Dale's Big Dick

I went to high school with Dale. We weren't friends, so it's probably more accurate to say I was aware of his presence, even though he probably wasn't aware of mine. He and I had nothing in common. We barely even acknowledged one another. He was a hothead who loved nothing more than to get into a fistfight, and it was obvious he thought school was a complete waste of time. I did my best to stay out of his way.

At the shitty Sydney government school I went to, all the bad boys smoked. Smoking was the playground barometer of how tough you were, and Dale smoked like a chimney. He reeked of tobacco even more than some of our teachers did. I didn't smoke. I wanted to study, and I wanted to learn. I paid in attention in class, whereas Dale hardly ever showed up, and whenever he did, he was a nuisance. One day, I remember our teacher distributed copies of a short novel everyone in class was expected to read. Dale tore the pages out of his before throwing the crumpled husk of the book back at the teacher.

Dale was stocky, yet well-built. He was intimidating; a natural born schoolyard bully, and I pitied anyone who got in his way. I'd never call him athletic, though. Either he wasn't good enough to play rugby league for the school or he wasn't interested, but he usually hung around with the footy boys anyway, smoking behind the field. Meanwhile, I was probably in the school library, trying to wrap my mind around trigonometry and calculus.

Girls in our class gravitated towards Dale, despite the stink of tobacco that seemed to follow him everywhere, and it didn't take long for me to learn why. He was big down there. I mean, obviously, I never saw it myself, but rumours circulated that he was hung like a horse, he loved to eat pussy, and he knew how to fuck. No wonder the girls were into him.

I remember one day I was sitting in a classroom with Dale, and for no apparent reason, he put one end of his plastic twelve-inch ruler in his crotch of his shorts and pretended to suck the other. I popped an instant boner under my desk. I lay in bed that night, with my head spinning and my dick tentpoling through my bed clothes, wondering whether Dale was big enough to suck his own cock. And as I imagined him doing it, pearls of glistening sperm coating his lips and dripping down his cheeks, my back arched, and I drenched my sheets. I cleaned up fast, hoping nobody heard.

Dale left school halfway through year 12, and it was a miracle he stayed enrolled that long. I think he became an apprentice, but I can't remember what his trade was. As for me, I went on to finish high school, earning better grades in my final exams than I'd expected. I enrolled at university, and after earning a bachelor's degree, I went on to earn two postgrad qualifications.

*

As soon as I started uni, I lost connections with most of my high school classmates, but I didn't really care. They weren't my people. I kept a loose friendship with maybe two or three friends from school, and when Facebook became a thing, I made an account and found them. I wouldn't say we communicated often, but I guess it was enough for me to learn, many years later, that a high school reunion was being planned.

I wasn't sure whether I should go.

I guess I was curious, but I reckoned most of the people who'd go wouldn't have been the people I hung out with in high school. They'd be the troublemakers, the bad seeds, the stoners, the truants, the ones who thought school was pointless. They'd be the people who maintained their schoolyard friendships over the years, never travelling, never going anywhere, never meeting anyone new, never achieving anything, living in the same area, wallowing in each other's low ambitions.

I messaged the few friends from school I still had. None of them were interested in going.

Fuck it, I concluded. It's just one night. Worst case scenario: if it sucked, I'd leave.

I bought a ticket and booked a hotel room near the venue.

*

I didn't live in Sydney anymore. The three-hour drive up from Canberra wasn't onerous, though traffic got thicker the closer I got to the city. It was a Saturday afternoon in late September, skies were blue, and the air was warm. I checked into my hotel and watched sport on TV for an hour or so. The event didn't kick off until seven. I cooled my heels, killing time, munching on a snack from the minibar.

At work, I was often on call. I messaged my team back in Canberra, telling them to leave me alone tonight.

The dress code for tonight was 'smart casual', but given the crowd I went to school with, that could mean almost anything. In other parts of Sydney, it'd probably entail cocktail dresses for the ladies and smart collared shirts and tasteful slacks for the gentlemen, but hey, this is Blacktown. Singlet and shorts, probably, for the blokes, and boobtubes and Gosford skirts for the girls.

(What's a Gosford skirt, you ask? Gosford is a town on the coast of New South Wales, about two hours' drive north of Sydney. It's just south of another town situated at the entrance of a lake, which is imaginatively named The Entrance. So, because Gosford is close to The Entrance, a Gosford skirt is a short, revealing miniskirt where 'the entrance' is teasingly out of view. If you're still confused, maybe look it up online.)

I rocked up fashionably late (by about ten minutes) to find maybe fifty people already here. Girls picked at the salad buffet while blokes circled the bar, swilling beer. A DJ played tunes from our vintage.

