Author's note: the following story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. The author wishes to express his gratitude to Copperbutterfly for her editing to make this a better story.
You know the old saying: If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. But there are times when life gives you strawberries and the best you can come up with is sour, puckering lemon juice.
That's the way I was feeling. My name is Gene Shallot – yeah, just like little onions – and I'm 27 years old. Although I'm 5'10" I weigh just 135 pounds straight out of the shower before any water drips off so I'm not big; that has always bugged me because I have a huge appetite.
I've got unruly brown hair – not bed head; worse! - and unremarkable hazel eyes. My skin, although tanned from spending as much time outside as possible, is ugly and scarred, like Mick Jagger, only I can't sing or dance or any of the things that drive the women wild.
Perhaps my one redeeming feature is one that stays hidden in my pants, at least the vast majority of the time. I was endowed with 14 ½ inches of manhood – well, 14 ¼ to 15, depending on who is doing the measuring, so I claim the "middle of the road" number. As far as the circumference is concerned, I can't tell the difference between me and the size of the proverbial Coke can, except that I'm harder than the Coke can!
Most guys who know what I keep in my pants tell me I'm lucky, that women would swarm over me to have some of what I've got. Except I know that isn't true. Sure, there are a few women who like it but the majority of the ones I've gotten to the point of being ready for action take a long look at my probe and scream, "You're not getting close to me with that thing! No guy would ever fuck me after you put that thing in me! No way, Jose! Get away from me!" And then I never see her again.
Even when I get lucky and find a woman willing to consumate our relationship, I have to be careful of hurting her. I can't just screw her with wild abandon like most of the guys talk about. Shit, if I did, I'd rip up her insides so bad, she'd never be the same.
Mostly I've found that my best bet is to be on the lookout for a lonely mature woman. If she's lonely, that means that she probably doesn't get laid very often. If she's mature, it might – just might – mean that she's not as tight as most younger ladies are. And if she's maybe settled into the broad beam shape that tends to run in mature women, she just might have enough space inside to make me really welcome. So most of my "conquests" have been women twice my age and sometimes more.
Being a budding architect, I had been out on a job checking on the progress of the construction crew one morning. After talking with the contractor about several small problem areas, I stopped at a coffee shop to get some lunch before heading back to the office. I brought in my plans, the smaller 12" x 16" versions, to give some thought to possible solutions while I waited for my food.
Being almost constantly horny, I naturally notice the movement of all females around me. I had checked out the waitress and gave up, although I did like her swaying walk. When four women, probably late twenties or early thirties, came down the aisle and were seated at the booth I was facing, I lowered my plans enough to get a good view.
There was not a raving beauty in the bunch but neither was there a single one that I'd kick out of bed for eating crackers. They were pretty much in the same mold: nice heavy breasts, modest but substantial waists, and round but big butts. Ah, yes! Back to my plans – sigh!
The coffee shop was not crowded, since the lunch rush had already passed and cleared out. The ladies in the next booth were not exactly quiet either and I couldn't help but hear some of their conversation.
I tried not to pay attention but when I heard, "I got laid so-o-o good last night," I couldn't help but listen surreptitiously. A chorus of, "So ... tell us about it," came from the others.
The blonde speaker said, "Well, you all know what John is like. I've described him to you enough times. He was pretty tired but I was horny so I started sucking him while he was watching TV. He let me get him hard but didn't do anything else so I climbed on top of him and pushed myself all the way down his shaft. I loved it. It felt like he was in my throat. He is so big. He let me rock on him for a while and then he got turned on too, so he picked me up and laid me on the sofa and just started pounding me. Oh, ladies, it was so delicious, I just can't describe it. You know what it is like."
"Yeah!" said the redhead to her right. "Oh, God. David has been out of town for almost three weeks and I'm so horny I can't stand it. Last week I picked up some guy at Bennigans. He looked like a football player so I was hoping he'd be hung but he was a total disappointment. Shit, when he got inside me, I could barely feel it. I sent him packing and was more frustrated than ever."
The third woman, a brunette, spoke up, "Oh, Ruby, that is so sad, honey. But it happens so often. You can't tell a book by its cover ... or the size of a cock by its jeans. I'm a little better off since Glenn comes up to visit nearly every weekend. When he's here, we try to make up for the rest of the week. After he goes back, I know all about frustration. I've tried other guys but it just doesn't do it for me. I'm better off using my big black dildo."
By then, my third leg had made an unannounced appearance. It had fully engorged, pushed up under my belt and the head was now probing my stomach just above my belly button close to my nipples. I had to shift around and then loosen my belt a couple of notches until I could get it to go down. If I stood up before then, anyone seeing my shape in front would think I was deformed.
The fourth woman, another blonde – albeit with light brown roots – was shaking her head. It appeared that there might even be tears in her eyes as she said, "Thursday Jason told me that he is being transferred to a secured location in the middle east and he can't take me with him. He's committed to four years and he doesn't think we should try to remain committed to each other that long. I don't know what I'm going to do. You guys know how hard it is to find ... someone like that. I'm just going crazy thinking about it. Even with him working in the area, I'd get so horny when he was at work, I didn't know if I'd make it until he got home. Whatever will I do when he's gone? And I'm just like you guys – I can't make do with those little guys!"
"Oh, poor baby! I'm so sorry."
"Oh, honey! Don't worry. Something will come along. We'll help you look."
There was no doubt about it! They were talking about size. The size of the implement used to fuck them! These women believed size mattered. I wondered if they believed in such a thing as too much size.
I tried to keep my eyes down as I finished eating and then sipped my coffee. Their conversation continued along the same lines, with nothing said that would dissuade me from believing what they were talking about. An idea began to form in my head.
Leaving enough money on the table to cover the bill and a tip, I picked up my plans and eased out of the booth. Grabbing a chair from the table across the aisle, I quickly turned it to the end of the women's booth and sat down.
"Excuse me, ladies, for interrupting but I have a challenge for you."
"Hey!" said the blonde.
"What are you doing?" queried the redhead
"I know that you four ladies all believe that size matters. So do I. In fact, I want to make a little bet with all four of you. I'm willing to bet that I have more than anyone you've ever had. If you win, I'll give you a hundred dollars."
