How Do You Like It?

Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong

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As I lay in Debbie's bed, listening to the sounds of her sleeping, I thought about the sex we'd just had.

Parts of it had been nice, I mused, but perhaps that was because I'd abstained for so long from being in a woman's bed. It had certainly been a treat to climax inside a woman after all these years and yet, now that it was over, it bothered me that there had been more wrong with how we'd been together than right. Like lying too long in a bath that had grown lukewarm, I had been left feeling distinctly dissatisfied.

I was finding it difficult to get to sleep because, in spite of the fact we'd made love and I'd released an almost embarrassingly copious load into the condom I'd been wearing, my cock was still achingly hard and feeling painful as the head of it chaffed against my underwear. A persistent erection after having sex with a woman for the first time could be seen as either a very good sign or a very bad sign. I thought, in my case, it was probably the latter.

To start with, Debbie had made a lot of effort both in cooking us a very nice meal and in decorating her bedroom with candles and scented oil burners to give our first pairing a sensual and romantic quality.

We'd got on well -- we'd had a lot to talk about and had made each other laugh as we ate -- and our kissing and fondling in front of her TV afterwards had seemed like a natural fulfilment of a pleasant time spent together rather than feeling forced or hurried.

Also on the plus side was that she looked beautiful naked -- a lot better than a lot of the women I've made love to during my life -- and had an exquisite pair of firm, supple breasts which, after so long of being without a woman, I was quite simply captivated by. I'd spent ages playing with them, licking them and massaging them, and I was amazed at how much I'd missed the presence of two such apparently innocuous mounds of flesh from my life.

The first problem we'd discovered was that, while she clearly liked me and there was an undoubted sexual attraction between us, what was lurking between my legs held far less appeal to her. Even while we were on her couch, nuzzling into each other and working our hands into increasingly intimate places together, she became agitated when she got a feel of my awakening organ through the front of my trousers and had gasped, groping at my thickening shaft through the material with disbelief, "Oh my God, Rob! Is that your penis?!"

I'd pulled back self-consciously, putting a hand over my bulge. "Is it... er... a problem?"

I suddenly felt about fifteen; like I was having to conceal my disproportionate development from my mother's puritanical gaze.

"How big is it?" she'd asked in horror. "I mean, how big does it get?"

"I don't know exactly," I'd replied with a blush, before going on, "maybe a touch bigger than average," grossly downplaying my size.

"But you're such a quiet guy," she'd said with incredulity. "I had no idea were hiding something like that!"

"It's not like I'm a serial killer," I said, trying an empty-sounding laugh to lighten the mood. "It's just my willy."

She frowned at the mound in my trousers and I felt myself soften in my discomfort. I'd encountered quite a few women who'd seemed intimidated by the size of my erection, but I'd never had one who had shown such affront.

"I hoped you might like it," I went on rather feebly. "It can be quite affable when you get to know it."

"Look Rob... penises aren't really my thing," she coldly informed me. "I can cope with small ones, but big ones... well... I'd better be straight with you from the start..."

"What's the problem with them?" I asked. Although it had never occurred to me before, as women didn't have penises of their own, it was -- I supposed -- fairly understandable that some of them might find them strange in their unfamiliarity, perhaps even to the point of being distasteful.

"With yours," she said, glancing suspiciously towards my crotch, "does the skin of it pull right back from the head of it when you get aroused? So you can see the purple helmet underneath?"

I blushed again slightly; this was a very personal question. Nevertheless, as I was hoping she might be willing to see exactly how it worked quite soon, I replied, "Yes... yes, it does."

She winced. "Well, that's what I don't like: the feel of the skin, all tight and pulled back, against the hardness of the stem. And the really strong smell of the helmet -- that horrible, venereal stink that men give off when they're horny."

"I don't think mine is especially smelly," I said to try and pacify her, although I was well aware that my cock had its own distinct masturbatory odour.

"Once the skin's pulled back, they all are," she retorted. "Or maybe I'm really sensitive to it."

"Well, perhaps you'll find my scent less offensive than some of the other men you've made love with. It could be that you've had a few unlucky encounters until now..."

