The usual warnings: this is pornography, written specifically for private masturbation. Do not read if it might offend. This particular story is longer than I am used to writing, and will therefore be published in five parts rather than in one hit. That said, it remains in essence a simple story leading to a single event. If you take the time to read on, many thanks.
jsmith381@hotmail.com
Rory's Bat
PROLOGUE
Every guy's got his "biggest-cock" story, and I guess this one is mine. I've been with enough guys now to know that cocks are only as much use as the guy they're attached to; but we all know - however much we recite the "size doesn't matter" mantra - that there's a buzz from finding that your partner is packing serious meat, and even if he's rubbish at using it, there's still the thrill of the visual turn-on.
Four times in nearly ten years of getting into other guys' boxers I've found what I'd call a seriously large cock. Most recently was Carl, a boyfriend for seven months who liked to 69 for hours and hours a night, but who wasn't really into fucking any which way. I met him at university, both of us aged 23; neither of us had had a serious long-term partner before, and we got very close very quickly as night after night we indulged in sucking each other off. Carl had a long, large, beautiful penis to compliment his excellent body and thoughtful nature. It only turned sour when I began to hint that I wanted more from him than a blowjob. I think now he might have been a bit in denial about being gay - making fucking an unfortunate no-go area for him - but, even so, the memory of Carl's rod is a happy, hard one. Carl was philosophical about his endowment, and said he would be just as happy with a cock half his size as long as he could keep on cumming and keep on enjoying it. I'd like to meet up again with Carl now: if he's got into fucking yet, he'd be one hell of a catch.
Before that was Mike, a Danish guy I met on holiday in Spain. He flashed me his half-hard shaft in a noisy nightclub toilet, and I just followed him, drooling, all the way back to his hotel room. I didn't leave that room for the following two days, during which time we tried again and again to get his hefty Scandinavian club up my absurdly tight British hole. About the end of the first day, off my head on vodka and poppers, he eventually got all the way in and we fucked like bulls for a couple of hours. Mike wasn't quite as long as Carl, but he was a deal thicker, and once I'd got him all in I didn't let go for another 24 hours, so it wasn't till the following night that we emerged, pale and ravenously hungry, into the evening air. Mike said he'd look me up in London, but he never did and I didn't really mind - I watched him that night cruising a couple of other guys, and then he left with one of them, a thin blond guy. I wonder if he managed to take all Mike's viking dick like I had.
Much earlier than either Carl or Mike there was a fleeting encounter with a dick just as large as either of theirs, although I capitalised on it far less well. One afternoon when I was an innocent brat of just 16, I was loitering round a public loo in a park in London, sort of hoping something might happen, and sort of hoping it wouldn't so I could just get off on hanging out in a seedy masculine environment. It certainly wasn't my first time cruising public lavatories, but I'd not done much other than let other guys suck me off. I generally tried to choose nice looking young guys and not old ones, but sometimes I just got too horny to care and just let any guy suck me off so I could go home feeling that the day hadn't been wasted. On the day in question, I saw a really smart looking young guy - mid-20s, wearing a suit and with a cool, neat haircut - who smiled sort of embarrassedly at me when I was lying on the grass outside. I followed him in. We were the only two guys in the there at the time, and he had gone straight to a cubicle, rather than faking a piss at a urinal, and was just standing with the door open waiting for me to join him. Within seconds he had bolted the door and had me standing in front of him as he sat on the bog. He pushed my jeans and boxers down to my knees and gave me without doubt the best blowjob I had had at that time. He kept pawing at his own dick but never got it out, and I was so into what his mouth was doing I didn't really care. It didn't take long (I was, after all, just 16) till I was shooting a large load into this guy's throat, which he took hungrily and with obvious enjoyment. It was only as he released my sloppy dick and smiled at me, that he unzipped and pulled out his own hardon, wanking fast and hard. I was rebuckling my jeans, and he was sitting down with his cockhead poking out of his lap, which was just a confusion of suit-trousers and shirt bottom, so I didn't really see his dick at all, but then he stood up to avoid cumming on his suit, letting his trousers fall to his ankles. As he leaned against me so he could drop his load on the floor, I saw that he had no underwear on. I also saw that his cock was fucking massive. Thrilled, and also still hard myself, I reached out and took hold of it. He smiled