Small Packages

SMALL PACKAGES: THREE TRUE STORIES by K. Nitsua. Revised version copyright 2012 by the author.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Although this trio of memories has sex, fair warning: it's not a stroke tale. I recently ran into an old friend from college who gave me the news that Corey, the subject of the first part, passed away a few years ago from AIDS. I'm re-posting this as a salute to his memory. Rest in peace, sweet man.

"That guy is HUGE."

"Hung like a horse."

"Ten inches if it's a millimeter."

"Down to his knees."

"Biggest one I ever saw."

We've all had these thoughts and said these words, in our minds if not out loud. The stereotype that gay men are hopelessly obsessed with the size of certain parts of the male anatomy has, shall we say, a large basis in reality. I like a big one as much as the next guy, at least to look at. I'm also happy that my own equipment's above average--at least, I've been with a lot of guys who were smaller, and some who were bigger. But I'd be lying if I didn't say that some of the best sex I've ever had has been with men who were not hung--in fact, who had downright small cocks. It didn't stop them from providing me with some of my fondest, hottest memories. So here's to three studs in my life who were below average in length and thickness--but way above average in every other way.

COREY

Corey and I hooked up just once, two nights before I graduated from college. He was a freshman, tall and lanky, with a good-humored, rosy-cheeked face. Back then, hair, especially facial hair, was a lot more fashionable on men than it is now. Corey had it in abundance: a headful of luxuriant auburn and a full beard of the same color. To say the least, he was striking, especially for a nineteen-year-old. As I was to find out, he had hair on the rest of his body too.

It was mostly luck that we got together. We hadn't known each other very well, and as it turned out had both suffered through separate unhappy relationships. Another freshman had come on to me, gotten me into bed with him, and dumped me after six weeks. Corey had pined after a handsome fellow on the swim team for most of the year who was widely rumored to swing both ways. He worked up the courage to tell Toby his feelings and was bluntly rejected. Toby took up with another guy the next year, and even lived with him for several months before ditching him. He's married now, at least to the outside world.

I forget now why Corey and his friend Sarah, a junior who was also a good friend of mine, were hanging around during Commencement week. At any rate, that evening the three of us went out to the campus Rathskeller to drink beer and celebrate the end of the year. I was graduating, as I've said, and Corey and Sarah had wheedled enough information out of their professors to know they had passed all their exams. No online grades were posted back then! So we were all pretty happy apart from our dysfunctional love lives, and very quickly got smashed.

We walked back to the co-ed dorm where both Sarah and Corey lived--it was after midnight, but this was a small college town--stumbling a bit and laughing a lot. Corey's roommate had already left for the summer, so he invited us up to his room. He lit a cigarette-he was an inveterate chain-smoker--broke out a bottle of something stronger than beer, and we continued on our merry way. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, and I was sitting on the floor with my back leaning against the box spring and mattress. Sarah was in a chair facing the two of us.

All of a sudden I felt something on my back. I realized after a moment that it was Corey's hand, and that his fingers were moving. I was completely thrown by his little come-on. Though I thought Corey was cute, he had never given any indication he was interested in me that way. There was nothing to do except keep sitting and talking, since Sarah was facing the two of us. She knew we were both gay, of course; she had commiserated with me about Bob and undoubtedly she had heard all about Toby from Corey. Still, my brain didn't think this was exactly the time or place for Corey to be trying to start something. My body, though, was disagreeing. Ever so slightly, I shifted closer to him. In response, he moved his knee over so that it barely grazed my shoulder. By now, my heart was pounding in my chest. Suddenly it seemed very warm.

"It's so nice out," I heard myself saying. "Why don't we all go for a walk?"

So back we went out again, going nowhere in particular. Corey hung close by me and managed to touch me frequently on the back, and once or twice lower down. I began to touch him back. At some point Sarah must have noticed what was going on between us. She abruptly said good night and left. We could tell she was miffed, but Corey and I were too drunk and horny to care. We continued to walk until we were on a quiet street, shaded with trees, quite far from campus. It was there that Corey dropped his cigarette, ground it out on the sidewalk, took me in his arms and kissed me. His mouth was warm and eager, his voice soft as he whispered to me how much he wanted me.

