Too Big

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Bigger is only better with the right people (17k Words).
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Too Big: Part 1

Internet sources say the longest, erect, human penis (presently living & verified) is just under fourteen inches. Another study says the average human penis, Black or White, runs 5½ inches, (with women claiming in surveys they want 6½). The population percentage tapers off fast on either side of those lengths.

So, ladies, what's all this about bigger is so much better, huh? Are most guys coming up short? Or is more girth what you really want, but don't understand the physiology well enough to admit? And how about better technique? Does that count for anything?

Let me tell you, having a dick much longer than average is a pain—usually for the women the guy gets involved with. They might not admit it to their friends, but it is. Yeah, I know. After all, bragging is bragging, right? Even for women.

My family was tall, my father over six-two, Mom five-ten. So it was no surprise that in junior highschool I bypassed Mom and made it to six-three by the time I graduated high school. Being somewhat above average, height-wise, resulted in my being somewhat over average in the length and girth department. That fact soon seeped from the boys' locker room in spite of my shyness, and into the database of my female high school classmates.

Through most of high-school, I kept to myself—embarrassed, you know, a result of looking different than the other guys. And even then, I got teased a lot.

I turned eighteen very early (mid-September) my senior year. So did one girl who got so obnoxious with her flirts, I finally gathered together guts enough to ask her out. Actually, I didn't really ask her out; I merely accepted when she asked me out, but I knew from the start it wasn't for my high academic acuity. Oh, well. Had I been asking her out instead other way around, it wouldn't have been for her high grade-point, either. She was slim, short-to-medium height, blonde, and looked real good in her skimpy cheerleader outfit—you know, one of those bouncy girls whose every move said, wouldn't-you-just-love-to-fuck-me? Sexy, yes, but she certainly wasn't much in the brain trust department. In the long run she married some guy who was handsome enough and okay brain-wise, spawned four kids by him, then abandoned him and their kids to go live with some lazy deadhead who was neither handsome nor smart. Explain that one to me some day if you have the time.

Sandi Moore—that was her name—turned eighteen a week after of me so she graduated the same year. According to gossip, by start of basketball season, she had already shagged most of the seniors on our basketball team. I guess she figured having me hanging around would make the following spring and summer more interesting. And surely, my mistaken reputation would enhance her reputation while racking up one more ball player for her portfolio.

So, I lost my virginity—I hadn't been trying to protect it, only protect myself from the embarrassment of not knowing my way around a woman's body. As I recall, we hooked up several dozen times before she said no more with me and found herself a different guy, an ex-football jock this time. During our last date—which wasn't a date at all by the standards we'd set previously—when she dropped the never-again-with-you bomb, I asked her, dumbfounded, why?

"Sex with you always hurts." Well, from her experience she should know if I made a difference.

"Hurts?" I mean, don't girls always moan, groan, and twist around like in the porno flicks when sex gets headed toward its climax?

"Yeah. You just don't really care about me, and it always hurts awful bad," she said.

How was I supposed to know? Sure, usually when I really got into her, her breath would clutch, but I thought that was just part of the game. Hell, I didn't know. Like I said, she was my first, and Sex-Ed Class certainly hadn't covered that! Everything you heard about girls said they wanted more, and more yet. Yes, I knew my ten inches was more than most guys had, but what was the problem? When I was around girls, they always teased me one way or another, asking if I thought I had enough to satisfy them. Or would I only disappoint them, too?

Despite this, I did ask several others out toward the middle of summer, but none lasted. Most of my sex life was one-on-one, i.e. me-and-me. One thing I did discover, though: sex taken to completion was a lot more fun than having the girl scramble out from under me at the critical moment or start shouting, Stop! You're hurting me!

They kept coming at me anyway, although with each experimental run I tried to figure out something that worked. But I doubt a woman can ever understand how difficult it is for a man to hold himself back, even a little, at that moment when his body wants—demands!—he put every bit of himself deep up inside her.

None of these girls had mouths or throats big enough to serve as pussy alternatives, and although I was willing to try anal with them, that idea scared them even worse than I made their pussies ache. So the word got around—even outside our school—that I was a bum fuck. But anyway, I still had both hands.

