Baby, You Can Drive My CarbyHarddaysknight©
We sat at the kitchen table, having a quick breakfast before we left for our respective jobs. Patti was checking her make-up and I was trying to finish my coffee, as well as the sports section, before I hit the road.
"How long is your cock, Matt?" she asked. I avoided the spray of coffee all over the table like you see in the slapstick comedies, but some caffeine did dribble out my nose as I tried to stifle my reaction.
I cleaned my upper lip with a napkin and stared at my wife.
"What the hell kind of question is that?" I demanded.
I learned a long time ago that the best defense is a good offense. Twenty years ago I was quite proud of the little guy, but he seemed less impressive all the time.
"You know how we ladies sit around the clubhouse and have a couple drinks after our golf league on Wednesdays? Last night the discussion got around to our husband's cocks and how long they were. Most of us had no idea how long our husband's cocks were. I mean we know how long they are, but not the actual measurement," admitted Patti. "It just made me wonder how long, in inches, your cock is."
I didn't just fall off a load of turnips. I have heard how a group of women can be more coarse and crude than a bunch of guys. I also knew they would be more honest. Men expect other men to lie. We all do it and accept it. It makes us all feel better about ourselves, and our place in the cosmic plan. We lie about the fish we catch, the golf scores we shoot, the sex we have, the money we make and the size of our cocks. When a guy talks about his eight inches, it is understood that he has about six. It is a collective, ego boosting, confidence-building thing we agree on. It isn't written down anyplace, but we all know the rule.
As some point we hit an age where we turn it around and tell the other guys how small it is. If we call it a little four-inch stub, the other guys figure around six inches. It is a language that men understand and it has worked since Adam. The only kicker is the occasional goddamn freak that actually packs eight inches or more. These men are feared and hated by the rest. Somehow, everyone knows when he talks about his eight inches; it really is eight inches. This is a real curve breaker for the rest of us. These men are shunned and avoided, at least by other men. And they enjoy it.
I was on the horns of a dilemma. Should I tell the real truth, or the truth as us guys know it to be? Somehow it seemed better to err on the side of large. That was an instinctual decision that I believe most men would make.
"I never really measured it," I lied. Shit, I had a ruler on that puppy every day from the time I hit fourteen to about eighteen. "If I were to guess, I would say about eight inches. You will respect my privacy in this, won't you?"
It suddenly occurred to me this was not something I wanted repeated in the clubhouse. I could see no up side to a discussion on the length by of my cock by women in a bar.
"What do you think, Matt?" laughed Patti. "Do you think I'm going to be telling the other women how long your cock is? What if their husbands' cocks are only seven inches? They may be chasing you for that big cock and I would be responsible for it."
Fat chance of any women chasing me for my big cock! That was a fantasy that had died when I was eighteen and saw Sam "The Big Salami" Reynolds in the shower after our first baseball practice senior year. I had always chuckled at his nickname. That was a good joke on the guy, or so I thought. When he stepped from the shower and walked to his locker, the other guys sort of moved their towels around to be sure they own weapons were not on display. No one wanted to be the subject of a comparison with Sam.
It became a weird ritual. After practice and games, Sam always strolled the locker room with his cock hanging majestically from between his legs. The rest of us were like smaller bulls and always backed up and deferred to him. He was the cock of the walk when he was naked. Give unto Caesar that which is Caesar's. Instinctively, we yielded to what we perceived as a better man, when he was naked. Dressed, he was no longer anything special. He wasn't even a very good ball player. I think that was why he flaunted his one gift when he could.
It's a good thing Patti only asked about length, I thought to myself as I drove to work a little later. More amazing than the length of Sam's salami was the thickness. The handle of my Louisville Slugger was not as thick, and that was carved from a goddamn ash tree! From that first day on, none of the rest of us on the team ever boasted about our cocks or how they pleased the girls. Sam had taken that fantasy from us, and we secretly hated him for it. Everyone was glad when he moved to New Mexico.
As I sat at my desk, I started putting a few things together. Patti had been pretty aggressive when she came home a little after dark. She insisted we go to bed early. She had even made our two teens go to bed so they wouldn't hear any unusual noises from our bedroom.