The scent of fresh tobacco on a man's breath still turns me on.

We held hands in the darkness walking back to his room. Once inside the door, we fumbled at each other's clothes with eager hands until I began to unbutton his jeans. He grasped my wrist, and shook his head with what I sensed was embarrassment.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

After a moment, Corey said, "You... might not like me."

"Why not?" I was genuinely surprised. His chest and stomach were taut and muscular, and covered with fine hair that set off the cleft down the middle of his torso. He was in much better shape than Bob, my ex; in fact, I thought he was the hottest man I had ever been with. Admittedly, I didn't have that much basis for comparison.

He was struggling to get the words out. "I'm not... you know, real big."

"Well, let's see." By now I'd gotten the Levis off his hips and pushed them down his legs. He wasn't wearing any underwear and his cock sprang free. It's true, it wasn't big. Maybe five and half inches, cut. But it was very hard, and perfectly straight, and had a dark purplish head from which hung one pearly drop of fluid.

I knelt, gripped his thighs and grinned up at his anxious face. "Looks fine to me. Let's see if it fits." With that, I took his cock down my throat until his pubes were tickling my nose. Corey gasped, his hands clamped around my head, and I knew everything was going to be all right.

Soon we were both naked and entwined on top of my friend's narrow bed. I quickly discovered that he was a sweet and tender lover. He was also touchingly modest about what I thought were his very considerable physical attributes.

"I can't believe you like me," he said at one point when we both came up for air. "I'm such a beanpole. All this hair. And my apple face."

I guessed he was talking about his habitually pink cheeks, now even redder with excitement. I put my fingers to his lips.

"Stop," I said. "Corey, you're an Adonis."

He started to protest, and I substituted a hand for the fingers. "Did you hear me? You're beautiful. I want you to get up off the bed and stand up so I can feast my eyes on you."

At that, he giggled and hid his face in the sheets like a little boy. "Oh no... I can't."

I practically had to push him off the bed before he did as I asked. I can still see him standing there in the dim lamplight, laughing as he half-heartedly struck a muscle-magazine pose, his body hard and sinewy, his cock stiffly at attention. I stood up and embraced him. "Now come back to bed and fuck me."

At that his jaw fell open. "You sure?"

I kissed him. "Absolutely." What I hadn't told Corey was that I had never been fucked before. What he saw as a handicap I saw as the perfect opportunity. The first time might be a bit difficult. Who better to pop your cherry than a hot, nice guy with equipment that wouldn't tear you apart?

Still, it wasn't easy at first. If I was inexperienced, so was Corey--he confessed that he hadn't ever topped because, as he said sadly, "no one ever wanted me to." Before he could lapse into gloom again about his endowment, I quickly greased him up with Vaseline Intensive Care (no one worried about condoms back then), parked my legs on his shoulders and told him to push it in. The next instant I yelled in pain as he obeyed a bit too quickly.

"Let's try it another way," I said through gritted teeth.

Getting him to lie back and sitting on his prick worked better. In fact, it was fantastic. I gasped at the pleasure that rose from my insides as I sank down onto his body. I rode his shaft for a while, then got off and positioned myself doggie style.

"Let's try it this way."

He got behind me and slid in, without any problem this time. By now, I couldn't get enough of the feeling that coursed through me every time he moved. It wasn't until later that I learned that the sensations had been coming from my prostate, and even later that I realized Corey's cock had been the right size and shape to push my button with every thrust.

I could have gone on like that all night, but at last, Corey stopped and dropped his head onto my back. "I can't cum," he said, laughing. "I'm too drunk."

He pulled out, leaned back and lit another cigarette. Actually neither of us had cum, but somehow that wasn't important. I snuggled next to him and he put his arm around me.

"Want to get some sleep?" he asked after a while, stubbing his cigarette out in an ashtray on the floor. I nodded. He covered us with the sheet and reached over me to the wall switch to turn out the light. Just before he did, he turned and winked at me. "Part Two in the morning," he said.