About the time I started junior college that fall, things turned worse for a short while, then better. One of my better friends' much older sister started pestering me every time I stopped by his home to visit.

Molly was tall, too, five-nine at least, blonde, and pleasant to look at, although a bit on the rangy side. I guess her being slim and big-boned gave that impression. Stan referred to her breasts as after-market but they looked great on her—DD, I guessed—but because of her height, not overdone. He said his parents bought them for her twenty-fifth birthday to help her keep her husband interested, but over the following two years, her marriage disintegrated anyway and they divorced. She kept their house, but if her presence was any indication, she spent most of her time at her parent's home.

One evening I was over there, talking cars and motorcycles with Stan, but she kept pestering me, being even more a nuisance than usual. I figured she went all out hitting on me because their parents had gone out for the evening.

"All right," she said out of the blue when Stan left the room to get his Harley Davidson History book. "My brother says you're so smart about fixing things, maybe you can fix my laundry room faucet. I had a plumber come out, but he didn't fix it. He was young and kept giving me the snake eye, so I think he was a married guy just wanting to make a return call so he could try hitting on me again. I haven't got time for that."

I nodded. Circumstances being different, I wouldn't mind making a warranty call on her place myself! Between my I can fix-it ego and honestly wanting to save her a plumbing bill, I said I'd have a look at it the following evening before supper. Yes, six o'clock would be fine, and I'd bring whatever tools I expected to need.

"Don't eat supper," she said. "You fix it, I'll buy you a huge steak."

I nodded. Steak sounded good to me! A red-blooded young male needs red meat, right?

So, the following evening, with a slip of paper on which she wrote her address in hand, I pulled up in front of the VERY nice rancher at East Douglas Fir Street. Ex-hubby must have had rich parents or had done very well in whatever business or occupation he chose. Maybe his money attracted that mistress Stan said Molly blamed for the whole debacle. The three-car garage at the east end of the house was nice, too. I wondered what Molly kept in there besides that bright red, retro Camaro she usually drove over to her folks' house.

She met me at the front door, looking more lady-like than she usually did at Stan's house. Her smile said Welcome in more depth than just a Hi, come in, fix my faucet, let's go buy you a steak dinner, then I'll send you home way. Made me wonder if her faucet really did need fixing.

But she wasn't fibbing, although it was a quick fix: A new sealing washer kit from the closest Diamond Hardware Store, install it, test it, no leaks. Situation solved.

Well, situation sort of solved. The whole project took longer than it should have because in her small laundry room, her body kept getting in my way. Once, when I looked up at her with mock annoyance on my face; she just smiled a go-ahead-and-hit-on-me-smile, but I pushed by her and concentrated on the faucet.

"Okay, there we got it."

"Good." She threw her arms around me and hugged me tight enough I swear I could feel the nipples on those DDs poking me in the chest. The kiss she planted on my mouth quickly matured into her tongue sticking halfway down my throat. I'd never had that experience before, at least not with a full grown woman who knew what she was doing.

She pulled back and looked me squarely in eyes. "Thanks, Honey. Now let's go have dinner. I got something else for you to fix after we eat, so I don't want it to get too late. You got school tomorrow, right?"

Here I'll skip most of the dinner's description. It was just one damned good steak dinner, with beautiful woman siting across the table watching me eat. She ate only a small salad; I wondered how she kept that body of hers nourished on so little food, but however she did, it sure worked. She wouldn't even take the little bit of steak I had left over. "Take it home. You can eat it Saturday for lunch, to remind you how much I appreciate you fixing things for me."

In that I detected more than merely fixing a faucet.

My car lacked the prestige of her Camaro, so as we came out of the restaurant, I almost choked when she fished its keys from her purse and handed them to me. "Here. You drive. I just want to relax. You remember how to get back?"

I shook my head. We must have come seven or eight miles over there from her house. And this wasn't my usual part of town.

"Good. Then, you drive, I'll give you directions."

Okay. Was I going to turn down a chance to drive a new Camaro? The hottest looking thing GM had sent down the pike in years?

But right off, her directions struck me a bit strange. I couldn't have found my way back without directions, but I didn't remember driving through the motel district to get to the restaurant, either.

"Turn in here," she said, pointing to a Best Western's parking lot entry. And once we were in the parking lot, she pointed again, saying, "Park next to that Charger there, the Blue one."