She looked distinctly unconvinced but nodded. "As long as you know from the outset -- there's no way I'll be able to suck it!"

"That's okay," I smiled, trying to be reassuring. "I don't really like that, anyway."

Was that what this had been all about -- her aversion towards giving men blow jobs? That was understandable: perhaps she'd tasted a guy with grotesquely unwashed cock; or perhaps someone had climaxed in her mouth with a gush of particularly obnoxious semen.

She'd kept her hands well away from my crotch during the rest of our time on the couch, and as long as I did my best to conceal what was going on in my trousers, her shock seemed to abate and she started to relax back into our interrupted cuddling. Indeed, things were starting to look more promising until we got up to her bedroom.

There, in the flickering light of the candles, we undressed each other and kissed again. Once my trousers were off, and as I was kneading her breasts and licking at her peaked nipples, she threw suspicious glances towards the abundant mound stretching the front of my underpants in stark contrast to her tiny lace panties.

When it came to be her turn to remove my briefs and my partially-aroused cock flopped out of them, rising outwards from my body and as thick as her forearm, she grimaced up at me with an expression approaching disgust.

"It's okay," I said, struggling to muster a smile. "If you're worried about penetration, we don't have to do that."

"It's not that," she said, "I don't mind that. It's just how obscene it looks -- hanging there all bloated. Like something you'd see on a farm animal."

"Thanks," I said tersely. "Your body looks nice too."

Needless to say I hadn't told her of the body issues I'd grown up with so, in fairness to her, she was totally unaware of how much she was contributing to them.

"Sorry," she muttered and pulled down my underpants completely, seeing for the first time how large and heavy my balls are and how low they stretch my scrotum hanging down between my legs. "You're just such a nice guy, Rob. So reserved. And yet you have these... well... completely disproportionate genitals."

I threw her an embarrassed smile, trying to lighten what was for me turning out to be an excruciating development in our first evening together. "I didn't actually choose them."

She'd cupped my balls in one hand, like one might do to a stud bull to see how much seed it would produce. Then she grabbed at my cock and pulled the foreskin back and forth a few times. Finally, she sniffed inquisitively at the air between us.

"You have a really strong scent coming from down there... very manly."

Apart from the slightly disdainful way she'd said 'manly', the observation could, I thought, be interpreted hopefully.

"Is that a good thing?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I find it really off-putting. Especially the smell of the helmet when it's exposed... on a small guy it can be just about tolerable, but on you -- once you get fully hard -- it'll be really strong."

At this rate, I thought, that isn't likely to happen any time soon.

I did what she'd done: wanked my cock a few times and sniffed at the air to see if I could discern the reason for her aversion. I couldn't: there was, I admit, a slight tang to the air which might have come from my glans or my foreskin, but it could equally be from the dribbles of piss which had accidentally seeped onto my balls, or from the sweatiness between my legs.

Nevertheless, I tried to appease her, her mention of 'not minding' penetration offering a promise of better things to come.

"I try to keep myself very clean," I said. "But if you'd like I'll... you know... wash myself down there...?"

I would be offended if she said she would, but with my sights firmly set on what might be on offer on the bed, I'd be prepared to give it a shot.

"It won't help," she countered. "It's something men produce from their glands, I think. It's probably your testosterone, or something in your urine, but I really don't like it. It reminds me of the male rats at school."

That's nice, I thought. Likening me to a rat is really going to get our night of passion back on track.

She went over to one of her oil burners and poured some liquid into it from a tiny bottle. The smell of patchouli wafted over, pleasant at first but quickly becoming cloying. I'd assumed, when I'd first spotted the oil burners, that she would filling them with liquids known for their aphrodisiac qualities; it seemed she'd actually scoured the shop for those which could neutralise male pheromones.

She came back over to me, her breasts and the small growth of hair between her legs looking delightful in the shadowy gold light from the candles. She threw me an apologetic smile and reached over to kiss me on the lips.

"I'm sorry, Rob," she said quietly. "I know it's not your fault and you can't help it. I told you things were complex for me. This is... well... part of it, I suppose."

