Frank And His Little Secret

The first day of Summer...

I remember that day very clearly. It was the day after I had graduated from high school, and I could not have been any happier to not have to go to that hell-hole any more. I had never been crazy about the school to begin with, and the week I had to endure between my Senior Prom and the last day of school was sheer torture.

Everybody was laughing at me during those last few days, or at least that was the way it seemed to me. I felt like everybody either knew what happened or was being told the story when I saw them grouped together.

The embarrassment was a result of what happened at the Prom, or should I say after the Prom. I had managed to secure a date at the last minute, and even though I didn't really like the girl much, at least it was a date.

The Prom itself wasn't bad, and as I waited for Lisa, my chubby date who had acne and wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer either, to get out of the bathroom, one of my classmates stopped on his way out the door to wish me luck.

"She puts out, Cocktail," Rick Peters informed me while his date rolled her eyes in disgust. "Split her in two, big guy."

Cocktail is a nickname that I was blessed with when high school started, and I'll explain that in a bit. So I leave with Lisa, and we go to the place where a lot of people go to make out. Since this was just about my first date, I only knew about it from hearing others talk.

Lisa apparently knew, because she was climbing in the back seat even before the car had stopped. My heart my racing as I joined her, happy that I had thought to buy condoms because it was looking good for me.

We necked up a storm, and in a few minutes I'm squeezing Lisa's tit like a bike horn. Only one other boob had been in my hand up till then, and while it wasn't a great tit, kinda small for a big girl, I was in heaven.

It was then that I felt Lisa's hand groping my crotch, and then pulling down my zipper. This was a moment I had waited 18 years for, and I was filled with a combination of excitement and dread when Lisa's pudgy hand reached into my briefs and grabbed my erection.

We were kissing at the time, with our tongues dueling, so Lisa couldn't laugh right then and there. She snorted though, and when I opened my eyes hers were open.

"Sorry," my date said, and then she started giggling and apologizing.

My cock deflated in her hand, and after a minute of her pulling to try to get it back to life, I told her to forget it. I took her home, and she said she had a good time. I did too, I lied, and after she went inside her house I drove down the street until I was crying so hard I couldn't see and had to pull over.

I suspect Lisa must have called everybody she knew by the end of the weekend. Maybe she didn't, and it was only my paranoia was just working overtime, but I doubt it.

My nickname - given to me by wise guys after seeing me in the showers back before I stopped taking gym - was Cocktail. As in Cocktail Frank. Get it? I have a small dick, and while I guess I knew that already, seeing all the other guys with their cocks swinging around reinforced my suspicions.

For whatever reason, they made you take a shower after gym, even though it was only a 45 minute class. After you deduct the time it took to dress and undress that didn't leave time to even break a sweat, but shower you must. The frigging gym teacher even stood there checking names off when you went in.

After that year I managed to get a doctor to write me an excuse to get me out of gym glass, so I didn't have to endure the humiliation of being seen naked with all my shortcomings exposed.

I'm 6' tall and weigh 170 pounds, and I wear size 13 shoes. So much for that theory about big feet indicating a big cock. Cocktail frank is a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. My dick is about the size of a hot dog. Barely more than four inches long when erect, which seems to be most of the time, and if thickness really is what counts, I lose there too.

So I graduated from high school and now as summer began I was looking forward to college, where at least I would have a fresh start as Frank Ballard, instead of Cocktail Frank, and you aren't required to let the world see you naked three times a week.

I was celebrating the start of my summer vacation in my bedroom, still wearing my pajamas even though it was almost noon. My pajama bottoms were around my ankles and I was peeking out through the blinds at the object of my desire, who was out in the backyard doing some gardening.

I was so close that when the woman stood up and wiped her brow with the back of her hand I could see the faint peach fuzz under her arm, and then when she knelt back down I could see most of her tits as she leaned forward and that action made the top of the scoop neck blouse drop down.

Her boobs aren't very big and they droop a little bit too, probably because she just turned 50 recently, but I think she's hot anyway. Her hair is medium brown with some grey sneaking in recently. She's been divorced for over 5 years and she never dates. I would know if she did, because I know Barbara Ballard very well. She's my mom.