I was awakened a few hours later by the feel of Corey's hand on my cock. We quickly began to go at it again, hung over but somewhat revived by our brief sleep. I straddled his legs, took a handful of lotion and began to jack him off. Corey jerked his head from side to side, moaning softly. Soon he shot his load in small spurts across the hair on his stomach. I wondered if he would lose interest now that he had gotten off. I was starting to get sleepy again myself, though my cock was achingly hard and unsatisfied as I lay back down on the bed.

Corey opened his eyes and smiled at me. "Thanks." He turned, retrieved his cigarettes and lighter and lit his morning smoke. Just as I began to think about getting up and dressed, he smiled at me and added, "Your turn."

He held out his free hand and asked me to squeeze some of the Intensive Care into his palm. I thought he was going to return the favor, but after stroking my cock once or twice he stopped and reached behind himself. He caught my eye and smiled again. "I want your dick up my ass."

He straddled me, took my cock with his free hand and guided it between his cheeks. In a moment I felt the hot smoothness of his insides as I slid easily into his hole. Corey was apparently more experienced as a bottom than a top. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was open in silent pleasure as he began to ride me. All this time he held on to his cigarette, from which he took regular drags. The glowing ashes at its tip were getting dangerously long. A thrill of fear ran through me and heightened my arousal, long before I knew what S & M was. Corey grabbed his cock, which had filled out and become hard again despite his recent orgasm. He began to jack it while he continued to move up and down on my shaft, squeezing it tightly with his ass muscles. In a few moments, his chest began to heave, and to my astonishment, a few more pearly drops emerged from the head of his cock, just visible above his pumping fist.

"Two in a row," I said to him. Corey opened his eyes and nodded, grinning. The ashes finally fell from his cigarette, fortunately onto the floor. Looking back, it's a wonder we didn't start a real fire to go with the one coursing through our bodies.

"Did you cum?" Corey asked. I shook my head. He lifted himself off of me, disposed of his spent Marlboro Lite, and got on his hands and knees, turning his back. In an instant I was between his legs, sliding my prick into the hole between his round, lightly furred cheeks. It took only about a dozen hard thrusts before I emptied myself into him, groaning. I collapsed onto his sweaty back.

Corey looked back at me. "Did you enjoy that?" he asked. I nodded, panting.

"What about you?" I asked.

He chuckled. "I could go for three in a row."

I wrapped my arms tightly around him. "This was the best graduation present I could have had," I whispered in his ear. I'm smiling writing this, thinking about Corey, a guy who gave me one of the more memorable nights of my life. Unfortunately, he had to leave the next day, and I was graduating. I only saw him once more, when I came back to campus to visit the following year. He was friendly but distant, and seemed a bit embarrassed. I found out why from Sarah--he was unhappily involved with yet another guy who was treating him badly. Corey, wherever you are, I hope you've found Mr. Right.

JACK

Corey and I slept together only once, but we got to know each other well that night. I still think of him as a friend, and am sad that I'll never see him again. Jack, on the other hand, is someone I know practically nothing about, not even his last name, even though we fooled around numerous times while I was attending graduate school. He wanted it that way and I went along, because he was so hot.

Most people probably wouldn't have thought so. A couple of times I saw Jack fully clothed in the parking lot of the University gymnasium and almost didn't recognize him. He was in his forties, I think, balding, conservatively dressed and unassuming in appearance. He might have been a businessman, University official or other bureaucrat. One thing was certain--Jack was not interested in standing out, at least on the street.

At the pool, where I first noticed him, or in the steam room was another matter. Jack worked out seriously with weights. For a man his age his musculature was remarkable, and in his quiet way he liked to show it off. He wore Speedos for his swimming workouts that displayed his small, perfect ass. He spent most of his time breast-stroking, which was no doubt why he had such a great butt. Sometimes after I had finished my own, comparatively feeble laps, I would sit on a small observation deck above the lap pool and watch him as he knifed smoothly through the water, the muscles working in his broad shoulders, his long legs whipping together in perfect frog kicks.

