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 28, 2008
Rather than look up Merrick himself, I decided to do a search about his condition. The results were less than spectacular.
Much like any affliction suffered by human beings, it was rare to find any cases of Elephantiasis that were even close to being alike. Some people were born with it. (I can’t imagine what kind of damage would be done to a woman’s crotch if her child had Elephantiasis of the head while still in the womb. Would either party survive the delivery? That’s some frightening stuff. Reminds me of the “body horror” films of David Cronenberg.) Others developed it in adolescence or even later. Given the various timeframes, no one could figure out any kind of pattern. After all, you couldn’t blame it on puberty if you saw this condition crop up in toddlers and middle-aged folks.
Needless to say, my research proved to be a dead-end. Meanwhile, the throb in my lower back insisted on getting worse. I started to think that maybe some of the pain was psychological. In other words, my back felt worse because I knew I couldn’t go outside to get help while I had a two-and-a-half-foot schlong.
I looked at the clock and saw it was 9:40AM. The latest I’d ever signed in to work was nine; I was shocked Rick hadn’t called me to see what was going on. With the pain radiating up and down my spine, I knew I couldn’t sit at the computer for eight hours. It’d be better to just call Rick and tell him I wouldn’t be working at all.
I did just that, getting Rick’s voicemail after six or seven rings. The message I left wasn’t too far from the truth: I told him I’d hurt my back (truth) and the doctor told me to lie down all day so it could have a chance to heal (lie.)
Having taken care of that, I carried my cock over to the couch. After I got all stretched out and comfortable, I realized the remote was sitting in the recliner on the other side of the room. Once again I had to gather up my penis to move. At this point I remember thinking my penis felt a little lighter but, given that it still looked abnormally long, I couldn’t be sure.
I flipped through the stations several times. (Quite a mean feat if you think about it, because these days we have thousands of TV channels to help numb our brains.) After a while I started to feel a painful throb in the end of my penis, which was probably a delayed reaction from when it had slammed into the ceiling. For a while I ignored it, but it got so bad that denial was no longer an option.
The next journey proved to be my most complicated trip through the house up to that point. I had to go out to the kitchen and get some ice. Then I had to put that in a little plastic sandwich bag. After that I went to the bathroom to get a washcloth so the bag wouldn’t be directly on my skin. Finally, I was able to go back to the couch and lie down. Your average person would take a minute or two to complete the routines described above. For me, a half hour had gone by.
I draped the washcloth over my penis and put the baggie on the spot where the throbbing was the worst. Once again I laid back and started flipping through the channels.
Before long I found a movie I liked on AMC. I put the remote on my coffee table and made myself comfortable. Within five minutes I was asleep again. (Aside from hurting my back, having to carry my cock all over had drained my energy.)
When I woke up, I was surprised to find myself on my stomach. When I thought of all the choreography I went through earlier to get into the shower, I knew that it shouldn’t have been possible that I could just flip over in my sleep. My first thought was: great, what kind of horror show does my crotch look like now?
I got up off the couch to see my penis was almost back to normal length. Right off the bat, it hit me that, even though every case of Elephantiasis had been different, there were absolutely no cases ever heard of where it went in reverse!
The situation of my cock expanding and now contracting took a backseat in my mind when I realized it’d now be okay to go to the doctor for my back. I called the office while I got dressed. My regular doctor couldn’t fit me in, so they instructed me to go to On-Call immediately.
As I headed downstairs, a couple disturbing questions entered my mind: What if my dong grew while I was being seen by a doctor or nurse? How about in the waiting room? Or even worse, what if it grew while I was driving? Imagine the look on the firefighter’s face when he used the Jaws of Life to pry the car open, only to find himself confronted by my enormous cock. If no other accident scene ever left him scarred, I bet that one would.
I pushed all these worries to the back of my mind, knowing I couldn’t live your life in fear of what might happen. My back was screwed up, and it was a problem that needed correcting. Since I didn’t know how to do it myself, that meant having to go to the doctor. The problem would only get worse if I let fear keep me home.
My drive went off without a hitch, and so did talking to the On-Call nurse. Filling out their paperwork for first-time patients. Waiting while my health insurance card was photocopied. Sitting down to somehow pass the time until my name was called. Rifling through the waiting room reading material to discover they had nothing but women’s magazines. Watching television, which was being held hostage by a pair of giant alpha male jocks.
During all this, I felt no stirring in my groin. Not even the usual sensation of a cock muscle twitching as it rubbed against the inside of my boxers. Maybe my growth was just a fluke. A mysterious and unexplainable one, but still a fluke. This would be the ideal situation, but I had no way to be sure. Even if I went seven years without my penis expanding or contracting, who’s to say it would never happen again?
