1. A Confession
I was seriously concerned. Ryan had always had terrible luck with women, but this was of a different order. After three years together, it looked like he and Jeannie had it made - the house, the car, talking about marriage and starting a family - and then he came home from work last night to find that she'd left him. Packed up and gone, leaving him nothing but a hefty mortgage to pay alone and a Dear John letter. The attractions of her 24 year old, muscular personal trainer had proved too much. Ryan was a nice guy, but she had a lot in common with this Dean of hers. They had similar tastes in food, in travel, in what films they liked to watch. He was, apparently, more romantic - although I found that hard to believe, as Ryan always seemed so attentive, even plain old-fashioned chivalrous, when I'd met up with him in the company of one or the other of his many girlfriends (although, I hasten to add, there was only ever one at a time!!!) And... well, it felt pretty obvious that Ryan was holding something back in the conversation, and it was making him very anxious.
"And... what else?" I decided that whatever this terrible secret was, it was better off out than in, "Come on mate, you know you want to tell me. Maybe I can help?"
Ryan gave a hollow laugh, "I doubt that very much. What I've got... well, I've just got to live with..."
This did set alarm bells ringing? What had he got that might've pushed Jeannie to leave him, when it all seemed to be going so well this time. Fuck, did he have HIV? Or cancer, perhaps? My mind swam a little with the possibilities.
"Well, give me a try anyway. How long have we known each other now - 14, 15 years? You were there for me when Darren dumped my arse last year." I found it a lot easier to talk about my worries and love life than Ryan did, being more extrovert to begin with and especially since I had come out a few years back. Besides, we were mature adults in our late 30s: however buttoned up blokes are meant to be, you've really got to have learned to articulate your feelings somehow by that age. Otherwise you'd just end up as a tightly corked bottle of anger, despair, or whatever this weeks' poison was.
"Alright mate. But not here. Let's go for a walk."
We both drained our pints, put on our coats and headed for the door. Outside the pub, it was a crisp January evening, not quite freezing but cold enough that you could see your breath, illuminated by the lights of the building and that of the Moon. We took the little path down by the river - unlit, so not much used at night - for some privacy.
"Well, mate..." Ryan started talking, hesitating a little and clearing his throat, "It's like this. Jeannie. She... she also left me because of... my dick, mate. She dumped me cos of my fucking dick."
This I was not expecting. In all the years I had known him, I didn't remember Ryan ever saying anything about the private parts of his body, not once. But then, he was a very private kind of a guy. Although it made sense of a lot of the things he'd done down the years. He used the gym very late at night or early in the morning, when it was as quiet as possible, and I'd given up asking him to come training with me after work. On the couple of occasions when we had shared hotel rooms - travelling to work events or on business - he was painfully shy. Whilst I was quite comfortable walking around in my birthday suit before showering or going to bed, he'd always wait for me to go to the bathroom before changing out of his trousers and into lounge pants or shorts for bed. In short, whatever the guy was packing, it was a complete mystery to me, shrouded by an ever-present curtain of loose cloth. Which is remarkable, considering that I had a pretty heavy crush on him for several years in my mid-20s, back before I'd hooked up with Darren and my hormones had finally calmed down just a little.
"Ryan, listen. I know this is a really bad time for you right now - I've been through the same thing myself recently, as you know - BUT... if Jeannie was going to run out on you at first opportunity to get hold of a big todger, then really, was she worth it. Just as well to find out she was capable of having her head turned so easily now, rather than five years further down the line and after the wedding."
I was doing my best to help, but Ryan continued in the same dejected tone, "Rob, mate, you really don't understand. It ain't that I couldn't measure up to Dean. It's that... she told me that I was too big for her. I've got a really long cock."
He looked at me, a face full - in so far as I could see in the pale light - of downtrodden woe. Quite a remarkable thing for a guy with 'a really long cock.' Did I mention something about hormones a few moments ago? Mine were starting to rise just a little. As was my own penis. Not bloody appropriate, when your mate is miserable and trying to tell you something difficult. I did my best to concentrate on his words rather than the twinge in my crotch.
"I know," he went on, "that men are supposed to feel all pumped up and masculine about having a really big one, but honest to God it's brought me nothing but trouble. Some women run a mile when they see it. Some laugh. Some are completely fascinated by it, or lust after it, but they forget that there's a man attached to the thing - they just want my cock. Jeannie was better than most, but in the end she wanted to make love to a man who could... well, get it all in... and without feeling as though she was being split in half. That's what she said about sex with me. It felt like being split in half."
