Little Red Pill

The first stage of grief is denial, and I spent the day that followed the message that all future appointments with Dr. Curtis had been canceled firmly in that state. Make no mistake about it, I was definitely grieving the loss of my little red pill supply. My first reaction was to just pretend it wasn't happening.

I had taken my last dose the day before, and that morning, my ritualistic measuring revealed my last gain; 11 and 7/8 inches, and far too thick to wrap a hand completely around.

I jerked off mercilessly 3 consecutive times before getting out of bed to start the day, completely ruining another pair of boxer-briefs in the process, as they were left literally sopping wet and dripping cum.

Not even phased, I had made the subconscious decision that I was not going to waste the day. I called off sick from my shift at the Shure Save, and went about coming up with a plan to get the most ass and cock that I could. I decided that, though cruising around aimlessly looking for willing hunks had yielded results in the past, I couldn't risk coming up empty-handed today. I went right to the source, and through numerous shady incognito-mode internet searches, came up with even shady-er websites and message boards chock-full of guys looking for quick hookups in the area, and it wasn't even noon yet.

I boasted about my mammoth member to lure them in. Most guys responded with extreme skepticism to my advertised size, and used their disbelief as a way to squeeze photographic proof out of me. That was fine with me, since I had an entire secure folder on my phone dedicated to shots of my giant cock from every angle and under every conceivable light source. Hey, since keeping this monster dick was no longer a sure thing, I figured I'd need proof if for nothing else than for myself to look back on.

Lots of dudes didn't even believe me after the photos, claiming I'd either stolen them from porn or photoshopped them. That was okay, though. I'd tell them it was their loss and move on to someone who believed me enough to at least meet up and give it a shot.

I spent the day stalking around the city and surrounding area, from one anonymous hook up to another. I met up with older guys, younger guys, dorks and hunks, sometimes at houses and apartments, sometimes in back alleys, parks, and public restrooms.

Some guys just got off on looking at and rubbing a hand over my humongous boner and plump heavy balls. Some wanted more than anything to see how much of my incredible length they could jam down their throats. I gladly accommodated them all, somehow never running out of thick ropey semen when it came time to nut in their hands or mouth, or all over their face if they wanted.

I met an older gentleman with a dark bushy beard covered in tattoos in the trees at the edge of the park at dusk. He had us both drop our pants and stand their grinding our pelvises together. My towering erection rubbing up against and around his tiny but still rock-hard cock. He came all over my cock and crotch in a few quick minutes and seemed embarrassed as he apologized and fumbled to get his pants pulled back up and buttoned.

I stopped him from making a quick eyes-downcast-exit, pushed him down onto his knees and held onto him by the beard while I face-fucked him and left him gagging and sputtering on the load I jettisoned down his throat.

I met a petite nerdy ginger at his apartment. He scrutinized me thoroughly through the crack in his door with the security chain still latched before he was satisfied I was the guy from the pictures and letting me in. It took him a half hour of awkward sci-fi chit-chat surrounded by Star Wars and other Geekdom memorabilia in his living room before he shyly worked up the courage to ask to see my cock.

I made him reach over himself and take out my cock if he wanted to see it. His eyes were already glued to the immense bulge in the crotch of my gray sweatpants.

Timidly, he reached into my lap and pulled the waistband of my pants down and away. I was free-balling and all nearly-12-inches of me sprang free and smacked his hand.

It turned out that what he wanted more than anything was to feel my foot-long penetrate his asshole. He produced an economy sized bottle of lube and de-pantsed himself before slicking himself up with globs and globs of the stuff. Draped over the arm of his couch, his glistening ass stuck out towards me, he politely asked me to fuck his brains out. I obliged.

I admired his confidence, but the compact wiry red head had very grossly over-estimated his dick-taking abilities. I had serious concerns that my cock would literally tear him at the lubed-up seam as I forced my way inside of him, and he whined and squealed. Halfway buried up his guts, I gave him one chance to reconsider.

"Destroy my ass with your giant cock," he hissed.

I needed no more provocation, and proceeded to hump into him mercilessly. I left bright red welts on his pale sensitive ass cheeks from my lap smacking repeatedly into them.

I had the poor guy in tears, begging for mercy from my brutal anal assault by the time I felt the tingling of my seed bubbling up my long hog of a shaft from my low-hanging ass-smacking balls. I offered him no choice about where I would be nutting.

