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.”
September 24, 2008
My God, are you kidding me?
The wish that I said to myself in the mirror.
Could that be the cause of all my problems? Was some unknown deity listening and decided to have a little fun with a small-dicked loser? Oh, I’m going to grant you that wish, chump, but not the way you had in mind!
No, that seems too ridiculous. Because if my wish had been granted by a god, then wouldn’t they have heard me every day since then, wishing I could be back to normal? Or maybe they have heard subsequent wishes but cruelly chose to ignore them. Either way, I think theological explanations are out.
It happened the morning after I kicked Stacy out. I woke up on my left side and felt the strangest sensation: there was something huge between my legs.
My first impression was that it felt like one of those body pillows, but I didn’t own any of those. Then I felt a breeze move across my body. Below my waist, the cool air kissed my bare skin. I remembered falling asleep with my boxers still on, so I felt compelled to look down and see what was going on.
Now here I must ask a question: how does a person describe their reaction to a sight that defies reality as they know it? I don’t know, but I must give it a shot. Maybe the best way to describe it would be it felt like my heart locked up and my mind had snapped in two. Imagine a movie where the fourth wall is not just broken but knocked down by a wrecking ball. Next thing you know, one of the characters from the movie sits in the seat beside you, stealing your popcorn and watching the now-empty screen.
Laying there on the mattress between my legs, stretching all the way down to my ankles, was my cock. Its growth had ripped my boxers apart. Aside from length it had also increased in girth, reaching about six or seven inches in diameter.
Panic doesn’t even begin to describe what came over me. A low, rumbling scream pushed its way to the top of my esophagus. It practically exploded out of my mouth. As the sound dragged on, it changed pitch several times. First it came out sounding like a siren wail. Then it rose to the point where anyone listening would’ve thought I never hit puberty, and it kept on going. By the time I ran out of breath, I think only dogs could hear me (a guess I made based on how many I heard howling outside).
Once my noise died down, I heard a banging noise. Great! Someone was knocking on my front door! Actually, it was more like impatient pounding. They must have been there for a while, but I hadn’t heard it over my screaming. I knew I had to answer the door, and at this point I stumbled over my first problem: how did I handle getting out of bed? My first move was to sit up and put my left foot on the floor. Then, using both hands, I lifted my penis off the bed. Without thinking I let it drop. Let me tell you: I’ll never make that mistake again. A bolt of pain shot from the tip of my cock, ripping right up the shaft, and tearing through every nerve ending in my body. Imagine being hit with an arrow right in the groin and then feeling its tip explode inside you like a grenade. That’s the best way I can describe it.
The pounding became more insistent, and I could hear the person shouting in the hall. I stood up and headed for the door. More pain resonated through my body when my penis dragged across the floor, so I had to pick it up and drape it over my arms. This was going to be tricky: answering the door while keeping my situation out of sight. I hung my dong over my left arm and, using my right hand, opened the door just enough to see who was out in the hall. It was Mr. Washington, my downstairs neighbor. We’d met the day I moved into my apartment. He was in his mid-fifties and usually quite jovial, but I could see he wasn’t very happy today.
“Hi, Mr. Washington,” I said, trying to act as if nothing out of the usual had brought him to my door this morning.
“Boy, what the hell is all that racket going on up here?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, sir. It was just…” (What the hell was I going to use as an excuse? Think, damn you, think!) “I was just having a bad dream.”
“Bad dream, huh? You always scream like someone was pulling your nuts off when you have a bad dream?” Mr. Washington asked.
“If it’s intense enough, sir,” I replied.
Mr. Washington let out a long sigh. I could tell by the look on his face that he bought my story, but that didn’t automatically mean he wasn’t upset anymore.
“Now listen to me, son. You ain’t been living here barely a month and you already pullin’ some crazy shit this mornin’. I’m gonna let it slide today, but next time I’m gonna call the police. Ain’t no reason to be dealing with this shit so early in the day,” Mr. Washington said.
