In common with
everyone else in
this world, Dick was much smaller when he was young than he became
later. In
fact, he was so tiny he wasn’t remotely important or prominent. The
only time there
was any suggestion of his later significance was when he disposed of
liquid
waste
At first Dick’s
two small companions, barely more than acorns, were at best ornamental.
They
were hard enough to the touch and they hurt like mad when squeezed. But
there
came a time when everything changed in Dick’s neighbourhood and his
companions
were the ones who made it happen.
It was something
of a shock the first time it happened. It’s not that Dick hadn’t
noticed that
he was getting bigger but he imagined that it would continue to be
nothing but a
slow gradual process, rather like a boy growing taller or a voice
cracking or
the fresh sprouting of all those long hairs in Dick’s vicinity, still
sparse
but becoming steadily more dense. He didn’t expect growth to be so
sudden, so
unannounced, and at so many multiples of his previous height and girth.
But
reassuringly, this didn’t last forever and Dick was soon back to his
original
size just like a comic book superhero when the effects of cosmic
radiation or a
magic potion had worn off.
It took a while
till Dick could make sense of this and subsequent changes to his size
and dimensions.
Like the Incredible Hulk or the Amazing Spiderman he figured out how to
take
control of the situation and—this took longer to work out—what was most
likely
to trigger this mutation. It wasn’t long until Dick was actually
yearning for
these moments of rapid growth and he learnt how to facilitate this by
manual
stimulation and the service of a feverish imagination.
It was later in
Dick’s life that his changes of state were stirred by something more
concrete
than fancied fleshly images, most often disembodied, whose shape and
texture
were becoming ever more consistent. In those early days, nothing much
more than
a bare shoulder or a rounded knee or a glimpse of a bosom was adequate,
in fact
all that was required, for Dick to swell to his full size. These were
days when
Dick was most inordinately proud of himself and even potentially
exhibitionist,
but there was nobody with whom he could share his magnificence. The
moments of
maximum engorgement never lasted long until, like a hothouse Hulk in a
rage, he
exploded in a cascade of sticky warm secretions, viscous and
slow-flowing, and
then, like the great green Avenger he shrunk back to the relative
dimensions of
a scrawny Bruce Banner.
Dick’s first
introduction to a friendly companion came first in the form of a
handshake. In
fact, not so much a handshake as an urgent tugging by unfamiliar hands
somewhat
more slender with sharper nails than the hands to which he’d become
accustomed.
And these tugs were inexpertly applied with little understanding of his
feelings and what was most likely to give him satisfaction, but at the
same
time they were dramatically effective. He shot to life like a balloon
puffed
full of helium and in all this exuberance burst forth suddenly and
prematurely.
And those delicate tender hands were now pasted with the same viscous
liquid
he’d come to associate with such handling. But perhaps rather more
copiously
than was usually the case.
At least, Dick
thought with some relief, he hadn’t peed all over those hands. Now, that
would be embarrassing. Not that his
premature ejaculation wasn’t in itself a cause for concern.
He’d have to do
better next time.
There was a
next time fortunately but it wasn’t for several weeks. And this time
the hands
were different. Darker skin. Round dimpled knuckles. Shorter nails. But
no more
expert. This time, however, Dick kept his cool. It took longer until he
released himself, although in a vicinity far from the portal he was
most desirous
of entering.
And on this
occasion,
although the semen splattered on the hands that facilitated its
explosion it
was properly wiped off with tissues and even given further somewhat
more relaxed
and unhurried attention after the event.
Dick
desperately wanted more. And furthermore he now knew exactly where he
wanted to
be. More than anywhere else he wanted to be inside a warm tunnel that
would
grip and squeeze him but was moist enough to facilitate easy access.
But this
wasn’t going to happen quite yet, although he encountered more often a
growing
variety of hands.
The portal he
first entered was hirsute above and around two sets of doorways, a
minor and a
major one, rather like the entrance into a Swedish apartment. The grip
was tight.
Not well lubricated. And because of this there was some pain and
discomfort to both
Dick and the portal owner, but Dick did his job (and in this way helped
to lubricate
the entry hall) and was mightily satisfied.
This was a
momentous occasion not only for himself but also for the lucky
beneficiary of
his attention.
This was a
vagina Dick visited many times in the future. And on subsequent
occasions, it became
gradually less tight, more amenable and emanated a powerful odour which
became
ever more potent as Dick gained confidence. Dick also had an odour. Not
that it
was unpleasant like bad breath. And the scent was a fair companion to
that of the
vagina inside which he’d become steadily more at ease.
