I was only 18 the first time I saw it. I wrote in my diary on August 17th, 1988: “Holy shit, didn’t know Mr. Nelson had a gigantic dong! Saw him through the window tonight when I was walking the dog. The thing is so huge it almost reaches his knees! I rushed back to the house to let Prince back inside and ran back to watch more. I can’t believe he didn’t pull the curtains. There was some lady with huge boobs on her knees playing with it while he stood in the kitchen. I only got to watch for a few minutes more before they went upstairs. Can’t stop thinking about how huge his dick is.” I still remember that night in all its details—the smell of the pine trees in Mr. Nelson’s back yard, the starry night, and the loads I sprayed in the dirt watching that woman milk his massive sex organ. It was the beginning of my obsession with him and with the powers of truly gigantic penises the world over. There was not one day in the next seven years that I did not observe Mr. Nelson in the act of employing his enormous endowment. He lived just on the other side of Ashman street, only half a block from our house. I lived at home during my four-year college program, taking day classes only so that I could be home without fail every night and some days to watch what happened at his house. It was after a few weeks that I became more deeply involved with his daily schedule. But I want to start at the beginning and try to put down in writing all the many details because the events of that late summer night changed the course of my life.
I was a tall, lanky awkward, blonde teenager—good looking in a feminine kind of way with nice cheekbones, pretty lips and eyes and perfectly straight teeth after years of orthodonture. Mr. Nelson had always been a friend of the family and seemed to know everyone around town. As a younger boy I had helped him with yard work and even helped him paint his garage. A short, stocky man who stood only 5’8, Mr. Nelson had prematurely lost most of the hair on his head by the time he turned 45 that fall. He had a thick black mustache and hands strong from years of carpentry. Honestly, he wasn't much to look at with his beer belly and cheesey mustache, but I really liked being around him because he was so jolly--quick to flash a generous smile. He made my mother laugh breathlessly in a way I'd never heard her laugh. It was only a few years ago that Mr. Nelson told me about his relationship with her. I’ll save that for a future installment in the story.
Back to that first August night. His upstairs bedroom window was open to the night air. I couldn’t see anything, but the sounds emanating from the room made me ejaculate countless times. The big-breasted woman must have been trying to swallow the penis I had seen hanging from his groin. At first the sounds were worrisome. It sounded like she was being choked and murdered. But then, when she would come up for air, she would whimper “You’re a fucking donkey!” or “I want every inch of this massive dick in my throat!” Then more gagging sounds, punctuated by Mr. Nelson’s calm but firm instructions like, “Open your throat for my thick meat, girl!” I had never been so turned on in my life. Since the age of 16 I had been jerking off to my dad’s Penthouse magazines. Seeing those big-titted women playing with their genitals made me horny enough to stroke myself off almost every night. But this was different. I had never seen a naked man before, let alone one like Mr. Nelson. Standing in his yard with the image of his enormous penis still seared onto my retinas and hearing the big-breasted woman going completely crazy servicing him had me in a deep euphoria. Fortunately, my folks always turned in pretty early, so they didn’t know I stayed out that night until 3:00 am listening to Mr. Nelson completely satisfy his horny guest.
After about ninety minutes, the gagging, choking, and whimpering stopped. My diary entry contains much of their conversation:
“Your cunt is dripping. You want me to fuck you?”
“Please, Mr. Nelson, please!”
“Get on your hands and knees. Damn, I love a wet pussy. I'm gonna eat you out."
This was followed by maybe ten minutes of relative silence with only soft murmurs from his lady friend.
"I think you're ready. You ever had a dick this big before?”
“Not even close. Please fuck me!”
“How big is your husband?”
“He’s 6 inches.”
“Ha! Well I hope you have a good memory, because I rarely fuck a woman more than once. Some times I make exceptions, but it’s better if you start paying real close attention to these sensations so you can remember me for the rest of your life.”
