Jumbo (5 page)

He had heard stories of guys getting things stuck in their asses, but somehow (Mitchell didn’t know why) he kept pushing himself every time he did it, finding larger and larger things to stick in his ass, and imagining that they were cocks — that guys were fucking him. The latest thing was his Little League Baseball bat, and he told himself that he couldn’t do that again, because it was too large and awkward, though he knew that he would try it, and maybe even move onto something larger, because it was like he had an insatiable need to do it to himself. If only Luke would fuck him!

Mitchell turned at the end of the pool, and he knew his cock was soft. He told himself not to worry about it and to concentrate on the race. He had been put into the relay team and he didn’t want to lose the opportunity. He had turned first, and he could come home first, giving Tyler a good start for breaststroke.

The problem with swimming backstroke was that people could see his cock in his speedos (or Mitchell imagined the guys could) and now it was definitely shrunken, a piece of soft skin, and he was coming home, and coming home strong. He pushed the thought of his cock out of his mind and concentrated on the last few strokes. His hand hit the wall and he saw Tyler dive over him, and then he turned quickly, trying to see how much of a head start he had given Tyler. Not much, but he had certainly won. Jack hadn’t been winning.

Suddenly, there was an arm. Tadd reached down towards him. Mitchell took his hand and Tadd pulled him out of the pool in one flowing movement. He was that strong. Mitchell stumbled forward as Tadd lifted him, trying to find his footing, and as he stumbled, the back of his hand was suddenly pressed against Tadd’s cock and balls, soft and warm in his wet speedos, and almost instantly, Mitchell felt his cock harden, poking forward in his speedos. He moved his hand away, but he had certainly left it there, pushed up against Tadd’s cock and balls for longer than he needed to, feeling them with the back of his hand while he tried to regain his balance. Shit, he thought to himself. That had felt so good. He had never touched another guy’s cock and balls before. And Tadd was smiling at him.

“You did well,” he said, patting Mitchell on the back.

“What was the time?”

Tadd told him and Mitchell nodded. Not his best time, but not bad, and Tyler was coming home strong. Suddenly, Tadd pushed Mitchell, pushing him with one hand like he was nothing, pushing him out of the way so that he could get to the blocks for the butterfly leg.

Mitchell stumbled and almost fell. It made him feel like shit, being pushed like that. He stared at Tadd’s back. He felt like pushing him in. He felt like punching Tadd in the small of the back. He turned around and looked for his towel. Who gave a shit what time Tadd did? How could the guy act like that, congratulate him and pat him on the back, and then push him out of the way like he was nothing? He had a sudden impression of how Tadd must see him, as a nobody, a nothing, a weak little fuckhead with no cock and balls, someone who wasn’t even worth Tadd’s time.

He walked over to the bench and grabbed his towel, and then, drying himself, he saw that there was someone in the bleachers — Sarah — the girl he was supposed to ask out, sitting there on her own. She was wearing a pink cardigan, had a wide skirt and pearls on, as though she had just stepped out of the nineteen fifties. She lifted her arm and waved. Mitchell waved back, a little half-heartedly. That was the last thing he needed, some girl to go crazy over him. He wondered how long she had been there and if she had seen him in his speedos. Hell, plenty of people had seen him in his speedos. He wrapped his towel around his waist, and fifteen minutes later training was over.

11

Mitchell walked slowly toward the showers, doing it deliberately. He did sometimes make it into the first group of guys in the locker room, depending on who Coach Marley was talking to, though today he made sure that he was last. He hoped, as he had been hoping all day, that Jack would be sitting on the bench with him this afternoon, waiting for a shower. Mitchell didn’t want to get in with the rest of the guys again. They knew he had a boner now, and as he walked toward the locker room, after seeing Sarah, he felt it beginning to flag.

He tried to think of Luke, of the way Luke’s cock and balls nestled in his speedos; he tried to think of how it looked when Luke bent over in the showers, or of when Luke clowned around, sometimes running through the locker room, his cock and balls bobbing. Mitchell tried to imagine what it would be like to have Luke’s cock in his ass, but it was no good. He couldn’t picture anything clearly. He was worried, and as he turned into the locker room, his cock retreated into his body.