Inevitably,
Dick’s early days of innocent untrammelled freedom couldn’t last. A day
came
when just before he was once again due to be ensconced within those
siren lips he
was roughly sheathed inside a strong rubbery coat from his purple tip
to most
of the way down his fully erect body. It deadened some of the sensation
but not
by as much as he’d feared. Greater familiarity and the benefits of
anticipation
meant that Dick had swollen enough—his veins bulging and his glans as
soft and
tender as the Elvis Presley song—that in the heat of lovemaking Dick
barely
noticed the difference.
The hot liquid
Dick
spurt forth was contained this time and when he once again surfaced,
like a
deep sea diver coming up for air, all that viscous fluid was now
disposed of much
more easily. There was almost no need any more for the tissues whose
application was such an anticlimax after the preceding climax.
However, it
wasn’t enough for Dick that he be acquainted with only one pussy. He
needed to
get to know more and he didn’t care how he was going to get
satisfaction. And in
these early days he didn’t care too much about the consequences. That
was for
someone else to worry about. He’d compromised enough by allowing
himself to be
covered up like a man in a mackintosh against the rain, though in this
case,
the soaking came from within rather than from outside. He had a hunger
for
pussy and the more pleasure he experienced, the more he hungered for
more.
This became
Dick’s mission in life. He rarely let other considerations take
precedence. However,
it wasn’t always possible to find satisfaction without also straying
beyond the
accustomed comfort between a woman’s legs. There were times when the
need was
so strong that he wondered whether the boundaries he observed weren’t
self-inflicted and that a walk on the wild side mightn’t be so bad. But
he was
a he and he wasn’t going to pretend to be anything else. Not in this
life.
Dick’s pursuit
of
satisfaction took him to new, perhaps dangerous, places. The portals
that now
opened for him were more various than he’d originally imagined, just as
in many
cases his arrival had been preceded by others like him but of a
diversity in
girth, length and skin-colour. And likewise, the pussies he visited
were sometimes
dark, occasionally almost black. But most often, like Dick himself, his
encounters were with those of an average pinkness that became redder
when
engorged with excitement and anticipation and perhaps also reddened
from friction
and frequent use. The hair was sometimes thick, sometimes spare, and
sometimes altogether
absent (or as just a blue stubble from a recent shave). The lips were
sometimes
tight, sometimes loose and sometimes falling out entirely so that every
fleshy
fold was visible from a distance and no need for close attention to
discover
what was on offer. And just above each portal, like a prominent
door-knob, was the
clitoris, sometimes so small that it was hard to find and other times
as hard
and rigid as Dick himself but for the most part discreetly keeping out
of the
way. Once Dick had introduced himself he invariably stayed for as long
as he
was welcome. And sometimes he’d entered naked and unsheathed and was
allowed to
leave a gift behind, but this wasn’t very often.
There was much
to enjoy in these encounters, of which there was never enough and of
not enough
variety. The most delicious was the anticipation, the preparation and
wait, as
the pussy was exposed from beneath the lace, cotton or nylon knickers.
And then
once revealed, the initial probing as it unfurled itself for ingress.
Sometimes
there was little time to become familiar with the outer layers but when
the
opportunity was offered there was much to explore. The flesh often
swollen.
Sometimes so tight it was almost like that of a shop window dummy.
And then in. A
plunge. A splosh. Oftentimes the suction and warmth of entry was like a
hot
bath just waiting for you. The best was when it was liquid and warm and
so welcoming
that the thrusts were already lubricated with no need for additional
spit or
lotion.
And then back.
And forth. In. And out. Thrust after thrust after thrust. In a sense,
each
inward and outward motion predictable and monotonous, but within it all
was the
constant beat of a dance track with its own subtle progression building
up and
up until the drop.
And it was the
release that it was all about, whether sheathed or not. A release of
all that sperm
manufactured in the testes, now so sore and swollen, transported from
the
scrotum along Dick’s engorged length and with that delightful spurt of
slight pain
out into the waiting receptacle either to be wasted or (who knows!) to
further
the same genetic line as Dick himself.
There was a
modicum of variety in these encounters of course. And it wasn’t always
just about
the pussy.
Sometimes Dick
was inside a mouth, quite different in tightness to a vagina, although
it felt
much the same if he entered the throat. The teeth and tongue were so
different
to the labia: responsive, versatile and potentially dangerous. Dentine
was much
more likely to cause sudden and permanent harm than anything between
the legs.
A single involuntary bite would spell Dick’s premature end. But the
very risk
and danger, not to mention the glutinous saliva and the press of
testicles
against the chin, was enough to make this experience worth repeating,
even if
the final release down a throat or on the face or anywhere other than
the warm
and welcome vaginal receptacle somehow never seemed quite enough.