Convenient coincidence, it seemed, but then I realized this B-Western's parking spaces were marked by room number. I looked at Molly, a weak, questioning smile on my face.

"I already checked us in. Just come with me. I already got everything we need up upstairs." She pointed toward the third floor now towering above us.

I helped her from the car, but from there on, it was both of us helping each other. The card key from her purse meant no fumble at the motel's outside or the room doors. The room was huge—was this was one of those suites you see and hear about in movies?

"The bathroom's in there," she said, pointing in that direction. "You go get ready, I'll get ready out here."

"Ready?" I said, feeling a strange expression come over my face.

She nodded. "Honey? You can't fix what I need fixing with your clothes on, so go take 'em off."

Oooh—kay!

"And don't you dare peek until I'm ready. I'll come knock on the door. Then you can come to bed."

Bed? Well, I guess this was going to happen, so why question it?

She didn't knock on the door; instead I heard her call, "Okay, I'm ready. Come out to bed."

I peeked around the edge of the bathroom door, wondering what I'd see when I stepped out. The room was mostly dark, with only a sliver of dim, mid-evening light slipping between the black-out curtains. But that had to be her, that darkish shadow on the bed.

"Come fix me, okay? I need a lot of fixing, and it's going to take a lot longer than that faucet."

I stepped through the door into the main room, toward the huge bed, and stumbled over her suitcase she left sticking out from under the desk. I felt my way from the edge of the bed toward where I figured she was. Her hands found my thigh and my boxers. In a moment her hand found its way inside them, grasped my ten inches and squeezed it.

"Why you still got undies on, Jeff?" she said.

Truth was: embarrassment. She might see how big I was and get scared off before I even got close to her.

"Sit on the edge of the bed here and take those boxers off. Come on. Let's not waste time, okay?"

I had little to do with my boxers' removal. Molly did it with the hand that wasn't holding my erection.

"There. Now lie back on the bed and turn around lengthwise." She led more by her grip on me than anything else, and in a moment she rose on her knees and stepped across me at my hips, never losing her grip on my penis.

"Oooh, I'm going to like this," she said squeezing me. "But you gotta be gentle. My ex had a long dick, too, but I think yours is longer."

"I don't want ..."

"I know you won't. But just to start, I'll sit on top, and you just let me take what I can, okay?'

"Sure. Whatever you want." I wasn't going to mess this up if I could help it!

She rubbed my penis around between her legs, slowly lowering herself until I had nowhere to go except to begin entering her. Warm and wet, that's what she was, and a little prickly in spots.

She began moving her butt in a circular path, each rotation sinking me deeper into her, the circles' paths growing bigger each round.

"Like that, Jeffie?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Good. I like you, too." She settled herself more onto me until I felt something press against my pelvis where my thighs joined it.

"Am I all the way down?"

"Don't know."

"Whatever, it's wonderful. I love it. Now, raise your hips and try to go deeper, okay?"

I did, and she moaned.

"Just right. I feel the end of you pushing on my end up inside, but it doesn't hurt. Thanks."

"I don't want to hurt you, Molly."

"Just being careful. I heard you hurt girls."

"Not on purpose. I never ..."

"I know you wouldn't. I can feel that. But now we gotta check, try all my favorite positions, and learn how to do them so we both like 'em."

Sounded good to me!

"So now you roll me over and be on top. I gotta trust you for us to be this way, so be gentle and considerate, please?"

I rolled her over and landed between her thighs, what past experience said was as deep as she'd let me come into her. "How's that?"

"Great. No hurt."

I put a couple gentle strokes into her.

"Oohh, I like that!

"Good."

"Now, tell you what. I'll tip myself up so you go in deep as possible. Push gentle at first, and I'll say if it hurts. If I don't say stop, then you push harder and harder until you can't go deeper or I do say stop."

I pulled back, feeling her grip on my wet penis struggle to hold me inside her.

"Oohh, I like that!"

Sure you do. If you don't, I better figure out why not—and pronto.

"Now push, Jeffie. Slowly, easy, gentle, and getting deep."