Just as I was about to reply with my deepest apologies, my cock sprang to full attention. At the tender age of twenty, your junk can do that to you. It will spontaneously stiffen up without any kind of warning or stimulation. Any curiosity I had regarding its length at full extension was satisfied when the head slammed into the ceiling. I didn’t mean to do it, but I let out a shout of pain right in Mr. Washington’s face. This agony was caused by two factors: my dick hitting the ceiling, and the sudden strain my back was under by having to deal with so much mass out in front. Bet I just pulled a lumbar out of place, I thought, but how can I go to a doctor to be checked out?
All while I was thinking this, Mr. Washington was looking at me like I was a crazy man. My muscles were throbbing. I had to cup my hands under the shaft to support my manhood and ease the strain on my back.
“What the hell is your problem, boy? Yelling in my face like that!” Mr. Washington grumbled.
“I’m sorry, sir. I…I stubbed my toe.”
I never was very good at improvisation. Being put on the spot had never been my strong suit. This stupid lie proved my skills hadn’t improved with age.
“Stubbed your toe?” Mr. Washington said in disbelief. “And how in the fuck did you do that if you’re standing still?”
“I don’t know…talent?” I replied.
Now I’d revealed two of my greatest flaws to him: lack of improvisational talent, and the inability to refrain from being a smartass. Out in the darkened hallway I could see his eyes light up with anger. This emotion came out in his voice only seconds later.
“Look here: I don’t need to take no damn lip from some punk half my age. How’s about I come in there and kick your ass?”
This was getting bad. I needed to shut it down. And fast.
“Mr. Washington, you have made your point. Now I think you should leave,” I said, slamming the door and locking it.
He started to pound furiously. I stayed by the door, nervous that it would give way and he’d come in. After a while he gave up and went downstairs.
For a moment, I felt relieved. Then I remembered what had started this whole altercation. There it still hovered before me, bigger than the dick of your average male porn star, still pointing up at the ceiling.
My panic was instantly restored. Mr. Washington may have left, but how in the hell was I going to solve this problem? How could I get help for what was happening to me? No one would believe this situation. Even if they did, I would probably get laughed at instead of helped. One thing was for sure: I couldn’t move around the apartment while I still had a boner. All I could do was wait for it to go down. Trying to move with this massive erection sent non-stop burning pain through my back. I tried thinking of the most non-sexy things in the world: ear wax, ABC gum, dandruff, dust bunnies. When those didn’t help, I conjured up flat-out disgusting imagery: a photograph album I’d seen of old war wounds, bloody surgery footage, abortions, the pictures I’d seen online of what had supposedly been the remains of the Lindbergh baby. Still no signs of deflation.
Then I remembered a time when some of my friends had convinced me to go swimming in late April. It turned out the water wasn’t warm enough yet, and my nuts had shriveled to the size of two raisins. Maybe this same principle could help me out now!
I risked the painful procedure of moving and made my way to the bathroom. I tried going in the normal way (facing forward) and found my cock was so long that I couldn’t reach over to turn on the shower. I had to back out, turn around, and go in backwards. Once the water was running I stepped into the shower, gasping as the chill hit my body. Sure enough, my erection started to dwindle. I collapsed against the wall in relief, sliding down until my ass hit the floor.
I must have passed out with the shower pouring down on me because the next thing I remember was opening my eyes to find myself staring down at my crotch. All hopes of this being a bad dream were lost when I saw my penis, although no longer hard, still trailed down to my feet.
How could this be real? More importantly, how did I make it go away? Where could I possibly find answers? One word immediately floated into my mind: GOOGLE.
While my penis was still soft, I hurried through my apartment to my computer and got on the internet. For my keyword searches I tried things like “enlarged penis” or “abnormally long penis.” All I got were thousands of porno sites. I scrolled to the bottom to see what other related keyword terms Google might provide me in its infinite algorithmic wisdom, but they were useless too.
From somewhere deep within the mysterious confines of my brain, I remembered the David Lynch movie Elephant Man. What I couldn’t remember was if the main character John Merrick had been born with his condition, or if it had developed later in life. Seeing as how his case had to do with an abnormally large head and so did mine (the only difference being it was the other head), it seemed like something worth looking up.
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.