Steve Grogan is an ongoing contributor to Writer to Writers. He has published several short stories on the site, which can be found on the main page under the heading “Steve Grogan’s Fiction.” He has had several poems and short stories published over the years, some of which are available on Amazon. (See the announcement at the end of this post.)
He is the writer and creator of the ongoing, zombie, post-apocalyptic, Romero-meets-Dungeons-and-Dragons webcomic REDemption. Alternatively, Steve describes the comic by saying, “It is to zombie fiction what KILL BILL was to kung fu movies: everything I love about the genre housed under one roof and mixed with my voice.”
October 28, 2008
Time 4:32AM, Mood Insomniac, Size 6” (length), 5” (girth)
What’s that? “Insomniac” isn’t a mood? Well, fuck it. I don’t care. It’s the best I can come up with. Right now, my brain is in that weird, hazy state of mind that exists somewhere between the real and dream world.
October 29, 2008
Time 2:44PM, Mood Wired, Size 18” (long), normal girth)
I felt drowsy earlier, so I decided to make some coffee. Now my nerves are blasting off like firecrackers. My hands shake so bad that this entry is barely legible. Normally coffee doesn’t have this effect on me, but as an experiment I chugged down an entire pot. That sure made one hell of a difference!
Time 8:57PM, Mood Angry, Size 3’ (length), 1’ (girth)
It’s not difficult to figure out why I’m angry. Today my penis has grown to a size that it never has before. I have been keeping track of the time, my moods, and the different sizes. So far the only thing I’ve noticed is that there is no pattern to notice.
Goddammit, you have got to be joking!
Time 9:02PM, Mood Confused/Angry/Frustrated/PISSED, Size 6” (length), normal girth
I can’t believe this! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME? How do I make it stop? I can’t believe there’s no pattern here. Then again, the fact that my penis spontaneously changes size is unbelievable in and of itself. So maybe there is no way to predict when a size change will come.
No, I can’t accept that. I won’t accept it. It’s been only a week since I started writing this stuff down. That’s why no noticeable pattern has emerged yet. I just have to keep doing what I’ve been doing. Someday the answer will come, but it never will if I don’t have enough data first.
I refuse to live the rest of my life pacing this apartment, seeing out the rest of my days as a slave to the size curse. And I also refuse to die a virgin.
October 30, 2008
Time 10:25AM, Mood Drowsy, Size 8” (length), 2” (girth)
Slept like shit because my one-eyed friend decided to constantly change size. Normally I don’t even notice this, but for some reason last night I could feel it every time. It happened so often that I didn’t even bother to record every new size. This went on until about 5AM, when it reached the size listed above. Even then, I still couldn’t fall asleep. The anticipation of another size change kept me awake.
I can’t go on like this.
I must go on.
October 31, 2008
Time 7:43PM, Mood Irritated, Size 20” (length), 1” (girth)
This must be a record: the longest pencil dick in the world.
Damn trick-or-treaters have been ringing the bell all night. Hard to tell when one group has left and another has arrived. I wish I could run downstairs long enough to put a sign on the door that says, “Sorry, no candy.” However, they are coming so frequently that I can’t even risk doing that.
About an hour ago, I was sitting near the open living room window when I heard what sounded like eggs pelting the front door of my building. My assumption must have been correct because I heard good old Mr. Washington come charging out of the building, screaming, “You damn fool kids!” Then he cried out in pain. Curious, I looked outside to see my downstairs neighbor sprawled out on the ground. The egg throwing had been a ruse to get him to come outside so he could slip on some shaving cream they’d sprayed all over the front steps. Although our animosity had died down weeks ago, I couldn’t help but laugh at this.
Outside the bare branches click together like drum sticks. The wind whistles, which causes the scratching sound of leaves scuttling across the cement. Occasionally these sounds are accompanied by children’s laughter, the prepubescent voices calling out “trick or treat!,” car alarms, police/fire truck/ambulance sirens, my doorbell ringing, the thump of Mr. Washington’s footsteps as he brings candy out to trick-or-treaters, the muffled sound of him talking to the children and/or their parents, gates creaking as the kids come and go from the houses on either side of us, a shutter being slammed open and shut by the wind, dogs barking, cars and trucks and city buses roaring by, some cars idling down at the corner as the guys out there make their usual deals (which aren’t interrupted by anything: the weather, holidays, states of emergency).
This is autumn. I can observe it all from my window, but I cannot interact with any of it. I’m like a moviegoer staring passively, at the big screen. Aside from my job and a few measly chat room conversations, I don’t disturb the outside world at all.
It’s like I’m not even a part of my own life.
November 1, 2008
Time 4:02AM, Mood Restless, Size 4” (length), 8” (girth)
I’m willing to bet most of my nights will be like this, from now until the day I die. Unable to sleep. Wondering how I happened to stumble into this miserable situation.