He pulled his speedos off in front of his locker, peeling them over his thighs and standing side-on so that he was turning his body away from where the guys were standing in the showers. It looked like Jack was in there — sounded like it rather, because he couldn’t see Luke’s end shower from where he was standing.

The floor was cold, the room smelling strongly of disinfectant and soap and sweat mingled with the heady scent of deodorant.

He wrapped his towel around his waist quickly, looking down and seeing that his cock was nothing, a piece of skin. He slung his speedos and his goggles over his locker door and then turned toward the showers.

Yes, Jack was in there again, sharing the end shower with Luke — or with Luke and Ben it looked like, the three of them using two showers. Mitchell sat down on the bench. His heart was beating rapidly, so rapidly that he could hardly breathe. Steam billowed around him and the spray splashed his feet. He coughed into his hand and glanced at Luke. Luke looked back at him, giving him a look that seemed to say, “What are you always looking at me like that for?”

Mitchell flipped his eyes away, and a moment or two later he found his cock growing hard, popping up in the naked space under his towel. He breathed a little easier and then realized he was staring.

“Jumbo!” Tyler said.

Mitchell knew almost instantly that it was the second or third time Tyler had called him, but he had been mesmerized, staring at Tadd’s cock, which seemed so full and long today that it was almost unbelievable. Mitchell had been goggling at it, watching it flop around Tadd’s thighs in the steam, and he had been thinking, what? Nothing. That he wished he could have some of that, some of Tadd’s length and width, because really, Tadd didn’t need all that to himself.

Tyler was calling Mitchell over, waving his hand and beckoning him, calling him over and saying, “It’s okay, you can come and shower over here again,” though he didn’t actually say this.

Mitchell stood up and hung his towel on a hook. He walked over to Tyler feeling a little more confident, knowing his cock was hard again. Tyler stepped out of the way, and then Mitchell was standing under Tyler’s shower, in the corner again with Tadd and Tyler just as he had been yesterday.

It felt unreal. He suddenly realized that he didn’t have to worry about his cock. He could have an erection — a thing he had always worried about — and now the guys would accept this as normal, expect it. He felt his cock grow harder, stiffer, and as Tyler eased him to one side with his hand, Mitchell slid against Tadd, the two of them side-on to each other, their skin soapy and sliding in the steam.

Mitchell felt as though he might come. He stepped backward a little, and into the corner, so that he wasn’t touching Tadd. And then Tadd smiled at him. “You want to get under?” he said.

Mitchell nodded and Tadd stepped forward. He had the soap, and he was soaping his cock and balls. Mitchell couldn’t help looking, and as he looked, he thought Tadd’s cock might even be getting a little hard. It was twisted to one side, and the head seemed to be lifted a little.

Tadd smiled again and Mitchell smiled back at him through the haze of steam. “It’s not that great,” Tadd said to him, nodding at his cock. “It’s a real pain.”

Mitchell swallowed and glanced away. He turned around and put his head under the shower.

12

That evening after dinner, Mitchell did what he had been doing since a day or two after seeing Dr Carter — milking his penis. It was a technique called “jelqing,” something he had found on the net, and it was supposed to have some benefit in making your penis larger, if you did it consistently and over a long period of time.

He had found a forum devoted to guys with small penises, where people discussed a whole variety of techniques for enlarging them — including operations. The techniques ranged from jelqing — the milking technique — to the penis pump, to contractions, to hanging weights from your penis. Mitchell hadn’t joined the forum, but had spent a few hours lurking there since he had seen Dr Carter, and he had picked up some useful information.

At first, he had been very certain that he wanted to buy himself a penis pump and try that. And then he read of the possible dangers, of what might happen when the suction was too strong, and (worse) of how a testicle, or even two, could sometimes be accidentally sucked into the chamber, causing extreme pain or injury. That was it. Once Mitchell had realized that there were dangers involved, he decided against the penis pump. He had a very strong fear — something that had only grown since seeing Dr Carter — of something happening to his cock or balls, which was why the idea of an operation, of a knife, was unthinkable to him. The other thing that was unthinkable was the widening operation, where they sometimes used the flesh of dead people as a sort of transplant, adding a dead person’s flesh to the girth of your cock. When Mitchell read this, he vomited, only making it to the bathroom just in time.

