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CHAPTER 2
INTO THE LOOKING-GLASS
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The morning woods were the worst. A capricious while of unmanageable rigidity that had turned weekday mornings and the breakfast table into humiliation. But of all the involuntary erections Gabrielle endured, the Sunday morning morning woods were the best.
Because it had permanently excused her from church. And thus for the only hours allowed to be unproductive in the house, she could finally let go and enjoy her fourteen inches.
It was a ritual of its own: opening the blinds and lazing in bed to marvel at the morning glory, so inflexible even an orgasm couldn't fix it; or two; or five.
She loved the feel of being hard just as much as cumming, and she loved gazing at her beautiful cock, the complex colors, the veins, the testicles moving about, the slight and not so slight throbbing of her shaft, how soft it looked, how softer her glans looked. And above all, how damn big she was.
She liked to whisper it out loud. Sometimes going, "It's so big," sometimes, "I've such a huge cock," alternating between narcissism and dissociation. A paradox allowed by the recency of her strange life.
Even the muffled sounds of the house waking up beyond her door could not make her go flaccid. Muffled sounds made by Sophia.
Oh shoot, Sof...
Gabrielle remembered a few seconds after opening her eyes, before she could do any of this. Indeed her sister was home, as she had claimed the right to be a non-churchgoer too the day she learned Gabrielle was.
"Why do we go to church anyway? It's boring," had she said.
"You just answered your own question," the mother had replied, old enough to remember it was almost a line from
The Simpsons
, and also old enough to know Sophia was too young to get it.
Anyway, the parents had admitted that their two girls were old enough to go their own way and now the Sunday morning morning wood shrank before Gabrielle's eyes.
She caught me masturbating just after watching that film so next time we're watching a film again she'll think about me masturbating again and she'll be grossed out she'll think about it wherever she looks, the couch, the blanket, the popcorn, her phone, the movies, she'll blame the movies and their bad influence, she'll blame herself she'll think she's a bad influence, that maybe that's why I grew a penis it's because she let me watch
Fight Club
when I was twelve and it messed me up and next time we watch something it will be one long awkward silence and then she won't watch movies with me anymore and
on and on went the paranoid string of logic, until Gabrielle had gone completely soft and sat up in her bed and her pelvic floor ejected some leftover cum from last night out of her shaft.
And as she would find out, for someone like her it resulted in her shorts looking like she peed herself. A huge spot which already was seeping to her shirt--
"No, no, nooo..."
--and while in better circumstances she would have welcomed the quantity with pride, all she could do was roll up her shirt and pinch the wet, cold, heavy fabric off her skin.
She broke down and started weeping.
The bizarre treasure of delicious joys that was given to her a year ago was laden with burdens and duds. Growing a penis practically overnight meant she would never have real privacy in her life. It was nothing like regular visits to a gynecologist. She was to be watched over and checked, her sexuality and lack thereof permanently exposed to her family, whether she and they liked it or not. Even after she would leave home. As long as they would worry. And they always would, they loved her. And Gabrielle hated it. No one would want this kind of attention. She even hated the well-meaning support. All she wanted was normality within her abnormality. Men don't have penis-related conversations with their parents. They don't walk around the house pitching a tent freely because everybody pretends it's a condition. They don't put a pair of pants that screams
I was horny last night
in the laundry basket and get away with only a sympathetic smile (tainted with dread) from mom.
Men, boys, they hide, they discover by themselves. They often feel alone, sometimes monstrous even, but the bizarre treasure is their own in the end, so they could then share it with someone. Someone they choose.
Gabrielle would never have that. Instead she took her shorts off.
Tears added a little more salt on it.
She put them under her bed to let them dry off.
*****
Adding wetting her clothes to her list of life problems wasn't what she really cared about. Gabrielle was used to the incessant worrying and all the little tricks to keep her condition to herself. At the moment she was scared about last night, when her sexuality had been exposed, like an open chest. It had sprayed so much light it exposed Sophia's own sexuality. What they both saw last night was that they were once and for all adults. No more stunting it. No more postponing it. Sexual adults wanting more from sex than just swooning in front of a TV screen. It could mean the end of movie night and
that
was the scary part. Gabrielle didn't want to lose this last precious moment with her sister. Sophia had less and less time to dedicate to her, it seemed. Even if getting her own place was a topic that had still yet to turn up, she was more and more either at work, giving her all coaching the college's swim team, or she was locked in her room all day.
She was probably in there right now, doing whatever that required such isolation and concentration, haunted by the vision of her little sister firehosing slime around with her giant cock.
Gabrielle facepalmed at the thought.
She always went for the worst-case scenario, easily forgetting that in reality Sophia always had a sort of subtlety with the penile situation, defusing it with raunchy humor, always bringing a smile out of her, out of them both. She simply knew banter was the sincerest form of love. But everybody had limits and last night they were pulverized by a flow of bodily fluids.
In a startling leap full of aggravation, Gabrielle cleared these thoughts away and stood out of bed. She was supposed to have lunch with Lily today.
Like a bottomless ninja, she opened the door just enough to have a tactical peering of the hallway and, once cleared, she dashed to the bathroom very stealthily.
This door locked, she trudged about, taking her top off, feeling no enjoyment in her nudity, snubbing the full-length mirror and the tub and stepped into the small shower stall where the safety of the walls had never failed to still any anxiety surrounding her mind.
Under the steamy hot water, she tried to wash away the unwellness, the shame, the anger, anything she could find. She only discovered that dried cum was a very persistent substance and needed a good scrubbing to get it off her chest, chin and crotch. In fact it was like water was
reactivating
it, turned the thin layer of crust back to liquid state. And furthermore, hot water made it kind of cook. Like...egg white? It was thickening and whitening into small beads which stuck to her skin and her pubes.
Omelette du sperme.
There, first smile of the day. Followed by a chuckle when Gabrielle realized she was taking her morning shower with a flaccid penis for the first time.
These things were so unpredictable. So complicated. Yet again men would probably think the same of vaginas. But she'd give that to them: a dick was a lot like life. It's often hard but never boring. At least her vagina had some cyclicality. And it's less...in your face, for lack of a better word. She smiled again.
Beneath this shriveled worm she hated to love, she also noticed her testicles were bigger than usual. And her heart started to beat a little faster because it knew the reason why: there was semen in there. There for good.
Gabrielle cupped them resentfully. Sunlight passed on the big mirror across the room, flashing through the frosted glass door... But she knew how it felt being horny and anxious at the same time. She knew it all too well. So she let go of the heavy sack and began washing her hair.
Eyes closed, her heart could slow down. Lots of hair to take care of.
Conditioner today.
Sophia this morning.
A talk.
The
