The Long and the Short of It

By MichaelD38

This story is a satire, which I wrote as a reply to a request for "stories of hung men with women." The response was positive enough to convince me to repost it.

All the usual disclaimers apply. If you're too young, or you live in Missouri or some other repressive jurisdiction, get lost. Otherwise, read on.

THE LONG AND THE SHORT OF IT

Bart Ramsey often liked to think to himself, "Be careful what you wish for." He had a good reason to feel that way.

Bart's existence was distressingly normal until he was about sixteen. That was when his penis began to take over his life.

That year, Bart went out for the track team. After the meets, he often had to shower with some of the other team members. In the shower, he discovered to his distress that his penis was a good deal smaller than those of his classmates. Increasingly mortified by his modest endowment, he began laying awake at night praying for some increase in his penis size.

Much to his surprise, his prayers were answered. Bit by bit, he began to grow. He was almost sure it was his imagination until he thought to measure himself. He discovered that he was now a respectable six inches, a noticeable increase over the five and half inches he had measured at the start of the school year.

However, things didn't stop there. A few months later, he realized that he had continued growing. His six inches were now out to at least six and a half, almost seven if he really stretched himself.

Flush with this discovery, he stopped trying to cover himself up in the locker room, instead walking around naked as often as he could get away with. The other track team members soon began remarking on his equipment, and being only sixteen, it went straight to his head.

Bart had begun the school year a virgin, but that state came to an end in April. He was sitting in the school courtyard during lunch when Susan Lashmont, who went by the nickname of "Slash," came up and sat down next to him. She was in his class, but he hadn't said more than ten words to her-if that-since junior high. She ran with the punk/gothic crowd, dressing in ripped black clothes, dyed black hair, and far too much makeup.

"Hey, Bart."

"Hi, Susan." He noticed that her fingernails were painted a disgusting brownish mauve. He hoped she hadn't come over here to hassle him.

"So, um, you doing anything this weekend?"

"Uh, not really."

"I was thinking we could go out or something."

Had space aliens landed in the courtyard, he could not have been more surprised. Obviously, this was some kind of joke.

"I don't know."

"Come on, we could have some fun."

She leaned over toward him, causing the oversized black T-shirt she had on to fall open. Bart glanced down the neck of it and-oh shit-she wasn't wearing a bra! He hadn't gotten a good look at her breasts, but her lack of undergarments was obvious.

He gulped.

"Uh, okay. I guess so."

"Cool. Wanna meet at the mall. Say around nine?"

"Okay."

Bart went to the mall that Friday night, fully expecting to be stood up, but Susan had shown up on schedule, dressed in a rather frightening black-on-black ensemble. She dragged him inside, where they ate and played video games for about an hour, before she suggested going someplace else.

When they drove off in his car, she directed him to a deserted spot on a hill overlooking the town. She had him pull off the road, which he did, heart pounding in his chest, suspecting what she had in mind.

"So, um, you're on the track team, huh?"

"Yeah."

"My friend Jake is on the team. You know him?"

"Yeah. He's a long jumper."

"Well . . . I wouldn't call him 'long,' but he's a jumper, I guess. Unlike you."

She grinned.

"What do you mean?"

"Jack was telling me some stories about you. He said you've got quite a dick."

Bart was unable to formulate a coherent response to that.

"Can I see it?"

"Uh, my . . ."

"Your dick. Can I see it? If it's as big as Jake says, you know?"

Not sure what was going on, but realizing this might lead to something more interesting, he unzipped his pants and pulled out his penis.

"Oh, wow. Jake wasn't kidding. Does it get bigger?"

"Uh, yeah, I mean if . . ."

"If you get hard. Right. Want me to do it?"

Susan slide over and began fondling him. He lay back in the seat, moaning. In about a minute, she had him fully erect.

"Oh, Jesus, you're fucking huge."

By this time, Bart had grown out to a solid seven and a half inches, and was now about as thick as a smoked sausage. Susan continued roughly stroking him, but now leaned in and began kissing him.

Bart was not totally inexperienced, but he had never made out with a girl who was jacking him off at the same time. He groped inexpertly at her breasts- once again unrestrained by undergarments-and she let him shove his hands up under her blouse to fondle her. He discovered to his shock that her nipples were pierced with thick silver rings.

She bit at his ear.

"Are you going to come?"

"Uh."

"Don't come. Don't come yet."

She threw her legs over his waist, pulling up her skirt. He ran his hands up her thighs, realizing that not only was she not wearing panties, but her pubic hair was shaved-and she had another big ring through her clit.

She reached under her, guiding his fat cock into her. She groaned, gasping and clawing at him as he filled her up. He went goggled-eyed, feeling her wetness settling around him.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, you're big."

Bart had little to do. Susan immediately began fucking him for all she was worth, riding him like a wild bronco. She came once, twice, violently thrashing in his lap, before he shot off inside her. She continued thrusting at him, and his hard-on began reawakening a minute later. The shocks on Bart's ten-year old Camaro began to squeak as Susan rode him mercilessly, finally screaming in orgasm and drawing blood from his shoulders when he came into her a second time.