She held and fondled my cock much longer than usual. She sucked it and jacked it. I remember thinking it was odd that she left a lamp on low. We always turned the lights out when we had sex. She had been sizing my cock up! The conversation must have been pretty graphic at the clubhouse! Patti rode me to her orgasm and then dismounted and got me off with her hand, watching cum spurt from my cock.
Now I wondered if there was a discussion on volume and distance of their husbands' ejaculations. What about the size of our balls? The curve of our cocks? We were being treated like so much meat, going through inspection. Why couldn't women just accept us as individuals with feelings and needs, and not treat us like cattle?
The week went well enough and the sex was pretty good, but I kept the lights out most of the time. If Patti insisted having a light on, I would spend a lot of time eating her pussy and manually stimulating her. It didn't seem to discourage her at all, though. I could see it would not be easy to beat her at her own game.
There I sat, reading the paper the next Thursday morning, after a grueling night of raw sex. Patti had come home burning with desire. I saw it in her eyes after she put her clubs in the closet and turned to me. The kids saw it, too, and went to bed without being told. Patti rode me, and then had me drill her doggy style and then the good old missionary position. I don't know how many times she came, but I managed three orgasms. I just couldn't fire anything after that, though I did get hard, with some encouragement from Patti's incredible lips, long enough to get her off one final time.
She had been more verbal than usual, too. She kept urging me deeper and deeper. She wanted it faster and she actually suggested I put her legs on my shoulders so I could feed a little more into her steaming snatch.
The ladies golf league was only about half way through the season and I was having serious reservations about surviving to the end. If the sex kept increasing exponentially, I would be gone before August.
"Tonight I want to measure your cock," Patti smiled.
"Jesus H Christ!" I shot back. "Do you think you wore a few inches off it last night? Was that your goal?"
"Matt, it is like a pig's snout. The more you use it, the tougher it gets," chuckled Patti.
Where the hell did she get that saying? Besides, that was supposed to be about pussies, damn it!
"I'll measure it today and let you know, okay?" I countered.
"Last night, after golf, every wife there said her husband claimed he had eight inches. Everyone but Sandy, that is. She claimed her husband was nine inches and she had measured it herself," Patti revealed.
"Sandy defied us to actually measure our husbands' cocks. It was her contention that it was very unlikely anyone would be within two inches of her husband," giggled Patti. "We all agreed to make it an assignment to measure our husbands' cocks. We even agreed on the way we would do it so we had a uniform method."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing! These bitches need a life. My mind raced for a solution. How could I make my dick longer in a day? Try as I would to think of a way, I drew a blank.
"Patti, you can hurt men's egos by pursuing this. Some guys may have exaggerated a little and the truth could scar them emotionally. Why don't you forget it, or just call in sick next week?" I suggested.
"Matt, I am sure your cock will be up there with the best of them!" chided Patti. "It isn't just the men you know. We are in this together. I have pride, too. I want us to be well represented in this. I am sure our cock will be among the leaders, if not the very top cock!"
"I can't believe we are having this conversation!" I whined. "You know that 'our cock' hasn't let us down yet. Why make it some kind of competition?"
"That Sandy Reynolds is so smug. The other women and I want to bring her down a peg. Her husband's dick can't be that much bigger than everyone else's," reasoned Patti.
"Did you say 'Reynolds', Patti," I asked. "I didn't know you had any Reynolds in your league."
"They just moved into a development along the river a couple months ago," responded Patti. "Sandy said that Sam went to high school here before he moved to New Mexico."
Why wasn't I surprised? The son-of-a-bitch was like a nightmare… like that fucking Freddie Kruger; only he was coming after me with a giant cock instead of razors in his fingers! You think you kill him, but the fucker is there for the sequel, spreading fear amongst the normal-cocked population.
I leaned over and held my head in my hands. My cock was going to be exposed for the inadequate little shit that it was. Sam 'The Big Salami' would rule again, as he had those many years ago.