On the other
hand, a release between the buttocks, so deep, so tight and so
strangely
mysterious, combined the warmth of a vaginal fuck with the danger not
so much
of abrupt emasculation as an encounter with unsavoury solids most often
hidden
deep within the anal canal. Nothing was more likely to bring a sudden
collapse of
desire and the instant end of lovemaking than when Dick’s glans,
especially its
open mouth, came up against unexpected faecal matter. But such
occasions were
rare, but when they happened, the trauma of disgust and the need for a
thorough
shower was enough to ensure that Dick’s preference was always the
orifice with
the richest features and which nature had designed for Dick’s
convenience and
comfort.
But with all
this variety, this pleasure and risk-taking, there came penalties. Dick
couldn’t expect to be as free as he was, with such a diverse population
of
willing partners, for there not to be consequences.
And these were
not always very pleasant.
At all.
The signs of
misbehaviour were as various as the infections. Dick sported unsightly
warts.
He discharged foul smelling green, yellow and white pus. He became
sore, red
and flaky. He ached. Sometimes, the pain was sharp and agonising. Dick
became
poorly and unsightly in so many ways. And worse than the discomfort and
disfigurement was the enforced abstention during which the only hands
he
encountered were sheathed in stretchy blue plastic gloves and
administered
relief from the tip of a syringe.
Dick was sick.
So sick, indeed, that the physical contact made was not to promote
pleasure but
mostly to add extra pain to prevent worse in the future or to apply
lotions that
weren’t designed to facilitate and enhance pleasure but rather as
relief for
excruciating itchiness, flakiness or rawness.
Fortunately,
the cures always worked and after a time of relaxation and quarantine,
Dick was
well enough to socialise again, fraternise with those he already knew
well and
to make himself known to new friends, associates and companions. And in
all
cases, Dick did his best to hide evidence that anything had ever been
out of
sorts. A reputation for unsavoury contagion was something Dick wanted
to avoid
at all costs. If those he got to know had any idea of the suffering
he’d been
through, there’d be no expression of sympathy at all.
Quite the
opposite, in fact.
Indeed, he
could become a pariah with little hope of future reward. But at least
these
occasions of quarantine and forced rest persuaded him to stay properly
dressed
in future. There were symptoms far worse than warts, discharge and
peeling
skin. Symptoms that would almost certainly prevent Dick from living to
a ripe
old age.
But increased
age was something that Dick did
learn
to live with. There were fewer encounters as the years passed by and
those
encounters were somewhat rarer than they’d once been. Furthermore Dick
was no
longer a reliable performer, though at least he was far less likely to
finish
too soon.
It wasn’t that
Dick visibly displayed the ravages of age so evident elsewhere. The
surrounding
bush of hair had become increasingly flecked with grey. The skin pouch
that
supported the testes had become less tight and smooth. More like a sad
sack of
two large potatoes whose most productive days were behind them. But
when Dick
was persuaded to spring to life, he was as big, bold and stiff as he’d
ever
been.
That wasn’t the
problem.
The problem
nowadays for Dick was to regain the proud bearing and youthful
exuberance that
had made him so popular in his younger days. But medicine, as well as
finding
and supplying a cure for most ills, was able now to add that extra
youthful
bounce. But at a cost.
As Dick
approached middle age and beyond, this cost was a painful stiffness
that lasted
longer than it should, beyond even the moments of ejaculation, and left
him
battered and bruised for many hours after.
And for what
benefit?
Dick knew he
couldn’t complain. He was lucky to have any companionship that wasn’t
procured
at expense. But the pussies with which he now engaged lacked their
youthful
splendour, just as Dick did himself. They were less elastic. The
surrounding
hair was wiry and grey, if not now utterly free of pigment. They didn’t
always
afford painless entry, although this was rarely because they were
tight. And
little choice was now available for free. It was only after an exchange
of cash
that Dick was able to visit tauter, plumper pussies with silky hair and
a
tighter grip. And only after even more significant expense was he able
to
re-visit those other playgrounds he’d once frequented: the tighter
orifice
between the buttocks or a mouth with teeth, tongue and deep open
throat. But
these pleasures were ones he frequented less and less often.
In fact, even
with medical assistance, Dick was losing his desire to do much more
than rest
and relax. Indeed, the primary activity that had always been a
necessary part
of his life from the moment he was born was itself becoming more of a
chore and
more often associated with pain.
Perhaps the
illnesses
that had afflicted him over the years had made his suffering that much
worse,
but Dick recognised that there were others in equal distress who’d
never made as
many acquaintances and, in most cases, had never been party to
financial
transactions.
And so it was
that Dick’s final days were supported by a catheter that took over the
duties
and responsibilities he’d previously taken on himself. He had to resign
himself
(reluctantly) to the realisation that he would never again provide or
be
provided with pleasure. And would certainly never again be an object of
desire.
But as Dick
reclined in his shrivelled piss-covered senescence, he could reflect
that in a
sense it had all been worth it.
He’d lived a
Dick’s life and he’d lived to tell the tale.
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