He had turned off the computer, though the following night he had researched jelqing fairly extensively, and had convinced himself that it was a safe, a reasonable thing to do.

It was a little like milking a cow’s teat, a lot like it, and Mitchell decided to do it for ten minutes every night after dinner before he started on his homework. He came upstairs and took his trainers and his jeans and his underwear off, though he left his socks and his T-shirt on, and then he sat on his bed and started. It required a hot pack, something he had to heat in the microwave in the kitchen first, though he told his parents he was having some muscular aches and pains, nothing to worry about.

Before he started, he had to make sure his bathroom door was locked on Pete’s side. They shared a bathroom between them, one with two doors, and they had a system worked out. The doors were always closed, and one or the other of them locked the other’s door when they needed to use the bathroom. It was quite surprising how often they both met at the same time, opening the door from their bedrooms at the same instant, as though the thought of going to the bathroom was something they did in sync with each other. Mitchell usually gave way to Pete, because Pete was older. He would say, “You go first,” and if he needed to go badly, he would use the bathroom downstairs.

Mitchell needed lubricant for jelqing, so he needed the bathroom both before and after he did it, because he had to wash the lubricant off. He started with the heat pack and had to get his dick semi-erect. That wasn’t a problem. And then he began, timing himself by his bedside clock while he milked his cock slowly and steadily. When he had finished, he had to wash the lubricant off, unlock Pete’s door and then quickly hot-foot it back to his room, closing the door behind him, because he was almost naked, dressed only in his socks and a T-shirt, and Pete might open the door.

Tonight, though, as Mitchell finished milking his cock, he stared down at it, thinking it was hopeless. The jelqing wasn’t going to make any difference, not any real difference. He needed to do something more. On the forum they outlined a hanging technique, where you hung weights from your cock, though this carried dangers, because you had to tie something around your cock in order to hang something from it. And Mitchell didn’t know how he could do this safely.

He sat on his bed, staring at his cock, wondering what he could use, and then he had it. In his desk draw there was a finger puzzle, a Chinese finger puzzle, something he had had for a couple of years. It was a toy, woven out of soft fibers that you couldn’t get your finger out of once you put your finger into it, because if you pulled on the puzzle, the weaving would tighten and constrain your finger.

Mitchell figured he could put the finger puzzle onto his cock and tie something to one end of it, though something not too heavy. That way there would be no danger of injury, because he would have the weight safely attached.

He frowned, wondering what he could use as a weight, though after getting up and looking through everything on his desk, he decided on a shoe. He figured it wouldn’t be too heavy, but heavy enough, and he threaded the laces into the end of the puzzle and chose a black shoe, a shoe that went with a suit, because it was fairly hefty and he hardly ever wore the pair it belonged to. He would be able to leave the puzzle inside this shoe when he had finished, and then it would be there ready when he needed to use it again.

Mitchell didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t do his homework while he used the shoe as a weight. He could sit a little forward on his chair, and after he had slipped the puzzle over his cock, he walked to his desk and sat down, lowering the shoe between his legs and letting it hang. He took a couple of deep breaths and winced. It was a little like getting into cold water.

For the first ten minutes or so it annoyed him. Every time he shifted in his seat the shoe began to swing, but he soon adjusted to it, and he was deeply engrossed in calculus, sitting at his desk in his T-shirt and socks, and with a shoe hanging from his cock, when he heard, “What in fuck’s name are you
doing?
” Pete’s voice.

Mitchell jumped.

He had forgotten to lock the bathroom door on Pete’s side, but had left his own side open, and while he had sat there, bent over his desk, Pete had walked through the bathroom, seen Mitchell half-naked, and then (he must have) kept walking forward into Mitchell’s room until he was standing over him, looking over his shoulder.