Within an hour of reaching the office, I had the door locked and a stapler tied to a string hanging from my cock. I heard someplace that guys have been known to increase their cock size that way. I carefully sat at my computer, my legs spread and the stapler swinging like a pendulum from my dick, as I searched through my old emails. I had deleted a few hundred ads for products that would enlarge my penis. I had dismissed them at the time, but now I wondered if old Sam 'the Salami' was the driving force behind those ads. How had word gotten out about my dick being six measly inches? Was he the poster boy for those ads? It was hard to remember exactly what his cock looked like, but when I found the emails, the resemblance was very real. The cocky bastard was the 'after' picture in the advertisement. I was certain of it.
I left work a little early. I told the secretary that I was not feeling well, but really my cock was sore. I also was worried that the string would cut off circulation and the fucking head would drop off in Patti's hand at the measuring.
That night, I watched the news and then claimed that I wanted to watch Leno, but Patti would have none of it. She demanded I join her in the bedroom. Reluctantly, I followed her in and peeled my clothes off. Almost in the blink of an eye, I was in a pair of pajamas.
"What are you doing, Matt?" Patti demanded. "I didn't even know you owned any pajamas. I don't think you have worn any since we have been married."
"I thought I should start," I responded. "You never know when the kids could walk in on us or something."
"Matt, they have walked in on us quite a few times. Once they got older and had a few glimpses of your ass, they stopped. It hasn't happened in years."
"I found a ruler in your toolbox," continued Patti. "Pull that bad boy out and lets see how he measures up. He has to be hard. I will measure it at the top, where it attaches to your body. That is what we all agreed on yesterday."
"I don't think it will get hard, Patti. It is a shy little guy and the idea of being measured may inhibit it." I suggested.
Patti had different ideas as she pulled it to her mouth, then stopped and looked at me.
"It looks redder than usual, Matt. The head looks puffy, too. What did you do?" questioned Patti.
"Nothing!" I lied. "You goddamn near wore it out last night. That's all. Maybe we should wait on this. Give it time to recover."
I should have known that vacuum cleaner was too powerful and would turn it colors, damn it! That idea was even worse than the stapler on the string. I had just one chance left.
"Don't be such a baby, Matt," cooed Patti as she wrapped her lips around my cock.
She began to play it like a fine instrument. I willed it to resist, to remain dormant. I thought about the Red Sox winning the series.
Patti and my cock have an agreement. When she calls, he answers. She proved her power over it once again. Silently, I cursed the little fuck for being so stupid. For the head that did all my thinking, he was failing miserably. Now he was going to be exposed for the average cock he was.
Patti puffed it up till it stood up and they exchanged smiles. My wife and my cock have a thing going that often doesn't involve me. Many times he made me jealous of her attentions. She held it in her hand and placed the ruler against my abdomen where my cock attaches.
"You can at least push it in tight," I complained as I pressed the end a quarter inch into my flesh.
"Eight and one-quarter inches," declared Patti.
What a relief! I had survived!
"Okay, you have your measurement. I'll take that ruler so I can be sure it is replaced in my toolbox," I offered as I reached for the device.
"Just a minute!" cried Patti. "The end has been cut off! This thing is no good. How long have you been using it like that?"
"Really? Gee, I never even noticed that," I again lied. "I'll get a new one tomorrow."
"Don't bother, Buster," answered Patti. "I have a yardstick. We'll use that, even if it is overkill."
She left the room and I tried to think of some solution. But I couldn't, and she soon returned with her yardstick. My dick had forgotten what was wanted. He had relaxed, but quickly succumbed to Patti's efforts and stood back up.
"Six and a quarter inches," she announced. It seemed to me there was less enthusiasm than the previous, inaccurate declaration. I looked at Patti and wondered what she was thinking.
Wait! Did she say 'and a quarter inches' just now? Son of a bitch! The best I ever got was six inches even. Maybe he was growing!
"As long as the big boy is up and ready to play…," grinned Patti as she gobbled my cock. Why had I been so worried? When Patti was in a romantic mood, I always felt like the king of the world. She had that much influence over my emotions. If she seemed happy with me, I was totally content.
The week went well for me, in spite of my concerns about 'The Big Salami' and his wife's boasting. Patti had taken to talking about my 'big, fat cock' and how she loved it. Do many women suddenly get hornier as they approach forty, I wondered.
