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I was going to say that it’s like waiting until Christmas, but then the image loaded and I completely lost that thought process.
27
The man with the biggest dick either of us had ever seen sat at a four-top in the bar, his enormous dong tucked into a pair of dark green jeans. I double-checked the color and notated the white high-top Nikes, which was an interesting choice when paired with the red plaid flannel top. Flannel. In Miami. In September.
“You look like your pictures.” Kurt smiled. “That’s good. Most people don’t. Or they do, but it’s an old pic and they’re forty pounds heavier or with way more miles, if ya know what I mean.” He had a Wisconsin accent, the lilt similar to a sorority sister I’d had who’d chewed a lot of gum and wore a fanny pack, despite strict instructions from our social chair to burn that thing to hell. “I don’t get it,” he continued. “You’s a good-looking couple. Why don’t you just find friends in Miami? Why get on the site?”
I stared at him, fascinated by the fact that this guy belonged to the polite emails and the gigantic penis. GI-GAN-TIC. I’m talking about circus freak. Must-be-surgically-enhanced big.
Easton’s knee nudged mine and I had no idea what I was supposed to say. “We’re new to all of this,” he said. “And…” He looked at me quizzically, and I realized he’d forgotten my fake name.
“Rachel,” I provided.
“Right, Rachel doesn’t want to go to a club.”
“Fair enough. You should learn her name though.” Kurt grinned, and a mouthful of veneers were exposed.
“Is your dick naturally that big?” I leaned forward, keeping my voice low. Beside me, Easton let out a cough. “I mean, I just don’t understand how it—”
“I know, right?” He grinned. “It’s surprising, because I got small hands. And everyone says the hand and the dick size have to do with each other, but they don’t. And yeah, it’s all me. Granted, I do stretch it.”
“You what?” Easton, who was mid-bite into a cheese stick, paused. “You stretch it? What does that mean?”
“Penile traction device,” he responded, sounding out each syllable as if we were wanting to write it down. “You got to go to a doctor to get it. I, myself, I use Andropenis, but there are lots of options out there.” He pointed to E. “Do your research. You need to find one you feel comfortable with and that fits into your schedule.”
“What do you mean, fits into his schedule?” I moved my stool closer to the table.
“Well, you know. These things take time. It’s not just bim-bam-boom, you got a big dick.”
“How much time?” I pressed.
“Well”—he glanced around as if to make sure no one was listening—“they say six hours a day. But I think nine hours is the sweet spot. Nine hours is…”—he held up his thumb and forefinger in an okay sign—“BAM. Good to go.”
“I’m sorry, did you say nine hours a day?” Easton squinted at him.
“Ideally.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“Oh, not long. That’s the beauty of it. Four months. Four months, and you get anywhere from two to three centimeters in length—that’s what the doctors say—but I got a full inch and a half.” He beamed.
“I’m sorry, how can you fit nine hours of this in every day?”
“Well, you can do other stuff while wearing it. I’m an accountant. Every tax return I filed last year?” He paused and winked at me. “Prepped it while in the device. Honestly, it cleared my mind a little.”
“Yeah…” Easton said slowly.
“So you had a big penis already? And you got an extra inch and a half by using the traction thing?” I asked.
“Well…. and the injections.”
“Holy shit,” Easton muttered.
“The injections are just for girth. I added two and a half inches in circumference over the course of two years. It’s actually an acid they’re injecting. Hyaluronic acid. I can email you that. I know it’s a bitch to remember.”
“That’s okay.” Easton waved off the offer. “No one’s putting a needle anywhere near my dick.”
“Elle?” The high-pitched voice came from behind me. “Elle Ribbenham, is that you?”
Oh shit. I slowly turned, wincing at the sight of Keri McIntyre, our pledge class president who—last I’d heard—was in New York working in finance and dating some Saudi oil heir. “Keri,” I said carefully. “What are you doing here?” Seriously. I chose a shithole bar in Model City for the express purpose of not running into anyone I knew.
“Oh, I’m just in town for the night.” She still had the thick Southern accent. “And Easton North, look at you!” She reached out her arms and flung them around his neck, squeezing him tight. I looked behind her, half expecting to see our entire executive team, but she was alone. “That’s right, I forgot you two got married! So, you’re actually Elle North now. Just like that Kardashian baby!”
