“I take it you like that?” Wendy grinned.
“Unh huh.” I managed, swimming in the sensation overload. “Maybe too much.”
I’d been dimly aware of my cock lengthening down the leg of my jeans, trapped between our bodies, and tried to ignore it. In my indoctrination, that was what you were supposed to do when that happened and you couldn’t escape. Like, for instance, in class.
But, when my nipples were tweaked, a zing sang through my body on a direct route to my crotch and my cock tried to finish the salute. Which was more than a little painful the way it was folded and pinned.
“Sorry.” I winced, pushing my hand between our bodies and try to adjust myself.
“Let me.” Wendy said, clambering back into the driver’s seat on her knees and reaching for the remaining buttons on my 501s.
As the buttons parted, my cock sprang to it’s full upright position. The relief was so great, I didn’t think about the fact that only my cotton briefs were keeping me from being indecent.
Until her cool fingers slipped inside the elastic waistband to pull my dick into the October night air.
“Is that better?” Wendy asked.
“Uh.” I said brilliantly.
I knew there was something I was forgetting, some reason that I shouldn’t allow her to touch that part of my body, much less expose it. But, it felt so good with her cool fingers wrapped around my hot skin.
“It’s so big,” she breathed as she leaned closer, her fingers stroking my shaft.
Time out.
Oh, shut up. I told you I played football and we get three. And I’m taking my final one to set up the two minute drill.
I knew I wasn’t “big”. I didn’t just think it, I knew it.
First, I’d been in locker rooms with other guys my age. Granted, at the time I didn’t know diddly about “grower” versus “shower”. But, I knew a lot of the other guys… well, they dangled. I didn’t. When I wasn’t erect, I looked like a turtle peeking out of tall grass to see if the pond was safe.
And since I didn’t know about the grow/show dichotomy, I assumed the rest of those guys expanded comparatively just like I did. If they had, one or two could have lined up three cheerleaders and reached the third.
Then, also, I’d gotten my hands on some stories that made it abundantly clear that nine inches was the absolute minimum acceptable length. And yeah, I measured and got depressed as hell when I came up an inch and a half short.
Since then, I’ve learned more, enough to know I’m actually a bit over the average. But, at the time Wendy said it, I “knew” what she said wasn’t true. Which just made the fact that she said it as her fingers squeezed my hardness impact me even more.
“Big and hard too.” Wendy said.
“We, uh, we shouldn’t… shouldn’t…” I stammered.
“Shouldn’t what, Kevin?” Wendy asked. “Doesn’t it feel good for me to touch your hot, hard, big cock? For me to wrap my small hands around it?”
“I…” I moaned. “Yes, it does. But, we should… Oh.”
My eyes fluttered shut and I forgot all about what we should or shouldn’t be doing as her hand began to slide up and down my shaft.
I’d taken up masturbation, but for me it was a nightly chore so I didn’t make a mess in my sheets. Brush the teeth. Take a piss. Dump some cum. Night night. I didn’t really enjoy it all that much and often took a half hour or more just to finish.