Golf night rolled around and I sat waiting in dread for Patti to get home. She was a little later than usual, and a little more under the influence. Once again, the kids headed for their rooms when they saw her look. I never realized before that a woman could actually look horny with just her face, and especially her eyes.
She was giggling as she led me to the bedroom. I think she was naked before I closed the door. She helped me get my clothes off. Then she and my cock forgot I was there. I noticed earlier in the week that just sucking and fondling my cock could give Patti an orgasm. Where did that come from? It happened again as my darling wife lavished her attentions on my delighted cock. She licked, nibbled, sucked, hummed, pulled, and jerked the guy till he gave her his best shot. As I came in Patti's mouth, she quivered and shook with a fairly strong orgasm. Both her hands were on me at the time, so I knew she didn't finger herself to one.
As she grinned and wiped her chin, Patti started telling me how the comparisons went. It seemed that Bob Mason was the biggest loser at five and a half inches. Three guys just hit six inches even, and then my little fellow was next. Then there was one half an inch over six and one at six and nine-sixteenths. (Now how the hell can you get that precise? Did his wife use calipers?)
"Sandy Reynolds told us that she measured her husband's cock again and it was just over nine inches. We had quite a discussion about that. Most of us couldn't believe it and told her so," Patti stated. "Do you think it is possible for a man to have a cock that much bigger than yours?"
What would be the best answer for that question? My mind raced.
"I am not an expert on the subject, Patti. Is it all that important?" I asked. "We seem to be doing fine with the equipment we have."
"I was just wondering. Sandy was so proud that she won the comparison. It bugged me. She thinks her cock is the best thing ever and that the rest of us should be jealous," fumed Patti. "She even told us we were welcome to try 'The Big Salami' as she called it. She offered to swap with any of us if we wanted to know how it felt to be properly fucked!"
Great! Now some dumb cunt is offering the services of 'The Big Salami' to the ladies in the league. If just one wife tries the forbidden fruit, all will be lost! Those bitches tell each other every thing. I wondered how many people were discussing that prick's prick at that very moment.
"If your cock was nine inches, would you fuck me any differently?" Patti mused. "I mean does it have to be better? If I am filled by you, why would I want it bigger, right?"
"Bingo!" I almost shouted. "My big cock is perfect for your tight little pussy."
"Just pretend you had a big salami, Matt. What would you do with it? Would you treat me any differently?" persisted Patti.
I climbed back up and slapped her in the face with my imaginary monster.
This big cock needs to be worshipped, you little tramp," I growled. "Make it hard so I can fill that little snatch of yours."
"Oh, yes! I do worship that nine inch monster," Patti joined in my game as she once again woke my sleeping beauty.
I moved from Patti's head and put a finger inside her. She was wet and pretty ready. Still a big cock needed a lot of space.
"I had better eat that pussy and get it all wet and hot or I won't ever get this slab of meat inside you," I told her as I began dining at the Y.
"Yes! Get her all wet so your huge cock will fit!" cried Patti.
She was really getting into it! I redoubled my efforts and I felt her tremble as she clutched my head to her ready cunt.
I climbed on her and rubbed my cock all over her pussy lips, never allowing it to slip inside. I knew she was eager for it, but us well-endowed men always make the women beg, don't we?
"You want my big cock? If you want to feel this monster split that little pussy, you have to beg," I warned. "You have to tell me how bad you want my cock."
"Please! Please fill my cunt with that big old salami," begged Patti. "I need that cock. I really need it right now."
I slowly worked the head around her opening, applying pressure as I did. I was getting really aroused by the game and it felt like my cock was especially big and hard.
"Damn, you are tight," I groaned. "Get ready to be filled, Bitch," I chanced. I hoped I didn't make a mistake saying that!
"It feels so big!" moaned Patti. "Make me your bitch now and put it in all the way."
Well that really got me turned on. I slowly pushed until the head popped in. Because I was going so slowly, Patti seemed extremely tight. She groaned as I held still and waited for her to squirm, as I knew she would. Soon she wiggled her hips, trying to slide me in farther. I picked up her legs and put them on my shoulder. She smiled thinking I was giving her what she wanted. I held my cock steady and slapped her left cheek with my right hand. Her surprise was obvious as she glared at me.