What she did while I eased myself into her was something new. It felt as if she had a vibrator in there with me, like when I used to touch my bare shoulder in bed while the electric blanket was turned on. I never knew what that was, but that's how this felt, too.

"Push more."

I did, and felt my penis push against something, then ease and slide through.

"Oohh!"

"Hurt?"

"Oh, no!"

"What was it?" God, last thing I wanted was to hurt her!

"You just pushed yourself through into my baby factory. Keep coming. It feels so good, so keep coming in. Please, Jeffie?"

Felt good to me too, not to mention that vibration or whatever it was. I pushed more and slid farther in.

"Still good?"

"Keep coming. I'll tell you when enough's enough."

I pushed again, slid in deeper, and felt my body press against hers, the front of her thighs pressing against the front of mine.

"Think that's it."

"Not quite. Here, let me hold my butt up while you plunge me hard as you can. Start easy, of course."

I did the best I could, not knowing if I was going in deeper or not.

"That's good," she said. "Now just a little more. Drive yourself into me, please Honey?"

I did, as best I knew how. She let out a gasp and moaned.

"Hurt?"

"Not quite. It's wonderful. I feel you clear up under my chest, like my heart wants you there."

"Good," I said. Can you lunge gently? 'Cause that's what I tried to do.

"Just right. Now, do that about a million times, Honey. Do it until I make you come. I want you to come in me. Please?"

"What about babies?"A little late, yes, but I figured I better ask, although every non-biblegrinder girl in my high school had been on BC of some sort. Was I gonna be wishing I brought condoms with me tonight?

"Tubes tied. I'm safe from that, but I take the shot, too, so no periods to bother, either." she looked up and smiled. "But thanks for asking, Jeff. You are a gentleman."

I didn't feel so gentle. What I wanted right then as to unload into her and knock her into the next century.

"So, just keep going. I love it, god, how I love it! You fit me just right. Anymore and you might hurt me, but as it is, if you're careful when you come in, you can do anything you want. Isn't that wonderful?"

Sure felt wonderful to me! And I was getting close.

"You're getting ready, Baby, aren't you?"

I grunted something that should have meant, 'yes.'

"Take it, then. I want it. You want it. And we're going to have it together." She put more squeeze on me while pulling back ever so slightly.

"Come get me, okay? Put that gooie white stuff in me where babies come from. One, nice, long, solid stroke at a time, Honey? Good?"

I nodded, my breath coming faster.

"Another one? Let me have one more? Please, Jeff?"

No Jeffie this time I noticed as I eased into her.

"Good! Oh god, I love it! A little harder this time, okay?"

I eased another thrust into her.

"Please, Honey? Just one more? Again? I'm ... I'm ..." her breath choked and her muscles circling my penis clenched and shuddered. She choked, her breath rasped from her throat, she gasped, her whole body shook. I continued my stroking as best I could, holding myself back, hoping to lead her to heaven and back before I lost all strength and ability to lead anyone anywhere.

But I failed. My body did as nature programmed it, shot my spunk into her baby factory with so much force, I wasn't the only one who felt it.

"Thanks, Jeff Honey. That felt so good. You can't know how wonderful it is for a woman to have a man like you breed her clear up in there. Made me feel complete, you know?"

At the same time she said this, I thought no man ever had it better than this. Finally, a woman who fit me perfectly. How can I ever repay her? Yes, complete, that's how I felt, too.

***

I graduated from junior college just under two years later. In the meantime, Molly and I became sort of an item, or so I thought. Every week, at least three nights, often a couple days and nights on the weekends. Some 110 weeks, averaging maybe four hook-ups a week, that meant at least 450 times by the time the third summer ended. We kept the ritual jar for beans on her night stand, but unlike tradition, put in a white bean for each of her climaxes, a red bean for each of mine. She came out far ahead the first time we tallied up. God, women were lucky! If only men could climax again and again like she did.

Luckily her house stood on a corner lot with its garage facing the non-address side of the block across the street. That way nosy neighbors had less opportunity to see me come and leave (Oh, now there was an ambiguous expression!) so often and raise their eyebrows. I rented a one room dump of an apartment a mile closer to college and stayed there those nights when I absolutely had to study. Trying to study at Molly's never worked and just resulted in another hook up with her. That dump of an apartment saved me flunking out, that's for sure.