So, Ryan was not only tall, broad, hairy and handsome - he was packing. Seriously packing. I wasn't a size queen, wouldn't go out of the way to bag a man just because he was hung. But it was CERTAINLY a bonus. Having deeply inappropriate thoughts, more than I have for years. He's my friend. He's straight. And such a bad time. Must. Stop.
"And blokes are scarcely any better. My whole three years on the uni rugby squad I wasn't Ryan. I was Horse. Is it any wonder I gave up playing? And the stares I sometimes get if guys see me showering or changing down the gym. Open-mouthed. Giggling. Queers - excuse me, Rob - gay guys clearly wanting it. I stopped using the sauna after two made a pass at me in a week. So fucking embarrassing."
I struggled for something useful to say. Part of me was sympathetic, and wanted to be useful - even if I couldn't really offer much of value in respect of the difficulties he was having with women. Another part of me, I have to admit, thought 'lucky bastard,' and even that he was being a bit of a wuss for not being able to cope with getting a few second looks - not much of a price to pay for being well endowed. And my cock just wanted to know exactly what his really looked like. I think that my cock began to dictate a plan at that time.
"Well, I'm not quite sure what advice to give you mate, but if you're looking to talk cock then you could do worse than a gay man! Sorry, lame remark... listen, I know you, if you go home on your own tonight you're just going to brood and get even more miserable. And that's an especially bad idea when you have the whole of the weekend also coming, in which to keep getting miserable. Come on back to mine, I'll do dinner, we can find something decent to watch on one of the movie channels, crack open as many beers as you like and get wasted. What do you say?"
A pause, then a long sigh. Ryan was definitely down in the dumps, and not very enthusiastic about the plan. But my place was only a quarter of a mile back down the main road, and he gave in. "Yeah, sure, OK. Sounds good." He didn't sounds convinced, and truth was neither was I. We'd been friends for so long, and I'd done so well resisting the urge to make a pass up until now. And tonight wasn't necessarily the best timing. I really shouldn't have made that offer. But my dick was now in the driving seat, and a bumpy road stretched out ahead of me...
I was seriously concerned. Ryan had always had terrible luck with women, but this was of a different order. After three years together, it looked like he and Jeannie had it made - the house, the car, talking about marriage and starting a family - and then he came home from work last night to find that she'd left him. Packed up and gone, leaving him nothing but a hefty mortgage to pay alone and a Dear John letter. The attractions of her 24 year old, muscular personal trainer had proved too much. Ryan was a nice guy, but she had a lot in common with this Dean of hers. They had similar tastes in food, in travel, in what films they liked to watch. He was, apparently, more romantic - although I found that hard to believe, as Ryan always seemed so attentive, even plain old-fashioned chivalrous, when I'd met up with him in the company of one or the other of his many girlfriends (although, I hasten to add, there was only ever one at a time!!!) And... well, it felt pretty obvious that Ryan was holding something back in the conversation, and it was making him very anxious.
"And... what else?" I decided that whatever this terrible secret was, it was better off out than in, "Come on mate, you know you want to tell me. Maybe I can help?"
Ryan gave a hollow laugh, "I doubt that very much. What I've got... well, I've just got to live with..."
This did set alarm bells ringing? What had he got that might've pushed Jeannie to leave him, when it all seemed to be going so well this time. Fuck, did he have HIV? Or cancer, perhaps? My mind swam a little with the possibilities.
"Well, give me a try anyway. How long have we known each other now - 14, 15 years? You were there for me when Darren dumped my arse last year." I found it a lot easier to talk about my worries and love life than Ryan did, being more extrovert to begin with and especially since I had come out a few years back. Besides, we were mature adults in our late 30s: however buttoned up blokes are meant to be, you've really got to have learned to articulate your feelings somehow by that age. Otherwise you'd just end up as a tightly corked bottle of anger, despair, or whatever this weeks' poison was.
"Alright mate. But not here. Let's go for a walk."
We both drained our pints, put on our coats and headed for the door. Outside the pub, it was a crisp January evening, not quite freezing but cold enough that you could see your breath, illuminated by the lights of the building and that of the Moon. We took the little path down by the river - unlit, so not much used at night - for some privacy.