So there I was looking down my mother blouse to see as much of her 34A's as I could, waiting for just the right moment to cum when she got up and went over to the picnic table to get something. While she was out of sight, I slowed down the motion of my thumb and index finger because I was ready to cum, and decided when she came back to her roses I was going to pop my load.

"Come on Mom," I muttered to myself while leaning against the wall, because I was dripping like a faucet, and it was then that I happened to glance over to the doorway.

"Shit!" I said as I tried to pull my pajamas up and cover myself in the process.

It's just the two of us at home since my asshole father left us, so with Mom out in the yard I hadn't bothered to close the door. Besides, the floorboards creak so much you can even hear Mack the cat walking, so how she managed to make it down the hall without me knowing escapes me. Guess I was too wrapped up in the act of jacking off to notice her approach.

What was worse was that she didn't just walk past the room, she was standing there, frozen in place, and she saw what I was doing. I know she saw my dick, and while at least she didn't laugh like Lisa had, the look on her face spoke volumes.

***

"Oh. Sorry," Mom said as I belatedly tried to cover up and turn away at the same time.

That was not a good idea, because if there was anyway to possibly make this nightmare worse, I managed it.

My grab at attempting to yank up the pajama bottoms bunched at my ankles failed, partly because my vision was blurred from the sweat that had been pouring down my face, and suddenly I was lurching forward.

Maybe I could have caught my fall if I had let go of my dick, but by the time I thought about it my forehead was already making solid contact with the side of my dresser.

I suppose it could have been worse if I knocked my teeth out instead, but at that moment I wished that the fall had killed me instead of knocking me for a loop and raising a sizable lump above my left eye.

The next thing I remember was Mom kneeling next to me on the floor, pressing a cold cloth to the golf ball-sized lump that was going to be a week-long reminder of my humiliating first day of summer.

"Are you okay, Frank? my mother was asking. "What day is it?"

"Ma," I whined. "I'm alright."

"Just sit there and relax for a minute," Mom said as she kept pressing the cloth on my head and keeping the back of my head against the side of the dresser where I had landed.

I did what I was told, and in a few seconds when my vision cleared and looked at Mom, whose eyes were elsewhere. I started to make a grab to cover what Mom was looking at, but what was the point?

"It's like a penis, only smaller," I quipped, and Mom blushed when I caught her staring at my now deflated dick.

Maybe it was nostalgic for her, because without a little hair above it, my dick probably didn't look all that much different than it did 18 years ago when she used to powder and diaper that area.

"Boys," Mom said, shaking her eyes and finally taking her eyes away from my peanut. "You boys always make so much of that sort of thing."

I winced when she spoke, because while she was trying to be nice, it was what she didn't say that I caught. She didn't say, "Frank, you're crazy. It isn't small," because even though I would have known it was bullshit, it was better than her admission that I was hung like a horse. A sea horse.

"Right," I said while struggling to my feet and letting Mom help me sit down on the bed.

"You know, one day you're going to laugh about this," Mom suggested.

"Wanna bet?"

"Maybe we should go to the Emergency Room," Mom said. "You might have a concussion."

I proceeded to rattle off every fact that I could think of about me; the time of day I was born, the various address and phone numbers we had growing up, and I guess that convinced her that at least mentally, I was sound.

"Okay then," Mom said. "You just relax the rest of the day then." Mom started to leave the room but stopped and looked at the window where she had caught me whacking away.

"Marci?"

"What?"

"Marci Fraser," Mom said, gesturing out the window towards next door. "I was just curious. But didn't she..."

"She got married last month and moved out," I said of our next door neighbor, a red-headed girl with a big ass.

"Then who?" Mom started to ask, glancing out the window, and then it struck her.

She was asking who the inspiration was for me becoming a wild-eyed pervert jerking off like a chimp, and I guess all of a sudden she figured it out.

"Oh Frank! You were looking at me? You think I'm hot? Oh honey, let's fuck!" would be the kind of thing that only a fiction writer could come up with.