again and let me wank him off, very badly. I couldn't get my hand round the shaft, and my own instinctive stroke length was only about half what was required. Still, he didn't complain, and even though I was making a right mess of my handjob, he kept whispering encouragement at me, tugging on his balls and fingering his ass a bit. I was just completely transfixed by his cock. It was incredible to hold; not like a cock at all, but like some piece of human marble, impossibly hard, veiny, hot and hairy, with a large red plum appearing out of an acre of slack foreskin with every stroke I made. I couldn't begin to guess at his size, but the captivating, aggressive masculinity of this cock on such an inoffensive, smartly-dressed, polite young man is something I have never forgotten. I was so into it I almost didn't hear him when he whispered, "stand out of the way" just before he climaxed. I moved to his side and he took control of his own meat for the final few seconds. His eyes closed and his body quivered as I watched the fat cockhead fire out a volley up against the back of the cubicle door, then a great deal more spunk spurted lazily onto the filthy floor. He calmly wiped that beast with his hanky and then it was swallowed up in the cavernous depths of his suit trousers. He kissed me on the cheek as he went past me; obviously I never saw him again, although I have wanked about that occasion probably at least one million times since.
The fourth overlarge dick was one that I made even less progress with than the guy in the park loo, and is even further back in my past. In fact to this day I still wonder if I imagined it all. I was fourteen, wanking upwards of five times a day and trying to take in the likelihood that I was gay. In the summer holidays I had even more hours available each day to wank in, and I was continuously looking for new locations. After a while I started to walk the dog through the woods at the back of our house early each evening; this provided a handy half-hour each day in privacy where at least it wasn't as obvious what I was doing as spending hours locked in the bathroom or skulking in bed. Every evening I would let my mind run wild for the first ten minutes of the walk, stop at the same fallen tree each day to tie up the dog and yank out my hardon, then hastily jerk for about two or three minutes, spattering my boyjuice over the leaves on the ground. Then I would carry on walking the dog for another half hour or so. Sometimes I wanked a second time at the same place on the way back. But one day when I approached the tree, already unzipping in preparation to free my fiercely hard boydick, there was someone sitting at precisely my spot. He was about 50, with a dog of his own tied up as I usually tied mine, and he was also wanking. A great fat tower of a dick rose out of his crotch, and he leered at me something like "wanna take a look at a real cock, boy?" I stared for a few long seconds at this obscene vision, then walked away very quickly. I never went back, but, some days I wanted to.
There's an interesting issue here. Most guys determine whether a cock is large or not by comparing it to all the other cocks he knows "in the flesh" (not including porn films and internet jack-off fodder) so, for example, what I consider to be a seriously large cock may well be considered either absolutely massive or fairly average by someone else, depending on his experience. Even so, while a few times in my life (listed above) I've found a number of cocks which I personally rate as impressive, there is a further, fifth cock in my past, which nobody in the world could dispute as being anything other than enormous. And the biggest thing about this cock is the irony of where I found it: it wasn't on the internet or in some expensive French porn flick; nor was it filling the boxers of some perfect catwalk model or the jock strap of the fittest sportsman fantasy can muster. It wasn't even throbbing inside the jeans of the dream one-night stand.
It was in fact lurking in the life of my fellow clubber, Rory.
PART ONE
I knew Rory from ages back, but we weren't friends in any particular way. We sort of knew each other age seven and eight, then drifted apart as boys do and went to different schools at eleven. An unexpected meeting at fifteen gave us another chance at friendship, but it wasn't properly taken until we were eighteen, when we both found ourselves working for a garden centre in the summer holidays. It was long, hot, boring work, and we pissed the time away talking while we worked, and smoking and laughing in our breaks. A couple of weeks into this job we started to socialise together, going out to watch sport on TV at the pub nearby, often having far too much to drink in the process. One such time Rory suggested going onto a club, of which there were many to choose from in the area. Emboldened by the drink, I told Rory that my taste in clubs was probably rather different from his, and he asked what I meant. I named a locally well-known gay nightclub, to which I had been twice and had the time of my life both times. Rory smiled enigmatically and asked, "what makes you think I wouldn't be into that?"