"Well, mate..." Ryan started talking, hesitating a little and clearing his throat, "It's like this. Jeannie. She... she also left me because of... my dick, mate. She dumped me cos of my fucking dick."
This I was not expecting. In all the years I had known him, I didn't remember Ryan ever saying anything about the private parts of his body, not once. But then, he was a very private kind of a guy. Although it made sense of a lot of the things he'd done down the years. He used the gym very late at night or early in the morning, when it was as quiet as possible, and I'd given up asking him to come training with me after work. On the couple of occasions when we had shared hotel rooms - travelling to work events or on business - he was painfully shy. Whilst I was quite comfortable walking around in my birthday suit before showering or going to bed, he'd always wait for me to go to the bathroom before changing out of his trousers and into lounge pants or shorts for bed. In short, whatever the guy was packing, it was a complete mystery to me, shrouded by an ever-present curtain of loose cloth. Which is remarkable, considering that I had a pretty heavy crush on him for several years in my mid-20s, back before I'd hooked up with Darren and my hormones had finally calmed down just a little.
"Ryan, listen. I know this is a really bad time for you right now - I've been through the same thing myself recently, as you know - BUT... if Jeannie was going to run out on you at first opportunity to get hold of a big todger, then really, was she worth it. Just as well to find out she was capable of having her head turned so easily now, rather than five years further down the line and after the wedding."
I was doing my best to help, but Ryan continued in the same dejected tone, "Rob, mate, you really don't understand. It ain't that I couldn't measure up to Dean. It's that... she told me that I was too big for her. I've got a really long cock."
He looked at me, a face full - in so far as I could see in the pale light - of downtrodden woe. Quite a remarkable thing for a guy with 'a really long cock.' Did I mention something about hormones a few moments ago? Mine were starting to rise just a little. As was my own penis. Not bloody appropriate, when your mate is miserable and trying to tell you something difficult. I did my best to concentrate on his words rather than the twinge in my crotch.
"I know," he went on, "that men are supposed to feel all pumped up and masculine about having a really big one, but honest to God it's brought me nothing but trouble. Some women run a mile when they see it. Some laugh. Some are completely fascinated by it, or lust after it, but they forget that there's a man attached to the thing - they just want my cock. Jeannie was better than most, but in the end she wanted to make love to a man who could... well, get it all in... and without feeling as though she was being split in half. That's what she said about sex with me. It felt like being split in half."
So, Ryan was not only tall, broad, hairy and handsome - he was packing. Seriously packing. I wasn't a size queen, wouldn't go out of the way to bag a man just because he was hung. But it was CERTAINLY a bonus. Having deeply inappropriate thoughts, more than I have for years. He's my friend. He's straight. And such a bad time. Must. Stop.
"And blokes are scarcely any better. My whole three years on the uni rugby squad I wasn't Ryan. I was Horse. Is it any wonder I gave up playing? And the stares I sometimes get if guys see me showering or changing down the gym. Open-mouthed. Giggling. Queers - excuse me, Rob - gay guys clearly wanting it. I stopped using the sauna after two made a pass at me in a week. So fucking embarrassing."
I struggled for something useful to say. Part of me was sympathetic, and wanted to be useful - even if I couldn't really offer much of value in respect of the difficulties he was having with women. Another part of me, I have to admit, thought 'lucky bastard,' and even that he was being a bit of a wuss for not being able to cope with getting a few second looks - not much of a price to pay for being well endowed. And my cock just wanted to know exactly what his really looked like. I think that my cock began to dictate a plan at that time.
"Well, I'm not quite sure what advice to give you mate, but if you're looking to talk cock then you could do worse than a gay man! Sorry, lame remark... listen, I know you, if you go home on your own tonight you're just going to brood and get even more miserable. And that's an especially bad idea when you have the whole of the weekend also coming, in which to keep getting miserable. Come on back to mine, I'll do dinner, we can find something decent to watch on one of the movie channels, crack open as many beers as you like and get wasted. What do you say?"
A pause, then a long sigh. Ryan was definitely down in the dumps, and not very enthusiastic about the plan. But my place was only a quarter of a mile back down the main road, and he gave in. "Yeah, sure, OK. Sounds good." He didn't sounds convinced, and truth was neither was I. We'd been friends for so long, and I'd done so well resisting the urge to make a pass up until now. And tonight wasn't necessarily the best timing. I really shouldn't have made that offer. But my dick was now in the driving seat, and a bumpy road stretched out ahead of me...