"You're gonna take my fucking cum up your little freckled ass!" I grunted, plowing deliberately and forcefully into him each time I felt my enormous cock pulse another spurt of my sperm deep in his guts while he whimpered.

Sometime during the encounter, I had apparently transitioned into the next stage of grief; anger. And I was taking it all out on the poor red-headed lad.

"That's right, your ass is just a dump for my huge fucking load," I grunted.

"UUUH- Oh Godddd," he whined as I slowly drew my hips backwards and then slammed them forward, jamming my cum back up deep inside him. "I did it... I took your giant cock," he panted. His voice was shaky, but sounded relieved.

"We aren't done until I say we're done!" I growled.

I was a man possessed, as I stood up off the couch, grabbed a handful of the dude's fiery hair and yanked his head around to face my jutting, still impossibly rigid cock. Without preamble, I thrust my hips forward and pressed my fat swollen head to his quivering lips. Despite his reservations, he opened his mouth to let me in and to his throat. I may have actually even felt his jaw pop he had to open up so wide to barely fit me in.

Hand tangled in his hair, I immediately began administering a brutal face fuck. He gagged and sputtered around his mouthful of monster cock, as I reached the back of his throat before even half of my length made it past his lips. His face and chin were a river of fresh tears, snot, and saliva as I held on and humped his face for all he was worth.

"Ugh! You like my huge cock now, bitch? Uuugh can you swallow one of my big fucking loads? Cause I'm about to bust another nut- Uuuuuuh FUCK I'm nutting down your fucking throat!!"

At the last moment he panicked and tried to pull his lips off my massive pole, but I had already latched onto the back of his head with both hands and held him in place with as much of myself as could fit buried in his mouth. I could feel my cock pulsing and twitching between his lips as I pumped his stomach full of jizz.

As the waves of bliss subsided, I finally let go of his head, and he immediately pulled back, choking and coughing on all the thick hot liquid sliding down his gullet.

While he still fought to get breaths again, I found my anger unquenched. I grabbed the guy bodily, and threw him down on his back on the couch. Grabbing him by the legs, I folded him upwards in half, exposing his stretched and messy asshole to me. Using his snot and saliva that still coated my dick, along with the left over fluids in and around his ass for lube, I once again mounted and penetrated his poor anus.

I ferociously jackhammered down into him for fifteen minutes straight, the climax I still somehow had left in me being stubborn about producing itself, as I grunted and humped into the kid while he yelped, whined and moaned beneath me.

I was beyond language when I finally felt my seed boiling up from my balls. All I could do was let out a guttural groan as I thrust myself down into him, held myself there, and deposited one last hefty load in his guts with the rest of my cum.

Leaving him in a heap on the couch with my fluid running out of his stretched out asshole, I pulled my sweatpants back on, having to stuff my finally softening, but no less mammoth, member inside the cotton confines.

"Feel free to jack yourself off now," I remarked before letting myself out.

I further stewed in misguided anger for most of the ride home, huffing and puffing until gradually my breathing began to return to normal. As it did, flashbacks to how I had just acted began hitting me. A sense of embarrassment and guilt washed over me. When I got home I had to rush upstairs to the bathroom to throw up.

Still, as I crawled into bed, I found myself reaching for the nightstand drawer for my evening dose of Little Red Pill. It was only after opening the drawer that I remembered the pills were all gone, and I had no way of securing a refill.

When I woke the next morning from a fitful night's sleep, my worst fears were confirmed. After measuring three times to be absolutely sure, I discovered I had already begun shrinking. I was down to just a hair above 11 inches, dropping almost an inch over the course of one night.

It took a good few minutes to overcome what felt like an impending panic attack. Finally, I came to the conclusion that rather than sit there and panic, I needed to spring into action and find some way to get my hands on some more Little Red Pills.

I had slid right into stage 3; bargaining.

I started by calling formally Dr. Adams', more recently Dr. Curtis's office. The receptionist, the new one who had left me the voicemail a few nights ago, seemed to know nothing about Dr. Curtis. I could sense that she was purposely acting as though she had never heard of him, even though I was pretty sure she mentioned him by name in the previous voicemail.

She tried to get me to reschedule my appointment with who Dr. Adams had apparently already chosen as his new replacement, but I declined and hung up.