For about another year, Bart had a great deal of fun. As word of his endowments got around, the friskier girls in his school sought him out as Susan had done, and he serviced them all indiscriminately.

Unfortunately, his escapade began to come to an end his senior year. His penis had not stopped growing, and by the last semester, he was pushing a thick nine inches. His partners began complaining about it, and slowly they stopped chasing him. Then they stopped even being willing to see him. Being filled up was apparently one thing; being split apart was something else entirely.

When Bart went off to college, he left all of this behind. Not trusting the school gossip, he refrained from any communal showering.

A few months into the Spring semester, he got friendly with one of the girls in his Freshman Comp class. They went out on a few dates, got progressively involved, and just before Halloween, she agreed to sleep with him.

Bart was getting gun-shy by this point, and that night, he finally began to see what he had really been cursed with.

His girlfriend, whose name was Shelly, slipped a hand down his pants and froze.

"Oh, my God."

He felt her feeling the dimensions of his erection.

"Bart, Jesus. What is this?"

"Uh . . ."

She sat up, pushing down his shorts. Her eyes grew so large he thought they were about to pop out.

"Bart, um, I want to do this, but . . . I don't know."

"Can we try it?"

She sighed.

"I guess so."

They recoupled, and after some extended oral sex, Shelly seemed ready. Very gingerly, Bart attempted to enter her. He got the head in, feeling the tightness he had gotten used to. Shelley tensed up, and when he got the first inch or so in, she pushed him out.

"I'm sorry. It hurts."

They tried a few more times, but eventually gave up. Shelley apologized profusely, and finally gave him a blow job.

Things did not improve with time. Shelly was simply unable to have sex with him without feeling like she was being impaled. The issue finally drove them apart after Thanksgiving.

By New Years, Bart was getting worried. He was now close to ten inches erect, and a good six inches completely flaccid. In January, he went through the same routine he had gone through with Shelly with another girl. At that point, he gave up in despair.

By his third year, Bart finally went to the campus doctor to see what was going on. He was now pushing thirteen inches long, and was nearly eight inches in circumference. He hadn't gotten laid since high school-a few blow jobs and hand jobs were about all he could get now.

The doctor, alarmed at his story, ran a series of tests. The results prompted more tests, and another examination. Finally, after two weeks, the doctor called Bart back to his office.

"Bart, I've been talking to some specialists, and we've determined what is going on. It appears that you have an extremely rare condition known as penile-specific gigantism. It is a genetic disorder characterized by the lack of a genetic 'off-switch.' Normally, your body will grow to a certain size depending on the information contained in your genes. After that point, more growth hormones will just cause deformation. But in your case, your chromosomes lack the gene that would normally stop your penis from growing."

"So what does that mean? Can you cure it?"

"No, Bart, I'm sorry, but there is nothing we can do. Short of amputation, which I would assume you're not interested in. I'm afraid you're likely to just keep getting bigger."

Desperate for something to do, Bart dropped out of college and moved to Los Angeles. He showed up at the offices of Vivid Video one day and explained his dilemma. After displaying his enormous wang, he was soon put to work as an adult film star.

Bart became an immediate sensation. In private, the actresses he worked with bitched endlessly about his equipment, but in front of the camera, they behaved like the insatiable sluts they were supposed to be.

Unfortunately, like his experiences in high school, Bart's adult film career eventually came to an end. One by one, Vivid's actresses began refusing to work with him. The end finally came when he accidentally lacerated one girl's vagina during a particularly enthusiastic scene. The aftermath of that bloody, screaming incident had Bart out on the street. He was now close to fifteen inches long and resembling a small horse.

As the years went on, Bart drifted from one town to another, despairing of ever living a normal life. He laughed when heard people discussing John Holmes or one of the other well-endowed film stars. By now, Bart made Holmes's equipment look like a Vienna sausage. Even hookers refused to service him beyond a hand job. Eventually, Bart had to begin using both hands just to masturbate.

With no option left to him, Bart went to work on a cattle ranch. The cattle, at least, didn't seem to mind his gargantuan schlong. He was, no lie, beginning to resemble a salami. He had difficulty finding pants that fit, and had to start buying his jeans several sizes too large.

Erections became dangerous. Oftentimes, he would get lightheaded when he dong awoke, and had to sit down lest he faint as all his blood rushed to his groin. In his second year at the ranch, he had to stop driving, lest he get an inconvenient hard-on, pass out, and wreck his car.

Bart began noticing that some of the younger, smaller cattle would move away from him when he approached. He was getting so large that even the cows didn't like it. One day, even they would refuse to service him. When that day came, he wasn't sure what he would do.

