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What A Complete and Utter…
An LPSG story
Chapter 1
Some young men are ruined by money, or specifically by being sent to an upper class school, where they learn indirectly that their place is to look down upon others. Some young men are ruined by being talented sportsmen, or having the gift of talking their way out of things, and finding success in both or either ability all too easy. Some young men are ruined by being handsome as the rosy dawn coming up over an old city. Henry Hunter managed to avoid all of these potential downfalls.
He was a studious and often curious student, with a sensitivity toward texts and a grudging respect for his teachers. He ended up with all the makings of a Classical scholar, with a particular interest in the often overlooked female gaze in ancient Athens. This, in spite of his talents on the rugby field: he was so often man of the match in high school games that his teachers had to privately disqualify him from the running – his athleticism, focus and team-spiritedness were exemplary. The joke was that Henry loved Athenian culture so much he had started to look like that culture’s statuary: a tall, beautifully proportioned, handsome young man with an air of contemplation.
But then he went to university and women told him how big his penis was.
He had gone to bed with women before this, of course, or shagged at parties, or been blown inexpertly by his girlfriend, and heard each them say it, those three magic words. They followed him around, those words, it seemed, and as a result he took none of it to heart: it was their puppy love for him, or their desire to dirty talk him, or simply inexperience. When he was sinking beers with his fellow Rugby bros, Henry belly laughed openly and naturally (and without malice) about how each and every girl had delivered him those same words – and his Rugby bros laughed along with him. “Oh yes,” they said, “all those sluts say it, those words, yeah – like they think it’s the secret password, or they’re in a porn film.”
Because of his deep respect for women, Henry had never watched porn, so he had nothing himself with which to compare. In some Rugby teams, it’s customary for the lads to gather in the showers and compare with one another – just lads’ stuff, nothing gay, of course – but for some reason that never happened on Henry’s team. Or rather, everyone thought better of it once Henry started laughing about those three little words, which in point of fact, none of them had ever had said to them.
But at Cambridge, the first woman who said those words was a slutty older woman who – Henry half suspected – thought he was a boring posh twat. So when she gasped and looked him in the eye and said those same familiar three words, he did a double take.
“Uh, really?” he said. “You really think it’s big?”
“Look,” she said, “I don’t have time for a conversation about it. I’ve been around. I’ve seen a lot of willies. Most of them look the same. That’s a big willy.” She put one hand around the base, and another hand on top of that, and observed the round, pink cock-head sticking out the top, as if she was a plumber estimating a length of pipe. “Actually, it’s very big.”
He grinned at her words, and his dick hardened slightly in her double-handed grip. “That’s so cool,” he said.
“Are you going to admire it all night or are you going to put it in me?” she huffed.
“Oh, definitely the second one,” he said, licking his lips nervously. “I mean, I’m not stupid. I know it’s not what you’ve got. It’s what you do with it.” He rubbed his thumb teasingly over her left nipple.
She smiled and glanced down shyly. “Well,” she said, “I mean, don’t spread this around, but that’s actually kind of bollocks.”
His hand froze on her breast. “What?”
“Obviously, you ought to learn how to handle it,” she said, “but most women would agree that even bad sex with a guy who’s hung like you is better than a considerate lover with a normal size willy.”
His dick swelled once again in her hands, and he felt himself flush.
“Right,” he said.
“I’ll tell you one thing though,” she added. “You’re going to need a lot more lube.”
He reached for it automatically, almost in a dream. He had been suddenly taken up an erotic gear, like taking an extra long draw on a spliff. It made him calmer and more authoritative than he had ever known before.
Five years later, he mused, as he met the eye of a cute young women on the London Underground and subtly adjusted his suit trousers to emphasise his bulge to her, and waited for her to notice and respond with the usual dirty look that girls always gave him when he did this, and casually planned which station he might casually invite her to get off at with him, and in which station toilet or back street she might get off with him, and what excuse he would make to his fiancée for being twenty minutes late to the restaurant for their dinner date, and didn’t think for a second whether she had noticed how often he was twenty minutes late to whatever meeting, he had not begun to come down.