Next, I took to my laptop and started searching the net. I could find no mention of a Dr. Curtis practicing in the area. Searches about the mysterious Little Red Pill likewise turned up zilch.

Determined still, I turned to the farther reaches of the web, combing through sketchy message boards and subreddits. I searched through half the day without stopping to eat. I searched right through what was supposed to be an afternoon shift at the Shure Save. I didn't even bother to call in sick.

Sometime after declining my mom's offer to come downstairs for dinner, I found a user in some Big Cocks Only message board that claimed to know about the Red Pills I was asking about. Not only did he know of them, he also claimed to have a supply.

Too delirious with excitement to ask enough pertinent follow-up questions, I was on my way to meet up with the guy. He only lived 2 hours away, and he agreed to meet up with me at a rest stop halfway between us both. He was willing to exchange a bottle of the pills for a blow job. Sounded like a bargain to me.

I should have noticed something was up as soon as I got into the passenger side of the guy's Honda civic, but I was too blinded by my mission. For one thing, when the guy produced his dick from the fly of his pants, it wasn't hard, and average at best. I'll admit, he definitely grew bigger with some focused hand and mouth work on my part, but if he himself were really on the Little Red Pills, they either hadn't been as effective for him, or he was very early on in the process. Which begged the question of why he would so willingly give up some of his precious stash.

I should have immediately noticed all of this at that moment, but I was too focused on completing my task and getting what I'd come there for.

Once I'd gotten him hard in my mouth, it didn't take long at all. Soon he was groaning and shimmying around in his seat. I felt him gently put a hand on the back of my head in his lap and in a hoarse whisper he let out a quiet warning.

"Aahh I'm gonna cum."

I felt his cock pulse between my lips and dutifully swallowed the load he produced before lifting my head out of his lap and swiping my sleeve across my moistened lips and chin. I stared at him expectantly.

He had a ball cap pulled down low over his face, but in the darkness I could still tell he was having a hard time looking at me.

I cleared my throat.

"The pills?" I asked.

"Huh?... oh, right." He croaked. He opened the lid on the center console between us and I heard a rattle as he pulled out a small white pill bottle and tossed it to me. I caught it, and without another word I left his Honda parked under a burned out light pole around the side of the rest stop, and hurried back to my jeep with my precious prize.

The bottle wasn't transparent, so I had to flick my thumb up under the child-proof tab on the lid to open it. I shook out a few pills into my palm.

They were the wrong size and shape, and the color red wasn't right at all; much duller than the vibrant Little Red Pills I was used to. In fact, they were identical to the generic brand Ibuprofen my mom had in the medicine cabinet at home. The bottle even looked the same, but with the label completely torn off.

I tossed the open bottle off the dash and pills scattered everywhere. I whipped my head around to look out my window for the lying prick in the civic. He was already gone.

I started to cry. I slipped right into grief stage number four right there in the rest stop parking lot; depression.

When I got home I slunk into the house to find a note on the end table in the front hallway where my mom usually left them.

"I will see you in a week, Sweetie. Call my cell if you need me. be Good! -Love, Mum"

I was confused for a moment before I vaguely recalled that she had been talking all month about her annual girls beach trip. She'd been going on it every year with her two closest girlfriends ever since my dad left. It made no difference to me, I felt like being alone anyway.

I sulked up to my room and barely came out of it for the next five days. I ignored phone calls for the first few days from Shure Save as I missed three more shifts. They quit calling and I assumed I was probably fired.

I moped around the house and slept a lot. I watched helplessly as every day I checked, my dick shrunk smaller and smaller. By day five, I was pretty much back to my original minuscule size.

As my cock size diminished, so too, it seemed did my sexual appetite. At one point, out of boredom, I pulled out my laptop to look up some porn to masturbate. Out of some reflex, I brought up Porn hub Gay. Rather than focus on the scenes before me, I found myself reminded of all of my ridiculous sexual adventures of this past summer. I thought of Renzo, Connor, Dr. Curtis, the random basketball player in the park. Rather than sprout a little hard-on over these thoughts, I felt embarrassment, shame, a little queasy in the stomach. What had come over me this summer? How had I allowed myself to act that way with so many virtual strangers?

I concluded that this had meant that whatever "gay spell" had come over me as a side effect of the Pills had left my system. I turned to the straight porn that I was used to from before this surreal summer.