"Have you had a bad experience?" I asked.

"Nothing like you're probably thinking of," she said. "Let's get on the bed... come-on... let's enjoy our time together."

I smiled back, the feeling of being the stud exhibit at a cattle market easing a little.

We climbed onto her bed: her with all the grace of a cat; me clambering behind her with my balls slapping around between my thighs and my thick floppy member catching her duvet and making a sticky smear on it. I positioned myself in front of her so that my shin was covering the stain; I didn't want to freak her out by letting her see a splodge of penile precum on her bedding.

We kissed gently at first and caressed each other's bodies. I focused on her breasts, of course, and she ran her fingers across my chest. I wondered if she was thinking I was too muscular for her -- compared to a lot of men, I'm almost scrawny -- but her negativity towards my male physiology made me almost paranoid about anything she could interpret as macho.

As she rubbed my chest, she said she liked the fact I wasn't very hairy but, even when she was saying it, the reproachful glance she made towards wispy sprouts between my pecs made me wonder whether she would, if we made this a regular thing, petition me to wax or shave what I had.

We kept kissing and I thought it best to keep her attentions directed towards my upper body for a while, to give her time to come to terms that she had an especially well-endowed man on her bed with her. She seemed comfortable with me -- attracted to me, even -- above the waist and I wanted her to focus on that, not the perceived monstrosity between my legs, as we smiled together and explored each other's bodies.

Every time she tried to sneak a look down there, I guided her head back upwards and smiled into her eyes. I wanted her to see me -- that sweet guy Rob -- who she'd met for a meal and who she'd invited over for the evening, not the overgrown rod of flesh that was slumped on her duvet in front of me.

We kissed more deeply -- I drove into her with my tongue and she offered little resistance -- and soon my cock was starting to lengthen and thicken again. Again, I took care to keep it away from her, so as not to alarm her with how large I knew it would soon grow, and kept urging my foreskin forwards to cover the fattening head of it, hoping to spare her any stray wafts of the masculine odour which she found so offensive.

Eventually, though, I let her look at it again, hoping by now she was more ready to accept me. She stared at it intently, emerging like a third leg from my pubic bush, before looking back up at my face.

I smiled, trying to be as reassuring as I could and hoping she might begin to like what I was offering her.

"It's so big, Rob," she muttered uneasily. "And your balls... Jesus..."

Feeling a flush of self-consciousness which I struggled to hide, I looked down at myself. She was right: my testicles looked grotesquely bloated in my tight, red-looking scrotum. They were being pushed outwards on either side of my organ like two, fat, hairy cricket balls.

Why did they have to look so swollen and pumped up with semen on a night like this? Was it being with a woman that had done it; were my sperm factories running on overtime tonight? Did a guy's bollocks always grow so massive at the prospect of impending sex?

I smiled at her apologetically. "It's been a while since I had a release -- I think they're a bit full." I tried a rather desperate chuckle.

She tried to smile back but I could see her distaste. To her I was like some Neanderthal, who could just about dress himself up to pass as a civilised man. Once naked I was revealed for what I really was: a crude savage with an unspeakably monstrous phallus and a scrotum pumped-up and ready to burst forth with thick, dirty spunk.

She looked back up at me and I leaned forwards to kiss her lips. She complied and opened her mouth, and I entered her with as much tenderness as I could muster. She put her arms around my back and caressed my shoulders and I did the same to her.

Perhaps this was what she really liked with a man: gentle affection; a more sensuous connection.

But soon she pulled back. "Your skin is so rough," she informed me. "There are these fine, coarse hairs."

I smiled. "Well, to me yours is so smooth. I think that's how it's supposed to work -- we're supposed to find each other's differences attractive."

She shrugged. "That's a very male way of thinking. Everything so black and white."