And it might not do me the favor of pulling that stunt while I was in the privacy of my own home either. Now wouldn’t that be great? I could just imagine myself sitting in a movie theater with someone yelling, “Down in front!” with the silhouette of my towering rod blocking the screen. Or waiting for a teller at the bank when my dick suddenly cut in line for me. Maybe playing a video game with some friends and then, instead of throwing my controller out of frustration, destroying the console with my Dick of Doom.
Then an even more frightening thought crossed my mind: what if it expanded while I was having sex with someone?
On the outside, I still looked as calm, composed, and bored as any other patient in the waiting room, but inside I was freaking out. Stacy and I had got it on only once. And even then, we hadn’t finished. Now on top of that humiliating aborted attempt at sex, I had to think of this bullshit. Jesus, I hadn’t even gotten as far as sticking the head of my cock inside her! Did this mean I was going to die a virgin?
Just as I was starting to feel too wound up to sit in that waiting room anymore, a nurse called my name. I followed her into a room that wasn’t much bigger than a storage closet. No matter. At least I was finally being seen.
“So you hurt your back?” the nurse asked.
“Yes, my lower back. I just moved into a new apartment. I’ve been carrying a lot of heavy things, and I thought my back hurt from all the lifting. But here we are a day later, and it still hurts, so I decided to come here,” I said.
“Good call,” she said. “Could you show me where it hurts?”
I stood up and pointed to my lower spine, just above the left buttock. The nurse wrote this down on my chart.
“Okay. One of the doctors will be in to see you shortly,” she said.
Then she left. This is the reason everyone hates doctor’s visits, isn’t it? They get you so excited when they call your name, but all they wind up doing is move you from a large waiting room to a small waiting room.
In here there were no magazines, television shows, or conversations to distract me from my boredom. And of course, there was something else to accentuate my anxiety: the thought of my penis returning to yesterday’s gargantuan size. Imagine trying to get home then. Hell, imagine trying to explain it to the doctor when he came in! Suddenly, every second felt like an hour.
Then, about six hundred hours later (translation: ten minutes), I noticed my worst fear was coming true: my penis was growing again. Fortunately, it didn’t just burst through my jeans, but this was still a situation I was hoping to avoid. It slipped out of my boxers and started slinking down the right leg of my jeans. Please stop, I prayed. I was truly in full panic mode by the time it reached my knee. Jesus, I thought, is it going to poke out the bottom of my pant leg? A moment later I got my answer when it stopped about two inches below my knee.
So much for this never happening again! And so much for getting my back checked out. I couldn’t stay in the office like this. Not when there was a chance that it could decide to get longer. Or what if I got a boner?
I’ve never been great at confrontation, so I needed to be as nonchalant as I could about my exit. If anyone approached me and said I had to go back and wait for the doctor, I’d march right back into the room like the paper tiger I am. Not rushing out was the key, but then again I couldn’t go too slowly in case my cock started to stiffen up or get even longer. This escape had to be executed like a carefully balanced high wire act.
Having thought through all of that, I cautiously made my way to the door. Upon opening it, I realized all my planning had gone straight to hell because one of the doctors was walking toward my room. I had no way to avoid him. The long-dicked spineless one was about to get bullied into doing something he didn’t want to do yet again!
But I didn’t want to stay, dammit! I didn’t feel like going through the embarrassment that would arise if my cock got any longer. (Do you see the irony here? Now I was worried about my cock being too big!) At twenty years of age, it was about time I stood my ground.
So I did, stepping out into the hallway just as the doctor reached my room.
“Excuse me,” I said, maneuvering around him.
A sense of confusion poured into his eyes. He walked after me, chart in hand.
“I’m sorry for the delay, but I was just on my way to see you, sir. Your chart says that your lower back is hurt,” the doctor said.
“It was hurt, but it feels fine now,” I said.
“But even if it does, you should me check it out to be sure…”
“No,” I said abruptly. “I’m a busy man, and you’ve already kept me waiting here for over an hour. The pain is gone, and so am I.”
“Before you go, let me ask you one thing: are you familiar with what they do to horses after they break a leg?” he asked.
Now it was my turn to look confused.
“What does that have to do with me?” I asked.
“Answer the question.”
I wasn’t going to stay, but I figured it’d be all right to at least give him an answer.
“They get shot,” I said.
“Right. With horses, it’s a broken leg, and with humans it’s an injured back. Granted, we don’t shoot people who hurt their backs,” he said with a chuckle, “but it’s every bit as debilitating. If you don’t let me check you out, it’s a problem that will be with you for the rest of your life. You might even wind up in a wheelchair.”
I wrote earlier that I was never very good at improvisation, which is why the next words out of my mouth came as a shock even to me.
“You know, I wouldn’t mind that. I always hated walking. Besides, those people always get the best parking spots.”
The doctor stood there open-mouthed and looking stupid. He couldn’t believe his ears. Had this young punk just made a smartass remark about the positive side of being handicapped? Yes, I did, you son of a bitch!