My Mom's reaction was nothing like that. Instead she turned and looked at me, made a little gasp and then put her hand up to her collarbone.

"Yell if you need anything," she said as she scurried out the door, probably to spray herself with disinfectant and say the rosary a few thousand times while trying to figure out what Oprah would do.

"Sorry," I said as she left, and that seemed to fit just about everything that had happened.

***

"Frank honey? Are you okay?"

I had been sitting in front of the computer in my room, and I must have been daydreaming because the screen was blank.

"Fine Mom."

"I've been thinking," Mom said, and when she said that I cringed and braced myself for the worst.

"Is that right, Mom?"

"Yes honey. About your little - uh - problem," Mom said nervously, and I managed to get in a moan before she continued. "I've looked on the Internet and there seems to be a number of things that you can do to help make - help increase..."

"Make my cock bigger?" I said bluntly. "First of all, it's bullshit. All of it. There is no magic pill or device to increase the size of a penis."

"But how can they sell all of this?"

"The same way they sell things to make boobs bigger," I explained. "Thieves."

"Oh. I remember those," Mom said. "As a matter-of-fact when I was in high school I sent for a bottle of cream that was supposed to increase your bust, and that obviously didn't work."

The thought of my Mom rubbing cream on her little titties excited me a great deal, but I explained that boobs aren't like a penis, because while guys like boobs of all sizes, size counts when it comes to the cock.

"Well I never - I mean - I didn't have all that much experience with a lot of men, but that sort of thing didn't bother me. I suspect it matters a lot more to boys than it does girls."

"Was Dad built like me?" I asked, and as Mom hemmed and hawed I repeated the question.

"Well no, not really, but..."

"Were any of the men you've been with have dicks as small as mine?" I asked, wondering how many cocks Mom had dealt with over the years.

"I never went and measured them," Mom said, clearly flustered, but I was way more upset than she was. "Girls don't care..."

"That answers my question," I replied, and when Mom started to protest I cut her off again.

"Mom! The girl I took to the Prom laughed at me. She took my dick out and couldn't stop laughing!" I practically screamed. "Don't tell me that girls don't..."

That was the end for me, because I lost it, and even though Mom had annoyed and infuriated me with what she was saying, I was glad to be able to fall into her arms and let out a lifetime of frustration. I drenched her shoulder with tears, and when I was all cried out she apologized.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you. I didn't know about that girl - how dare she? She was no prize. She'll never find a guy half as nice as you are," Mom said. "I won't go on with this except to say that I know it matters to you, but it really isn't that important. Not as important as the things that really make a man a man."

"Maybe," I mumbled.

"Don't know why I am saying this, but I was with four guys before I met your father, and the boy who was the best in bed - best by far - wasn't built very much different than you," Mom said. "I swear."

"Why did you break up with him?"

"He broke up with me," Mom said, and then added something that made us both laugh. "Maybe my boobs weren't big enough."

"He lost out then."

"Right!" Mom said with a smile. "So I met your father, who was hung like a horse but couldn't keep the thing in his pants."

That was a bit of an eye-opener, both the fact that my old man had a big one and the part about him screwing around on Mom. I was too young at the time to know the details of them splitting up, but since I rarely saw him, that absence didn't hurt as much anymore.

"Fuck him."

"Frank..."

"Worthless piece of shit and sorry excuse for a father and a man," I spat out. "Good thing I rarely see him."

"Well please don't mention any of this when you do get together," Mom said. "He is your father."

"I won't, but he was an idiot to screw around on somebody as pretty and nice as you," I said, and that made Mom smile, and we hugged again before she left the room.

As we embraced I wished that I was the old man, big dick or not, because the chances of me finding a woman like that were slim and none.

...

A couple of weeks passed, and college was right around the corner. I tried to look at it as a chance to make new friends and lose old nicknames, but the fact was that I was thinking that I'd better do really well in school and get a great job, because then maybe I'd find a girl who wanted a nice house so bad she'd overlook a tiny pecker on her husband.

One day, I got home and saw a box on my bed. I didn't remember ordering anything, and there was a handwritten note attached in my Mom's writing.

