' Chas and Amy here... have selected... COUPLE NUMBER TWO!"