Now that I’ve had more time to think about it, I don’t see what was so bad about that statement. People always talk about the negative side of being handicapped. What’s wrong with focusing on the positive for once? Hell, isn’t there a popular phrase that tells us to “accentuate the positive?”
I turned to leave and felt the doctor’s hand settle on my right shoulder. He spun me around somewhat violently (a real genius move to jerk around someone whose back may be injured, especially when you’re a doctor who is supposed to care about every patient’s well-being). As my body twisted I raised my arm up, knocking his hand away once I’d turned back to face him.
“I don’t know who you think you’re laying your hands on,” I said, “but if you try that again, the next thing you’ll be laying on is the ground.”
My voice. Yes, mousy little paper tiger boy. Loud, booming, confident, assertive. So threatening that the touchy-feely doctor actually backed up two steps. A surge of excitement rushed through me, frying my synapses and making my skin tingle.
Then I remembered my cock. Still its normal girth, but hanging two inches below my knee. What if it got hard right here in the middle of the On-Call waiting room? That couldn’t be allowed to happen. I had to continue my exit plan.
“Well, if this fun is all over, I’ll be leaving now,” I said.
Then I walked toward the door. I had to maintain a careful balance with this last part of my exit. Running out would make me feel/look like a wimp who scampered away from a confrontation that he himself had started. On the other hand, I couldn’t walk out too slow because I needed to get to my car in case my penis started to stiffen.
And that’s exactly what happened when I got within twenty feet of my car. Nothing is more painful than having your cock trapped in a downward position when it gets hard. I had to hobble for the last few feet. Upon reaching my car, I put my leg up on the hood and pretended I was stretching.
A few minutes went by before I went limp enough to put my leg down. Now I was presented with a whole new world of worry. Did I even dare to drive home? If my penis decided to get hard during the trip, I’d wind up stomping down on the gas pedal, or I would at least be unable to get my foot over to the brake. On top of all that, I couldn’t just leave my car in the On-Call parking lot.
I leaned against my car, putting my hands in my pockets while I contemplated this problem. That’s when I felt the bulge of my cell phone in my pocket, and it dawned on me that sometimes technology can be a wonderful thing.
There was an old associate of mine from the mailroom named Steve, who I remembered lived close to Hudson Valley Community College. Therefore, he wasn’t far from the On-Call. I went to my contacts list and zipped right down to his name, then hit the “send” button. He answered after two rings.
“Hey, Steve, how’s it going?” I said.
“Pretty good, man. How about you?”
“All right. Listen, I need a favor. I’m over at the On-Call near Hudson Valley. The doctor I saw here gave me something for pain. I don’t remember what the name of it is, but he doesn’t want me driving home,” I said.
“Flying on a legal high,” Steve observed.
“Exactly. The only problem is my car’s here, and I can’t just leave it,” I said. “Is there any way you could help me out here?”
“I could give you a ride home, but I don’t know how I could get back there to get your car,” Steve said. “Well, let’s work this out. Where do you live?”
“Fifth Avenue, near the ramp that takes you on to I-87,” I answered.
“That’s not too bad. I could meet you over there in a few minutes, take you home, and then take a cab back to get your car,” Steve said.
“Thanks, man. You’re a savior.”
“It’s no problem,” Steve assured me. “See you in a few.”
Five minutes after we hung up, I saw Steve’s infamous 1985 Chevy Celebrity pull into the parking lot. Steve had countless stories tied to that car. It had taken him up and down the East Coast, going on random adventures with his friend Jeff. People were amazed that the car still ran after all the wear and tear those two maniacs put on it. Somewhere along the way it had been christened “the battle wagon.” You could hear the car coming three blocks before it arrived. Every other week Steve would take the bus to work because the jalopy was in the shop for one reason or another. I think the work he put into that car easily cost five times more than the vehicle itself. (It wouldn’t surprise me if it was even higher than that estimation!) Behind his back most people called him crazy for hanging on to that old pile of metal, but that’s because no one understands sentimentality anymore. With so many memories and experiences attached to that car, it was hard for Steve to just get rid of it.
Steve pulled up next to my car and got out. We exchanged greetings and then got into my vehicle. Silence filled the car for most of the trip. About five blocks from my apartment, my cock started to stiffen up again. On the one hand, I was glad about this because it proved my fear of driving was justified. But on the other, there was someone else present. And you bet your ass Steve was curious as to what I was doing when I straightened out my right leg and started squirming around in the seat.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I just got this weird pain in my right hip,” I lied. “Stretching it out like this makes some of it go away.”
Steve responded with a nod. Five blocks later we were at my place. Fortunately, my erection had melted away. By the time I got out of his car, Steve had already come around to the sidewalk.
“Do you need my phone to call a cab?” I asked.
“No, I have my cell phone with me. Here,” Steve said, handing me my keys. “Go on upstairs and get some rest.”
And with that I headed upstairs.
My eyes are closing on me. I’ll finish this story tomorrow.
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: firstname.lastname@example.org
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.