I was frustrated when I made that wish in the mirror. Do I deserve a life of torment over that?
All signs point to “yes.”
November 2, 2008
Time 5:06AM, Mood Pissed off, Size 8” (length), 2” (girth)
Second insomniac night in a row. So why is my mood pissed off instead of tired? I can sum it all up in one word: infomercials. But I’m not talking about just any kind of paid programming. My anger is related to only certain ads.
You ridiculous, silly, sad sons of bitches. If only you knew how lucky you are! Enjoy whatever size you were born with, because this shit is no fun. Learn to love your cock. Stop wishing you are a different size. Wishing is a dangerous thing. Imagine what life would be like if it was granted and things didn’t turn out like you thought they would, but you couldn’t change it back.
All of you out there can imagine it. As for me, I’m living it!
You want to know what happened to me today? Let me write it down, so there’s a record of what you can look forward to if your wish for a bigger cock gets granted.
It was late afternoon. I stood by my front window, silently contemplating the deserted street two floors below, when my dick shot up at full mast. It went straight through the window, crashing through the glass. Screaming in pain, I backed away quickly but cautiously, not wanting the jagged glass to cut my cock to ribbons. Penetrating the window had already left several lacerations on the shaft. Luckily none of the wounds looked too deep.
And it gets better! Seconds later, Mr. Washington charged up the stairs and pounded on my door. Knowing I had to answer, but not happy about it, I slowly made my way over to answer his call. I opened the door enough for him to see my face.
“What happened?” he asked. The words practically exploded out of his mouth.
“I don’t know. Some punks threw a brick through my window,” I said.
“That’s a lie. If it happened that way, there wouldn’t be glass outside on the sidewalk,” Mr. Washington said. “You broke it from inside.”
The pain from the cuts grew more and more unbearable as he stood out there bitching at me. He started making his usual threats about calling the landlord. All I wanted was out of the conversation.
“Mr. Washington, I’m sorry…”
“You should be!” he shouted.
“…but I have to go!”
I slammed the door in his face and then bolted it. With that gesture, the old man cranked up the intensity, yelling about getting me evicted and pounding on the door. By this point I was beyond caring about whatever he said. Go ahead, call Bob. All I wanted to do was get the glass out of my cock.
I went to the bathroom and used the detachable showerhead to wash the wounds. With the blood cleared away, I could see the cuts weren’t that bad, but would still need dressing applied to them. It took all the gauze I had in my medicine cabinet to cover them up, and then I had to use masking tape to hold it all in place. And don’t let me forget to mention I had to wait until my erection went away to do all of this!
Once I came out of the bathroom, I stopped at the front door and listened. Mr. Washington was gone. I’m not the kind of person who relies on clichés to express his feelings, but I remember thinking, “Thank God for small favors.”
These are the kind of experiences I get to deal with. All those guys out there who fill your breakfast bowls with Viagra instead of cereal better be careful. You don’t know what you are wishing for.
My advice: live the rest of your life without that wish being granted, or at the very least be prepared to handle the results if it comes true.
November 3, 2008
Time 8:42PM, Mood Nervous, Size 2” (length), normal girth
Mr. Washington made good on his threat.
Bob called me about an hour ago to ask what happened to the window. The best story I could come up with was that I threw something across the room out of anger, and it broke the glass.
“Then why did you tell Mr. Washington that kids broke it?” Bob asked.
That old fucker! When he wanted to be a rat, he saw it all the way to the end, didn’t he? Too bad they don’t give out medals for that!
“Well, I’m twenty-six years old. If I break a window, I don’t feel like I have to explain my life to my downstairs neighbor,” I said.
“Maybe not, but you do have to explain it to me,” Bob replied. “You get that window fixed in a week, or you won’t have a place to live.”
Then he hung up on me. My hands were trembling as I put my phone back on its base. How the hell could I go apartment hunting if he evicted me? It’d be kind of difficult with my cock trailing three blocks behind me. Better get on the ball about getting this window repaired.
Only trouble: it’s now after 8PM. No window repair companies will be open by this time of night. It’ll have to be the first thing I tend to in the morning.
If you like what you have read and would like to purchase this serialized novel as one complete PDF, then please send $3.50 to Steve via PayPal: email@example.com
Also, don’t forget to check out his other writing at the following links below:
Author: Redemption Comics
Steve Grogan was born in the often-filmed city of Troy, NY. He has written in a variety of formats (novels, short stories, poems, screen and stage plays, blogs/articles) and genres (horror, science fiction, fantasy, mystery, drama).
Steve is also a father, a boyfriend, a musician, a fitness fanatic, and a martial artist. He has been studying Wing Chun Kung Fu since 1995, and he maintains a blog/YouTube channel that describe his training habits, epiphanies, and advancement. It also candidly discusses his stumbling blocks, such as his struggle with nutrition and mental health issues.
He is no relation to the New England Patriots quarterback from the 1980’s.