There was a very cruisy men's steam room in the university gym, on the floor above the pool. It was set up perfectly for this purpose. Off a long hallway, entered through double doors, one area contained both a steam room and sauna with a tiled room equipped with cold water faucets in between. Both sauna and steam room had glass doors, so that anyone in one or the other, if they positioned themselves right, could see who entered the central "cooling off" area from the hall. Opposite the steam room/sauna complex was a men's room and shower area. Then, at the end of the long hallway was a small locker room, entered by another set of doors with glass windows, usually propped open. It was a common sight to see men in this locker room strolling by the doors with pretended casualness, watching the traffic in and out of the steam room and shower area. With so many locations to shuttle between, and nooks and crannies to hide away in, the cruising was heavy and continuous. Most of the men wore, or at least carried, towels, but some walked their beat more boldly.

Jack was one of the latter. He would come up from the pool, walking the halls in his Speedo. Once he got inside the first set of doors, he always peeled off his suit and goggles and put them in his bathing cap. He would then stroll the corridor naked, carrying this little bundle around, doing what most of the cruisers did: taking the sauna for a while, then the steam, rinsing himself off either at a faucet or in the showers, repeating the cycle over and over.

I was there, watching, of course. I was too shy to actually hook up with anyone, and anyway there was less action in that place than most people thought, but Jack, whose name of course I didn't know at the time, fascinated me, particularly one of his physical features. His cock, at least when soft, was the smallest I'd ever seen on a man, particularly someone so attractively masculine. It was so short it didn't hang downward as most men's did, but simply stuck out horizontally from between his legs. It was cut, and the head was a good third of its total length. As if to compensate, his pubic bush was striking--plentiful, thick and bright reddish gold, really beautiful.

Though trim and in shape, I wasn't a raving beauty, so I knew I would never get the hottest, best-hung guys who cruised the steam room. This guy was plenty hot enough for me, though, and I thought I had a chance with him. I began to try and be there at the same time he was. If I saw him at the pool, I would finish my workout and hit the sauna, waiting for him to arrive, which he usually did. When we were both there, I began to cruise him--at first discreetly, just casually following him about from place to place, then more boldly, catching his eye as we passed each other and smiling, then looking back over my shoulder at him, hoping he would turn.

He eventually responded, to my delight. One day, after eyeing each other in our usual fashion, I saw him head toward the back locker room, still carrying his swimming gear. It was a slow day at the gym, mid-afternoon, and we were entirely alone in the place. Excited and nervous, I followed him in, letting the swinging door shut behind me. I found him in the back row of lockers, standing with one foot up on the narrow wooden bench, smiling slightly. His cock was larger than I had seen it--just a bit. I went up to him and nodded. He inclined his head slightly in response, but made no other move. Finally, I reached out and touched his broad, slightly hairy chest. When I tried fondling one of his nipples, he stiffened noticeably and drew in his breath sharply.

"Like that?" I asked.

He laughed softly, charmingly. "Oh, very much."

That seemed to break the ice. We moved closer together and began to stroke and caress each other's bodies. I grasped his cock, which just about filled my hand, and began to jack him off. He responded in kind. When I started to kneel to take him in my mouth, though, he drew back, shaking his head. I understood, though I was disappointed. Everyone was being very careful in those days. Still, I thought refusing to get sucked was a bit of overkill. Nevertheless, I was very turned on at actually getting to touch this hot body that I had been pursuing for quite some time. I could feel his breath on my moist skin and the heat rising from him. The strong scent of chlorine from the pool surrounded us. Since I never saw Jack anywhere else, I came to associate it with our messing around. Even now I get turned on by that smell.

After a few more moments of cautious play, he gently pushed me away. "Got to go," he whispered. "See you again."

"I hope so," I said sincerely. I was determined that we would go further the next time. As he left, I sat down to wait until my erection shrank enough that I could be seen without being too obvious. It occurred to me that my companion didn't have that problem.

We did go further on subsequent meetings, but not much. Jack, who finally told me his name after a couple more encounters, turned out to be super-cautious about everything. You might say he was closemouthed in more ways than one. Looking back, I think perhaps he was a prominent man in the community, and probably married, though he wore no wedding ring. He would never tell me his last name and I'm not even sure Jack was his real first one. It's difficult to explain exactly why I lusted so much after him. Somehow, his refusal to engage in most activity was a turn-on in itself, a kind of cock-teasing both delightful and frustrating. And he did have a great body. I also liked that he never seemed bothered in the least by his small cock. I got used to it myself and thought no more about it.