Prunella Irons was on her fourth husband, and getting desperate. Something had happened to her after the birth of her first child, something that had damaged the muscles in her vagina. For whatever reason, she never returned to her previous tight self. Her first husband finally left her, complaining that sex with her was like fucking a bowl of tapioca pudding. Her second husband, and her third, abandoned her for the same reason. She had gone into the country and taken a job as a supermarket clerk, hoping to find a man who wouldn't care.

There she had found a rancher by the name of Billy-Bob Irons. Billy-Bob had shown no interest in sex until their wedding night, when he had requested a blow job, then gone to sleep. She soon discovered that Billy-Bob indeed could not care less about the state of her pussy, simply because he had no interest in sex. An occasional blow job was all he apparently needed.

Prunella was soon at the end of her rope. She was only thirty and still in decent shape, and the prospect of a lifetime without sex was enough to make her contemplate suicide. She thought about seducing one of the ranchhands, but could not stand yet another rejection because of her slack vagina.

Prunella got up early one morning to feed the cattle. As she approached, she heard one of the cows bellowing in discomfort. She wondered if they were really that hungry, but something else seemed to be going on.

When she entered the barn, she pulled up short in horror. Bart Ramsey, one of their ranchhands, was standing behind a cow that was shut up in a narrow stall. Bart's pants were down, and it was obvious what he was doing. Whatever Bart was getting out of it, it was clear the cow wasn't enjoying it, as its agonized bellows indicated.

"Bart!" she shrieked. "What are you doing?"

Bart leapt back in surprise, grabbing at his pants. Prunella was about to flee the barn in shock when she got a good look at Bart's penis.

Prunella nearly fainted in surprise. It was impossible. Bart was bigger than the bull they used to breed the cattle. He had to be close to eighteen inches long, and at least three inches thick. He was almost the size of the baby she had delivered all those years ago.

Bart struggled to get his pants on, beet red in embarrassment.

"I'm-I'm sorry Mrs. Irons. I don't know what I was doing."

He tried to slip past her out of the barn, but she stopped him.

"Bart, wait."

He stopped, but couldn't look at her.

"There's something you should know. About me."

"What?"

"I'm not like other women. There's something wrong with me . . . with my vagina. It's much larger than it should be."

Bart looked up at her in surprise.

"What . . . what are you saying?"

"I'm saying . . . no normal man can come close to filling me. My first three husbands all left because I was too loose for them. But you . . . I think you could do it."

Bart couldn't believe what he was hearing. Even the cows were becoming too tight for him. How could any human woman possibly take his titanic johnson?

Prunella pushed him back into the barn, closing the door behind her.

"Bart, please. I'm begging you."

"Uh . . ."

He let go of his pants, letting them drop back to his ankles. He looked down at his mammoth organ. Was she serious?

He looked up to see that she was. Prunella had already pulled off her blouse, exposing her pretty breasts. Before he could say anything else, she was naked. She took his hand and pulled him down to the straw on the barn floor.

"Please, Bart. I need you. I need what only you can give me. Even Billy- Bob won't make love to me."

Bart looked down between her legs, seeing immediately what she meant. Her vaginal lips were large and drooping, and he could see that the entrance to her vagina was much larger than any he had ever seen.

She pulled him between her thighs, reaching down to guide him in. He pushed forward tentatively, expecting her to cry out in pain, but she didn't. She stretched open to accommodate him. She was tight, but nothing like he had felt before, not even as tight as the cows were getting. Bit by bit, she swallowed his brobdingagian girth into her body.

Prunella gasped as Bart filled her. Finally, after years of frustration, she had found what she needed. She pushed herself down on him, impaling herself on his throbbing meat.

"Oh, yes. Oh, God. Oh, fuck me, Bart! Fuck me!"

Realizing that she was capable of taking his entire, stupendous manhood into her, Bart released the brakes, gasping at the knowledge that he could once again have sex like a normal human being. He rode her like a wild horse, her screams of pleasure music to his ears. She thrashed under him, bursting into one orgasm after another. Far too soon, his arousal flamed into fulfillment, and he filled her with spurt after spurt of thick, gooey jism. Yet all the years of denial had not yet been expiated, and his erection scarcely subsided. He redoubled his efforts, thrusting madly into her, listening to her shrieks of ecstasy at, at last, being well-used.

Their screams of pleasure did not go unnoticed. Billy-Bob was eating breakfast in the kitchen when the sounds of Prunella and Bart's lovemaking reached his ears. Puzzled, he followed the noises out to the barn. By the time he reached the door, he had an idea of what was going on. He peeked through a crack in the doorframe, seeing Bart plumbing his wife with his elephantine member. Prunella and Bart were lost in each other, oblivious to their discovery.

Outraged at this betrayal, Billy-Bob ran to the house to fetch his shotgun. He returned to the barn just as Prunella shrieked in the rapture of yet another orgasm. Billy-Bob leveled the shotgun and let go with both barrels. Bart and Prunella died instantly, never knowing what hit them.

They died happy, I suppose, but died nonetheless. As Bart liked to say, be careful what you wish for.

You may well get it.