Frank honey, Who knows? Nothing ventured? Love, Mom

I opened the cardboard container, and after I dug the box out of the foam pellets I shook my head and had to laugh.

The box had a picture of a guy that looked like a Neanderthal with a cock that hung down to his knees, and he was holding in his hand what he claimed to be the secret behind his enormous organ.

The Humunga Tron 3000.

My mother had bought me a penis pump. A big plastic tube with a rubber sleeve on the bottom, and a little hose with a bulb attached. The idea was that you put your dick inside the rubber sleeve and squeezed the bulb. This would increase the size of your dick, according to the manufacturer.

Correct to a point. The suction would help you get hard, and might make you a little bit bigger for a time, but that was it. Once the vacuum seal was broken, you were back to being you, whatever that was. If you did it long enough it would probably make you cum, or so I had heard, but it wasn't going to change anything.

I put it back in the box and put it away, because I had no plans on using it, although I supposed that I might give it a try some night if I was bored, but that was it.

It was fun to watch Mom waiting for me to run up to her and tell about how great it worked. The suspense was killing her that night at dinner, and she was even more spastic the next day, figuring that I had to have used it late last night after dinner.

I said nothing, and went to my room to study on the computer. The object of my study were some trailers for the Lesbian Seductions movies, and I was intensely watching a woman my mother's age trying to take a girl's anal temperature with her tongue when I saw Mom standing in the doorway.

"Honey, did you see the box I left on your bed yesterday?" she asked, as if I could have missed it.

"A box?" I said, minimizing the lesbians on my screen while I pretended to be thinking. "Oh yes! The box."

"Well?" Mom said, well aware that I was screwing around with her but remaining as calm as she could.

"Well what?"

"How did it work?"

"Didn't use it."

"Frank," Mom whined.

"Look Mom, I love you so much, but you wasted your money. Those things don't work. trust me."

"Did you see the man on the box?" Mom said.

"He was either born that way or it was a photo-shopped picture," I said, explaining that what she had spent her money on it was a vacuum device, and while it might make you hard and even make you orgasm, it had no effect in the long run.

"And trust me, I know," I ended. "If they actually worked, I would have bought a few of them and would be tripping on my dick about now."

"Still, it would have been nice if you just tried it at least once. You never know, Frank," Mom said, trying to give me a pep talk. "It might actually work."

"You want to find out if it works?" I said, having been prepared for this. "You try it."

"Me? How can I try it?"

"You put it on me, and we'll see if it works."

"That's crazy Frank," Mom scoffed. "That's something that's private."

"Well, I'm not going to put the thing on," I assured her. "Not now, not ever."

Mom left the doorway, and I resumed looking at some older lesbian devouring the pussy of a girl about my age, hoping to have heard the last of this, although the banter had been fun.

"Frank?" It was Mom in the doorway again, and when I looked up she said, "Alright. I'll help you do it."

"Help me?" I said, stunned at what I was hearing.

"I'll do it for you," Mom said. "I hate to just throw the money away when it actually might work. It could, you know? It seems to make sense, and there was a doctor on the ad that claimed it did wonders for him."

"Mom, I love you so much, but really, it won't work."

"Do you want me to do it or not, Frank?"

I was being backed into a corner, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Mom was just calling my bluff. She was trying to get me to say that if she left me alone I would use it just to shut her up, so I decided to call her bluff of my bluff.

"Fine," I said, getting up and retrieving the box from the hiding place way in the back of my closet, because the thought of a friend stopping by and seeing that would have been the final straw.

I put the box on the bed and peeled my t-shirt up over my head before undoing my belt, waiting for Mom to run back down the hall, but she stayed in place so I dropped my slacks down.

After I bent down and took my slacks from around my ankles, when I straightened up I knew Mom would not be there in the doorway, but she was, and when she did start to move she only did so to close the bedroom door behind her and lock it.

I stood there, fiddling with the elastic of my briefs, not believing that Mom was not only still there, but was going over to close the blinds.

We lived alone, so this locking of the door and blocking the view from the window was silly, but there she was doing it and then waiting for me to drop my briefs, although she was looking over my shoulder and not down as I did.