From there it was easy to let the rest of the barriers fall, even though before that comment I had sensed no barriers on either side. We drank up and went on to the club, our conversation revealing more about each of us as the taxi journey progressed. Once inside we lost track of each other fairly quickly. I saw him drinking with a good-looking guy at one of the bars, but I was getting busy on the dance floor and didn't follow what happened to him after that. I pulled a tall slim guy with brown hair and a red shirt, called Richard, and when he invited me back to his place for the night, I rang Rory's mobile and left a message saying I was off. I didn't catch up with Rory till the next day at work, which was Saturday.
I'd shagged most of the night with the guy Richard, who had turned out to have a wonderful flat but was far more drunk than me and after an initial very quick fuck he fell asleep. He surprised me by waking an hour or so later, when his aggressive top persona had disappeared, and in fact he turned out to be more versatile leaning towards bottom (exactly like me) so we had a nice few hours 69ing, wanking and snogging. I was awake early because I had to go to the bloody garden centre again and I jumped into Richard's luxurious shower to wash away the night of sleepless sex. When I was washing my hair I heard the door open behind me and within seconds a firm erection was knocking at my back door. It seemed that Richard had swung back into aggressive top mode. Without a word he fucked me firm and fast against his marble shower walls for about five minutes before I felt him pull out and spunk over my ass. He kissed me sloppily and said "make sure you lock the door on your way out". When I went back into his bedroom to pick my clothes off the floor he was already snoring again, and I felt envious of guys who earned a lot of money working Monday to Friday and who didn't have to get up at the crack of dawn at the weekend. I snaffled some bread and ham from his fridge and left, knowing that he'd been a fairly good 6 out of 10 on the one-night stand stakes, and that I was highly unlikely to see him again.
Rory was grinning ear to ear when we met in the small coffee place next to the garden centre at 7:30am. We had half an hour till opening time, and had both come directly from where we'd spent the night.
"Where'd you tell your mum you slept last night?" asked Rory, smiling.
"Your place," I said, grinning back.
"Ah. Whereas my mum thinks I stayed at yours. Let's hope they don't talk to each other."
We both laughed, and then Rory said, "so...tell me what happened last night."
It was at this moment that I decided to be utterly truthful with Rory. I'd never really had a gay friend before, and I felt that if I could tell him, with details, exactly what had happened, and he didn't cringe or look uncomfortable, then we might become really close mates. At the time, that seemed important, and I'm glad I felt like that, as Rory is still a very good friend today.
"Guy called Richard," I said softly so that other breakfasters couldn't hear. "Great body, OK dick, fantastic flat, bit drunk though. He fucked me pretty hard then fucking dropped off to sleep, the wanker. I thought that was it but then he woke up and we sucked and wanked for a couple of hours. Then another hard shag in the shower this morning. About twenty minutes ago, in fact," I laughed, looking at my watch.
Rory beamed. My comments hadn't put him off at all. "Fuck, you did better than me, mate. Went off with some guy, can't remember his name, he was tall and said he wanted to get fucked, then changed his mind, then wanted to fuck me, which I was well up for, but then he couldn't get it up. Drunken asshole, but fucking sexy body with great tattoo on his left pec. We ended up just me laying back and him giving me a fairly basic blowjob. It was enough though, and he did swallow...! This morning he was just nowhere. I wanked over his sleeping face, then left. Hopeless."
I laughed. "Marks out of ten?"
"Four," said Rory immediately. "No, four and half; extra half mark for swallowing!" We both laughed lots. "What about yours?"
"Six," I replied, "but three of those were for the flat!"
That was that. Our friendship was sealed in the burst of laughter that followed. I've been Rory's club buddy ever since.
Four further parts to come. If you enjoyed this and would like a list of my other stuff at Nifty, please mail me at jsmith381@hotmail.com