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A Bigger, Better Man

The bigger they are, the harder they fall? Down here in the Gutter, it's the other way around...

Who said size doesn't matter?

A Bigger, Better Man by Nathaniel Tower




The day Wendy walked out because I wasn’t man enough for her was the same day I bought a diesel pickup and my dick grew four inches. I called her and explained I was man enough now, but she misunderstood. She said any man with a penis enhancement wasn’t worth her time. I told her it was all natural, but she insisted things like that didn’t happen at my age.

Her rejection didn’t deter me from becoming even more of a man. I started watching porn, which she had always found disgusting. I even registered on a few interactive porn sites, visiting often and showing my now-huge penis to girls who moaned and moaned. I started lasting longer when I jacked off. I could go ten minutes before erupting.

Of course I didn’t spend all my time driving trucks and watching porn. I started to watch endless hours of sports, slam countless beers, and practice martial arts—the badass kind. I did all this with an enlarged dick that made me happy to walk naked around the locker rooms.

“How’d you get so big?” one of my buds asked in the locker room after I beat the shit out of him at some fighting class.

“Easy. I got rid of my bitch,” I told him.

“And your dick grew, just like that?” He stared at it like the rest of me wasn’t even there.

“Yup. It just grew.”

Later that day, he went and dumped his girlfriend. His dick didn’t grow at all. In fact, I think it shrunk a little.

With newfound confidence I never had with Wendy, I decided the time had come to get laid. My massive dick had been untouched by feminine hands for a couple weeks, unless of course you count the virtual hands that wanted to touch it. It would’ve been a lot longer than two weeks, but I let some chick at work give me head, which might’ve contributed to Wendy leaving. It’s not like I went looking to cheat. I wasn’t even the instigator.

I walked up to girls at clubs with no sense of shame. “Go home with me,” I would say without even buying drinks.

“Why should I do that?” they would ask.

“Because I’ve got something that’ll really please you.” Then I’d give my crotch a little squeeze, not that I could squeeze the whole thing.

I started banging three or four girls a week. They usually came two or three times before I went once. I’d never believed that women wanted big dicks. Turns out that was just denial. Of course they want something huge in them. Makes ’em feel important.

After the fourth or fifth week of my dominance over the female species, Wendy actually had the nerve to call me.

“I hear you’ve become quite the ladies’ man,” she said.

“Damn right.”

“So it’s all true?”

“Yup. I suppose you’re going to tell me what a horrible guy I am now.”

“No.”

“You want to go out with me again, don’t you?”

“I figure I owe you a second chance,” she said.

I knew what she wanted. She had always complained about how sex just didn’t do it for her. She wanted to see if my big old dick could do it for her.

“I’ve got a pretty busy sex schedule for the next few months,” I told her. “Maybe I can squeeze you in sometime around Christmas.”

“You’re pathetic.” She hung up.

Fine. No dick for that bitch.

Later that night when I was pounding some hot blonde from behind, I started picturing Wendy. My dick got marble hard and I blasted a load that almost tore right through the blonde. She screamed like she’d been shot by a bazooka.

“Sorry,” I said. “Wanna go again?”

“I’ve had enough.” She pulled away and started putting on her clothes. I could tell she was in a bit of pain, but it didn’t bother me. All that bothered me was that I’d gone so soon, while thinking of Wendy of all things.

The same thing happened the next time. And the next. Soon I was shooting super early, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Wendy. I even barked her name at one of the girls as I was coming inside her.

Then my dick started shrinking. It wasn’t much. At first I was convinced it was my imagination. None of the women said anything until about three weeks later when this little Asian girl said, “That’s it? I thought you were supposed to be huge.” I wanted to whip her in the face with it, but instead I just stuck it in her and fired away as soon as Wendy popped into my head.

It got so bad that I couldn’t pick up any chicks anymore.

Desperate, I finally called Wendy again.

“I’m free to fuck tonight.”

“Not interested,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I’ve heard some things.”

“It’s your fault, you know,” I told her.

“How’s that?”

“I can’t stop thinking of you. I picture you every time I’m screwing someone. No matter how hot they are, all I can see is you.”

“Wow, what a compliment.”

“Just give me a chance,” I begged.

She finally agreed and came over the next night.

“No foreplay,” she said. “Just take of your pants and let’s go.”

I took off my pants.

Before I could even get inside her there was a puddle of semen on the floor.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked after stepping in it with her freshly manicured feet.  

She walked out. Again.

I looked down at my dick, expecting to see it grow as it had the first time she left. Instead, I found myself searching for several minutes before I finally found the useless thing buried in a mess of pubes. 

Nathaniel Tower writes fiction, teaches English, and manages the online literary magazine Bartleby Snopes. His fiction has appeared in almost 200 online and print journals, and he has a novel and novella out through MuseItUp Publishing. When he isn’t writing or doing any of the other standard things writers do, he can be found joggling (running while juggling) through the streets. Visit him at http://www.nathanieltower.wordpress.com