The fucking lasted for a good two hours. The woman made primal noises, muttering smut like a sailor. Mr. Nelson occasionally spoke, saying things like “This is where your husband stops” and “Have you ever felt this part of yourself?” and “Put your hands on your belly and feel it from the outside.” I probably sprayed enough semen on his flowers that night to fertilize them into the following summer. Based on observations from subsequent evenings, I estimate that his DDD cupped partner wobbled to her car with a belly and womb completely full of Mr. Nelson’s sperm. I stayed up most of the night recounting what I had seen and heard, writing it down frantically in my diary the next morning in my semen-soaked underwear.
The next evening on my walk I saw a different woman through the window.
I was a tall, lanky awkward, blonde teenager—good looking in a feminine kind of way with nice cheekbones, pretty lips and eyes and perfectly straight teeth after years of orthodonture. Mr. Nelson had always been a friend of the family and seemed to know everyone around town. As a younger boy I had helped him with yard work and even helped him paint his garage. A short, stocky man who stood only 5’8, Mr. Nelson had prematurely lost most of the hair on his head by the time he turned 45 that fall. He had a thick black mustache and hands strong from years of carpentry. Honestly, he wasn't much to look at with his beer belly and cheesey mustache, but I really liked being around him because he was so jolly--quick to flash a generous smile. He made my mother laugh breathlessly in a way I'd never heard her laugh. It was only a few years ago that Mr. Nelson told me about his relationship with her. I’ll save that for a future installment in the story.
Back to that first August night. His upstairs bedroom window was open to the night air. I couldn’t see anything, but the sounds emanating from the room made me ejaculate countless times. The big-breasted woman must have been trying to swallow the penis I had seen hanging from his groin. At first the sounds were worrisome. It sounded like she was being choked and murdered. But then, when she would come up for air, she would whimper “You’re a fucking donkey!” or “I want every inch of this massive dick in my throat!” Then more gagging sounds, punctuated by Mr. Nelson’s calm but firm instructions like, “Open your throat for my thick meat, girl!” I had never been so turned on in my life. Since the age of 16 I had been jerking off to my dad’s Penthouse magazines. Seeing those big-titted women playing with their genitals made me horny enough to stroke myself off almost every night. But this was different. I had never seen a naked man before, let alone one like Mr. Nelson. Standing in his yard with the image of his enormous penis still seared onto my retinas and hearing the big-breasted woman going completely crazy servicing him had me in a deep euphoria. Fortunately, my folks always turned in pretty early, so they didn’t know I stayed out that night until 3:00 am listening to Mr. Nelson completely satisfy his horny guest.
After about ninety minutes, the gagging, choking, and whimpering stopped. My diary entry contains much of their conversation:
“Your cunt is dripping. You want me to fuck you?”
“Please, Mr. Nelson, please!”
“Get on your hands and knees. Damn, I love a wet pussy. I'm gonna eat you out."
This was followed by maybe ten minutes of relative silence with only soft murmurs from his lady friend.
"I think you're ready. You ever had a dick this big before?”
“Not even close. Please fuck me!”
“How big is your husband?”
“He’s 6 inches.”
“Ha! Well I hope you have a good memory, because I rarely fuck a woman more than once. Some times I make exceptions, but it’s better if you start paying real close attention to these sensations so you can remember me for the rest of your life.”
The fucking lasted for a good two hours. The woman made primal noises, muttering smut like a sailor. Mr. Nelson occasionally spoke, saying things like “This is where your husband stops” and “Have you ever felt this part of yourself?” and “Put your hands on your belly and feel it from the outside.” I probably sprayed enough semen on his flowers that night to fertilize them into the following summer. Based on observations from subsequent evenings, I estimate that his DDD cupped partner wobbled to her car with a belly and womb completely full of Mr. Nelson’s sperm. I stayed up most of the night recounting what I had seen and heard, writing it down frantically in my diary the next morning in my semen-soaked underwear.
The next evening on my walk I saw a different woman through the window.