As I attempted to watch scenes that used to really get me going, I still couldn't work myself into a little erection. I kept picturing myself in place of all the well-endowed men on the screen, pounding into writhing and moaning girls. Except when I pictured myself, I had my mini little penis, and the girls weren't writhing and moaning beneath me, they were laughing. They were laughing at my inability to satisfy them with my teeny cock.

I slammed the laptop shut and shoved it off my bed.

Later, when I checked my phone and dismissed all the missed calls from work, I noticed I had some missed text messages as well.

When I opened them and saw they were from Gavin, I had to swallow my heart back down from oddly leaping to my throat.

There was a text message from the previous night at 9:35 pm that read, "Dude, we really gotta talk".

Two hours later a second message said, "Hello???"

A third message from that morning said "Wow! So this is what being ghosted feels like?" with a deep frowning emoji.

The messages had my head swirling with strange emotions. Seeing them conjured up memories from throughout the summer; blow jobs in my kitchen, losing my anal virginity under the deck behind my house, meet-ups for sex in the dug out of the old baseball field at the back of the park, a wildly concocted plan to tie Gavin up, so I could get myself off riding his cock.

Perplexingly, these thoughts didn't leave me wallowing in the same kind of shame and disgust that I'd felt when I looked back on all of my other wild homosexual encounters of the past few months. Rather, I didn't know quite what I was feeling. A strange fluttering in my belly, a little flush to my cheeks. A stirring in my pants.

Did I still want Gavin? But that didn't make sense. The pills gave me the homoerotic urges that went along with my miraculously growing member. I wasn't actually gay.

Then why couldn't I get the image of Gavin naked and spread eagle across my bed with his hands cuffed to the headboard out of my mind? Why did I feel my little cock pressing against the fabric of my briefs at the thought of this?

And then I imagined Gavin tearing off those briefs and revealing my pathetic hard-on, all not-even-four-inches of it. I imagined Gavin not laughing, but rather looking down at my crotch in confusion and disappointment. The mini-tent in my pants instantly unhitched itself.

I stewed over the unanswered text message through the rest of the afternoon. Obviously, I couldn't hook back up with Gavin. Even if I oddly still seemed to want it very much. He had seen my monster-sized cock, had even commented on it. How would I explain how it had disappeared and how a baby-dick had taken its place?

But then, I thought back to his last message about being ghosted. I pictured the hunky former High School quarterback frowning sadly like the emoji he'd sent with his message.

I was fine about disappearing from the lives of the likes of Renzo and Connor. Would they even notice I was gone? But something about leaving Gavin on "read" didn't sit right with me. Somehow I felt I owed him more than that.

It took me a half hour and many drafts to come up with a response to his text. Finally, at 7:25pm I responded with:

"Sorry, man. I've been busy dealing with some shit. Didn't mean to ghost you. If you don't hate me too bad and you still want to talk, my mom is out of town and I'll be here all night."

I hit send, and sweat bullets for 45 minutes waiting for him to respond, barely taking my eyes off of my phone. Any kind of sexual encounter with him was out of the question, of course, so I wasn't anxious about that. I was both thrilled and terrified at the thought of seeing him again. Nevermind what he felt he needed to say to me, I felt like I owed it to him to give him some kind of explanation on why we couldn't see each other anymore.

I just had no idea what that explanation would be.

Finally, my phone buzzed in my hand, startling me even though I had been staring down at it. It was a message from Gavin.

"You're alive! ;) Okay, if it's cool I'll be over around 9"

Heart pounding, I typed back a quick "sounds good" and tossed my cell down onto the couch in front of me and started pacing the living room.

Crazy thoughts raced through my head and fought for attention. Should I go change? I had been in the same gray sweats for days, but I was pretty sure I had at least changed my t-shirt and underwear recently. Was that yesterday, or the day before? I pulled out the neck of my tee and stuck my nose in for a sniff. Smelled okay to me. I hurried to the bathroom to apply some deodorant anyway. While I did that, I wondered if I should provide something to drink. There was most of a twelve-pack of beer in the fridge that my mom had gotten for a small get together months ago that I was sure she had forgotten all about. Whatever we were about to talk about, a little alcohol to loosen me up couldn't hurt. I hurried to the fridge and grabbed a few bottles. I set them down on the coffee table, realized I'd killed about 8 minutes, and sat there and stared at the blank TV screen.