But I did leave. I had to keep going to work, after all. I was…afraid to not go, I was more afraid of being alone, in some ways. Thursday and Friday passed relatively well. The women at work still refused to engage with me…and honestly? Part of me was really enjoying that. I had just never really noticed how much time talking to all of them took up during my day, nor had I realized just how few fucks I gave about their lives, their problems. Their lazy husbands, their shopping, their gossip–what did it matter? I mean…I mean, I knew it had mattered to me more, before, but I just wasn’t missing it. Now, I had more time to myself, more time to, well, slip off to the bathroom to jack off. But still, most of the guys around the office…I noticed that they seemed a bit more…interested in me somehow. Stopping to talk, asking how I was, just…small shit. I didn’t really appreciate it, to be honest. They all seemed…kind of annoying–that much hadn’t changed. But they all seemed really interested in me, and more than once, I noticed hardons in their slacks after a five minute conversation with me, and I…I started to wonder if it was me.
Was it really all the smell that was doing this? It seemed hard to believe that just wearing some strange pair of filthy underwear could change how everyone viewed me, instantly, but what other explanation did I have? The weekend was bearing down on me, honestly…I was scared, going home on Friday. I had two days with no obligation to be anywhere other than my apartment, and before, when I just hung around here…well, I had spent almost all the time masturbating. I knew I should go out, see some friends, maybe hook up…but with who? None of my regular fuckbuddies would be vaguely interested in…in this. If I went to the club, and anyone smelled me, what would everyone think? Then again, if I didn’t show up, what would people think? I was, I hate to say it, a regular barfly. But Friday night, I stayed home, jacked off into the underwear, and as I did…I noticed something.
I noticed…that my dick was bigger.
Gay guys–we know our dicks. I’d always been a bit below average, I suppose–five inches hard. But when I was stroking off that night, everything felt just a bit…larger. My cock, my balls, my sack hanging lower. I went into the bathroom after shooting one of the loads, pulled down the front and got a ruler. Sure enough–six inches. I’d gained an entire inch onto my cock. I remeasured two or three more times, trying to figure out what I’d been doing wrong, but the more I looked at it, the more I was certain–it really had grown. My balls too, each was probably the size of a lemon at this point, and I could see the bulge in the underwear when I pulled them back up–and that didn’t even begin to cover the hair.
I was…well, in my younger years I was a twink, but at this point I’ve aged out of that category long ago. Still, I never quite became a bear–the best I could describe myself now would be a bad case of dadbod. Pot belly, saggy chest, decent shoulders, arms which I’ve always felt were way too skinny, legs too. Not…attractive, really, but I’d always made do with personality, even when I had the looks. That–and a very nice hole. I turned around to look at my ass, pulled down the briefs, and even my ass crack was hairier–just like the thick bush which had sprouted around my cock and balls, a bush I’d never seen in my life. And yet…fuck, was I turned on, I nutted again right there, then a second load while I sniffed the sweat and grunge off my hand.
On Saturday, it was seven inches, and I was freaking out. I knew I couldn’t go to the club or anything, but I also knew I couldn’t stay here, jacking off all weekend…because I was starting to really enjoy it. I’d…I’d never had this much fun masturbating in my life. My orgasms were more powerful, my cock was more sensitive, and the stench…fuck, my apartment was smelling almost as rank as the underwear at this point, and the effect on me had gone from disgust to intoxicating without me being aware of it. I came out of my stupor on Saturday afternoon after one particularly huge load, one I discovered I’d been edging out for close to two hours. Two hours! Two hours of my life wasted on masturbation. I didn’t know what I needed–fresh air, a walk, a fuck, someone to talk to, but I knew I couldn’t stay here, I needed to get out for a bit and clear my head.
I threw on some clothes and left the apartment, only realizing after I hit the sidewalk I hadn’t showered in two days now, or even considered deodorant once since finding the the briefs back behind the club. I…I stank. It was a tossup whether the people twisting their faces in disgust were doing so because of the briefs, or just because of me. Still, I couldn’t go back. I wouldn’t shower, I’d just…jack off again, and I needed to stop. I headed for the club, waved at some guys, but didn’t dare go in, didn’t dare even go close. I just kept walking. Evening turned to night, I kept walking. I kept walking, and then, around ten o’clock, soaked in sweat, cock achingly hard, searching for something but not knowing what…I smelled something. I smelled something I needed, and I started to hunt.
Bracken's Corner 