We kissed again and, while our tongues were wrestling softly inside her mouth, I reached forwards and worked my fingers between her legs. Finding her lips pleasantly large and her opening surprisingly generous, I worked my middle finger into her, gently tickling her plump clitoris with my thumb and pleased that, unlike some women, she seemed to enjoy direct stimulation. Given how large she was, I couldn't understand why she didn't like big men more: she could certainly fit a big organ inside her with no difficulty. I worked three or four fingers in and out of her, feeling her moisten quite copiously at my touch, and sniffed appreciatively at the thick vaginal odour that started wafting up from her.

"I like your smell," I whispered to her. "It's extremely attractive."

She looked uncertain as to how to respond and I smiled to show her that I didn't share her misgivings about how different our bodies were.

I pulled my fingers from her and sniffed at them, smiling more broadly to show her how excited I was by her most intimate scents, and then put one of them to my lips and ran my tongue along it. She tasted exquisite -- the large size of her opening seemed to imbibe her fluid with a strong, intensely feminine, flavour, and I leaned back to let her watch my cock visibly lengthening and rising upwards further to express its own gratitude.

I thought she'd like to see how aroused I was becoming by the juice from her vagina -- most women I've slept with have become turned on at the sight of my cock hardening at the taste of their pussies -- but Debbie almost flinched when she saw how erect I was becoming.

Nevertheless, I flaunted myself to her. She had to accept how I was built between my legs if there was to be any hope for us as a couple.

She stared at my organ as it rose up from the bed like she was watching part of the mating ritual of some repellent but morbidly compelling animal. My foreskin was retracting a little, exposing the purple head which seemed to so offend her, but I let it. She had to get used to whatever male odour she thought I had, and perhaps -- given time -- grow to enjoy it the same way that I relished her smells.

I returned my hand to her pussy and resumed gently fingering her opening and lightly caressing her clitoris. I could see from her face how much she enjoyed it: in spite of her reservations about my penis, she was clearly a very sexual person with the right stimulation.

She closed her eyes as I worked my fingers deep inside her, but I told her to open them and to look at my cock. I wanted her to feel pleasure while she was looking at my genitals; for her to start associating them with nice things to overcome the issues she so clearly had about men.

Whatever she thought of my extreme proportions, surely she had to like something about what I had down there? However distorted they were by my size, these were, after all, pretty standard male genitalia: a cock sticking out from my pubic hair with two balls hanging down in their scrotum beneath it. Surely there must be something between my legs that was attractive to her as a woman...

She did as I asked and for the first time I saw pleasure in her expression as she looked at my cock. That made it continue to grow: the sheer fact of her seeming to like what I was parading for her made my excitement build and my organ readily respond.

As it grew, my foreskin continued to recede and the fattening mushroom underneath began to emerge in all its odoriferous glory. Debbie seemed to accept that I was now aroused enough to expose my swelling cock-head and I fingered her more intently to try and enflame her passion in spite of her deeply-felt reservations.

I could tell she was enjoying what I was doing and she began to work her hips with my rhythm. I could hardly believe how much fluid she was producing, my fingers and the palm of my hand felt like they were dripping with it and the air between us seemed to be filled with its potent, sensual bouquet.

If my cock really was reeking with my sharp odour of my maleness -- and I can't say that I could really smell it myself -- I was pleased that it was now joined by Debbie's more succulent feminine scents. I worked my fingers in and out of her with increasing vigour, fascinated by how much vaginal juices she was releasing and enjoying the gentle gasps she was starting to emit.

Abruptly I pulled out of her -- I like the element of surprise -- and told her we were going to do something she'd enjoy.

I sandwiched my erection between her breasts and then held them together and slid it up and down between them. She had indeed liked that at first, smiling up at me in pleasure from the feel of my cock sliding between her breasts and the way I was circling her nipples with my thumbs as I held her firm. She didn't even seem to mind the way my balls thumped heavily against her stomach with each thrust or complain about the sweaty smell from between my legs as I straddled in front of her.

I thought, as I held her like that, pushing myself up and down against her, she was finally starting to appreciate my large organ. I thought she was realising how much fun a man's cock could be -- especially a big one like mine -- as a plaything during foreplay.

But then I guess I got carried away and my foreskin must have retracted right back from my cock-head on one especially powerful thrust through the middle of her cleavage.