Brian drifted up toward consciousness to greet a new day. Flat on his back, he resisted the urge to move his hands between his legs.
He liked the sensation of morning wood—his little, four-and-a-half inch dick straining at the sheet, making a tent, begging for attention.
Brian raised his head and looked down his torso. No tent.
Then he remembered: The Buddha, the 45-minute meditation session, his supplication to a higher power for a change down there.
A bigger dick.
He pushed the sheet aside. All he saw was soft, brown, downy pubic hair.
Slowly, he separated his legs. Sometimes it got stuck…
That didn’t work. Gingerly, he reached down. Simultaneous with the realization that, in fact, a penis was not between his legs was a strangely pleasant sensation as his fingertips brushed something.
Okay, this is a dream. Just go with it, he thought. He explored the petite vertical slit nestled beneath the downy hair. It was slightly swollen, and he rubbed the two sides together with the tips of his index fingers.
Oh, yeah. Knees raised and spread, Brian found what could only be a clitoris. His fingers pinched and rolled, rubbing his lips together. After only a few moments of delicious fingering, the lips blossomed under his hand. He felt a firmness welling up inside of him.
It was if he was pulling an orgasm right out of his body. The warmth rushing from his sadistic hands went all the way into the depths of his aching pussy. Rocking on his hips as the orgasm gathered at the base of his spine, Brian could sense his clit swelling and pushing against the clammy nest of his palm.
It was an orgasm like no other that he had experienced in his twenty-three years. Wet, watery cum dripped out around his knuckles as he thrusted, his hips off the bed, waves of sexual energy surging through his body.
It finally ebbed. His flesh felt slack and loose as he swam up toward consciousness for the second time that morning.
Two hours and countless orgasms later, Brian examined himself in the bathroom, one foot on the edge of the toilet, holding a hand mirror. Yep. Instead of a dangly, pencil-thin dick and marble-sized testicles, Brian now possessed a pussy—a female sex organ that he could positively confirm thrived on attention..
Blame it on that damn Buddha.
The previous evening, he found the package on the porch next to the front door, ripe pickings for any thief in his shitty neighborhood. His shift at the sub shop ended at eleven and, following the usual kitchen cleanup and floor sweeping, he arrived home just before midnight.
Excited, he tore the package apart. Shit. It wasn’t the sitting Buddha inscribed with the Heart Sutra that he had ordered. Instead, it was the laughing Buddha, a Japanese caricature, the grinning fat monk with his hands on his enormous belly.
Well, he thought, when the Buddha gives you lemons, make lemonade.
He set the silly statue on a bookcase, arranged his meditation cushion, and sat. As he relaxed, following his breath and emptying his mind, Brian rested his awareness on his genitals. It was a crazy idea, he knew, but for the last few weeks he couldn’t shake the firm conviction that meditation could solve a problem that had plagued him since puberty.
His under-sized penis.
The snickers in the high school locker room. “Hey, pencil dick…”
That damn Heather Bukowski laughing as she hiked her jeans over her hips: “I hope you felt something down there, because I sure as shit didn’t.”
Now equipped with a statue that at least reminded him of the real Buddha, his hope was that his wish would come true. That something would change down there.
Well, he thought, pulling back the hood of his clitoris and looking at the white nub in the mirror, I got my wish.
His roommate, Bob, worked at a chain restaurant, a fast-food assembly line in an interstate rest area food court. Yeah, the pay was somewhat better and it even had benefits. But Brian felt a certain smugness about his position at Apple’s Pies, an established pizza place. His tasks might be as menial as anything Bob did, but they were more varied. And the pace was less hectic.
“Just got up?” Bob worked a different shift and had just walked in the door. Brian was on the couch, in a sweatshirt and loose jeans.
“I’ve got to show you something,” Brian said.
Both men were straight, but on more than one occasion they had beat off together while watching porn. Bob had fastidiously worked his big dick through the opening of his jeans to wank. Brian always made a point of pushing his jeans down around his ankles. When you’re as small as me, you need as much exposed skin as possible, he had reasoned.
Brian stood, and his jeans dropped. “Take a look.”
Bob squinted. “Where’s your dick? Open your legs.”
Instead, Brian sat on the couch, his knees spread apart.
“What the hell…” Bob said as he peered at Brian’s crotch. “You been taking hormones or something?”
“Fuck, no. I just woke up this morning and found this.”
“Is it a pussy? I mean, for real?”
“Bob, I masturbated for two hours. In-fucking-credible.”
“What about the rest of it? I mean, you got a hole and everything?”
Brian turned around, presenting his bare ass. “Let’s find out.”
Bob unbuckled and pushed his jeans down. His seven-inch cock, rock hard, fell out, his fat balls and generous scrotum dangling between his legs. He grabbed Brian’s hips and pushed his cockhead down his crack.
“Make sure you push it in the right hole,” Brian snarled over his shoulder. “And not too fast. I think I’m a virgin.”
“I know which hole,” said Bob, reaching around Brian to guide his cock in. “Goddam. Wow.”
“Dude, you’re wet!”
Brian squealed as Bob parted his pussy lips with his cockhead and pushed. Brian’s pussy muscles, tight from the morning’s orgasms, resisted the pressure.
“Dude, take a deep breath,” Bob said. “It’ll open you up.”
Brian breathed. Suddenly, the entire length of Bob’s cock filled him up. Brian gasped and shuddered as Bob began a series of slow thrusts.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” Bob moaned.
“I can feel your balls slapping against my ass. Oh, fuck, oh shit…” Brian’s hand was between his legs, furiously strumming his clit as Brian fucked him, the couch shaking with the force of their frenzied mating.
Bob’s semen welled up inside him. He lost all control as he fucked his roommate’s pussy. He erupted deep inside Brian. Each jet he squirted was like molten lava spewing out of his cock. He continued to thrust as he came, his hands death-gripping Brian’s hips.
Brian’s orgasm was almost simultaneous. His pussy, clenching Brian’s cock, spasmed over and over. He pressed down on his clit as white-hot convulsions swept through him, his pussy squeezing Bob’s penis in a tight, throbbing embrace.
Sprawled on the couch, they looked at Bob’s pulsing cock as his erection faded. A small clot of jism dangled out of his pisshole.
“Does this make me gay?”
“That’s a dumbass thing to say,” Brian said. “You just fucked a pussy, right? How un-gay is that?”
“Well, yeah. But I got to say—don’t get mad—your ass looked awful nice. Round and smooth.”
Brian rushed into the bathroom and examined himself in the full-length mirror, looking back over his shoulder, one hand on his hip. Yeah, not bad. He ran his hand over his face. His morning stubble was gone. But he hadn’t shaved.
Back in the living room, he gave Bob orders. “Don’t tell anyone about this. I don’t know what the fuck is going on. Until I do, keep your mouth shut.”
“Hey, no problem. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Good. This is serious. I got to figure out if I need to go to a doctor. Or something.”
Bob’s cock twitched.
Brian stood up. “Yeah, you horn dog. I get it. Let’s try it standing up.”
To be continued…