But something unexpected was heading Henry Hunter’s way…
TO BE CONTINUED
My other stories (some under another profile):
Dads
Stretch and Give
The Goon Zone: Serial
Recognised Off X-Tube
Daddy Dick
Awakening
Fictional Interviews: Chris Evans
Fictional Interviews: Harry Judd
Fictional Interviews: Henry Cavill
Wife Learns A Lesson
An LPSG story
Chapter 1
Some young men are ruined by money, or specifically by being sent to an upper class school, where they learn indirectly that their place is to look down upon others. Some young men are ruined by being talented sportsmen, or having the gift of talking their way out of things, and finding success in both or either ability all too easy. Some young men are ruined by being handsome as the rosy dawn coming up over an old city. Henry Hunter managed to avoid all of these potential downfalls.
He was a studious and often curious student, with a sensitivity toward texts and a grudging respect for his teachers. He ended up with all the makings of a Classical scholar, with a particular interest in the often overlooked female gaze in ancient Athens. This, in spite of his talents on the rugby field: he was so often man of the match in high school games that his teachers had to privately disqualify him from the running – his athleticism, focus and team-spiritedness were exemplary. The joke was that Henry loved Athenian culture so much he had started to look like that culture’s statuary: a tall, beautifully proportioned, handsome young man with an air of contemplation.
But then he went to university and women told him how big his penis was.
He had gone to bed with women before this, of course, or shagged at parties, or been blown inexpertly by his girlfriend, and heard each them say it, those three magic words. They followed him around, those words, it seemed, and as a result he took none of it to heart: it was their puppy love for him, or their desire to dirty talk him, or simply inexperience. When he was sinking beers with his fellow Rugby bros, Henry belly laughed openly and naturally (and without malice) about how each and every girl had delivered him those same words – and his Rugby bros laughed along with him. “Oh yes,” they said, “all those sluts say it, those words, yeah – like they think it’s the secret password, or they’re in a porn film.”
Because of his deep respect for women, Henry had never watched porn, so he had nothing himself with which to compare. In some Rugby teams, it’s customary for the lads to gather in the showers and compare with one another – just lads’ stuff, nothing gay, of course – but for some reason that never happened on Henry’s team. Or rather, everyone thought better of it once Henry started laughing about those three little words, which in point of fact, none of them had ever had said to them.
But at Cambridge, the first woman who said those words was a slutty older woman who – Henry half suspected – thought he was a boring posh twat. So when she gasped and looked him in the eye and said those same familiar three words, he did a double take.
“Uh, really?” he said. “You really think it’s big?”
“Look,” she said, “I don’t have time for a conversation about it. I’ve been around. I’ve seen a lot of willies. Most of them look the same. That’s a big willy.” She put one hand around the base, and another hand on top of that, and observed the round, pink cock-head sticking out the top, as if she was a plumber estimating a length of pipe. “Actually, it’s very big.”
He grinned at her words, and his dick hardened slightly in her double-handed grip. “That’s so cool,” he said.
“Are you going to admire it all night or are you going to put it in me?” she huffed.
“Oh, definitely the second one,” he said, licking his lips nervously. “I mean, I’m not stupid. I know it’s not what you’ve got. It’s what you do with it.” He rubbed his thumb teasingly over her left nipple.
She smiled and glanced down shyly. “Well,” she said, “I mean, don’t spread this around, but that’s actually kind of bollocks.”
His hand froze on her breast. “What?”
“Obviously, you ought to learn how to handle it,” she said, “but most women would agree that even bad sex with a guy who’s hung like you is better than a considerate lover with a normal size willy.”
His dick swelled once again in her hands, and he felt himself flush.
“Right,” he said.
“I’ll tell you one thing though,” she added. “You’re going to need a lot more lube.”
He reached for it automatically, almost in a dream. He had been suddenly taken up an erotic gear, like taking an extra long draw on a spliff. It made him calmer and more authoritative than he had ever known before.
Five years later, he mused, as he met the eye of a cute young women on the London Underground and subtly adjusted his suit trousers to emphasise his bulge to her, and waited for her to notice and respond with the usual dirty look that girls always gave him when he did this, and casually planned which station he might casually invite her to get off at with him, and in which station toilet or back street she might get off with him, and what excuse he would make to his fiancée for being twenty minutes late to the restaurant for their dinner date, and didn’t think for a second whether she had noticed how often he was twenty minutes late to whatever meeting, he had not begun to come down.
But something unexpected was heading Henry Hunter’s way…
TO BE CONTINUED
My other stories (some under another profile):
Dads
Stretch and Give
The Goon Zone: Serial
Recognised Off X-Tube
Daddy Dick
Awakening
Fictional Interviews: Chris Evans
Fictional Interviews: Harry Judd
Fictional Interviews: Henry Cavill
Wife Learns A Lesson
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