Even after twenty years, most of the people in the room were still recognisable to me, even if their features had become aged and wearied. I wondered whether any of my classmates ended up having kids together, and/or got married to each other. And I wondered how many were already dead.

I wondered who I was gonna talk with tonight. I braced myself for an hour of sipping beer, sitting in a corner, scrolling through my phone before leaving.

Unexpectedly, I found myself in shallow, innocuous conversations with people who ignored me when we were at school. I discovered how easy it was to summarise twenty years of life for people who didn't really care about the answer they got.

I noticed Dale across the room. I hadn't seen him in twenty years, but I recognised him immediately. He wore a black ACDC t-shirt, a pair of tight blue jeans, and a pair of Blundstone boots. He held a schooner of beer in his thick fingers. Years had weathered his face, and his arms were literally covered in tattoos, but other than that, nothing had changed. He seemed deep in conversation with one or two of the chicks he used to wreck in high school. I wondered whether they'd kept contact up over the years. I wondered whether he was one of the guys who got married to someone from school but still fucked around with old classmates on the side. I wondered if his wife knew.

I wondered if he'd spent any time in jail. I wondered what his conjugal visits might've been like.

I watched him slap one of the girls on the arse, giving her cheeks a squeeze through her Gosford skirt. She loved it. Maybe they were gonna hook up later tonight. Maybe she was gonna spread her slutty thighs for him. Maybe he was gonna choke her, making her eyes water as she came all over his shaft. Maybe he was gonna feed her dessert, making her swallow his hot seed.

Dale had developed a serious dad bod. Muscly arms and thighs, and a bit of a beer gut. I caught a glance of him from behind. The jeans he wore showed off a curvy masculine arse. I imagined him pushing a two-stroke lawnmower around a backyard, shirt off under the Aussie summer sun as he leaned into the work. I imagined him bending down to unhitch the grass catcher, his crouch revealing the top of his sweaty crack.

I wondered what his arsehole would smell like. I'd love to pull his cheeks apart, licking sweat off his stinky hole...

My mouth watered. I finished the rest of my beer and walked to the bar for another. The dance floor began to fill.

I wondered why I was thinking so much about someone I'd actively avoided.

I knew why. Because I was into big dicks, and twenty years ago, the rumour mill told me he had one.

Since leaving high school, I discovered there was a word for what I was. Bisexual. I'd never come across the concept at school, or even at university, but in my early twenties, I learned there's nothing wrong with being attracted to men as well as women. I'd felt this way ever since I became sexually conscious, but because I'd never heard a term that described the way I felt, I'd worried for so long that there was something wrong with me. Later, after finishing uni, I had a few short-term relationships with women, but things never seemed to work out -- probably because I was often thinking about cock while we were having sex. Besides, long weeks in the office don't lend themselves well to healthy relationships.

I'm currently single, though I guess you could say I'm married to my job. I work in the beating heart of Australian governmental bureaucracy, living in a one-bedroom apartment within walking distance of Parliament House. I wear a suit and tie five days a week, but tonight, I'm wearing a collared shirt and a pair of trousers. Smart casual.

Walking unconfidently around the room, I found myself chatting with someone I remembered from my modern history class. She joined the cops. I talked with someone else I sat next to in maths; he's a gardener for the local council. There was someone else I remembered from geography. She works with her husband at a warehouse that sells discount carpets and rugs. Like, there's just no way you can predict how someone's life might pan out from school, and soon enough, I hated myself for arriving with prior expectations, especially ones about jail. Sure, we all went to a shitty school in a shitty part of town, but that doesn't mean we all had to turn out like turds, does it? All these years, I'd been telling myself I went to a bad school but got a good job because I was determined and intelligent, but school doesn't always bring out the best of people's determination and intelligence.

I'm thinking far too much, mulling over the life choices of people I barely knew and the judgments I'd made about them. My head felt a little light. I didn't feel drunk by any means, but...

The DJ ramped things up. I bobbed my head, feeling a little bit looser, starting to think about heading out onto the dance floor.

"Hey," said Dale, approaching me. "I remember you."

I gulped. "No, you don't."

"Yeah," he insisted, "you were the cunt who was hardcore into maths."

"Yeah, that was probably me," I agreed. I sculled the rest of my beer. "Just gonna get a refill," I said, gesturing towards the bar. I'd hoped that'd be enough to get me out of this conversation.

"I need a top-up too," Dale replied, necking the remainder of his own glass before leaving the empty on a table. He wiped froth off his lips with the back of his hand. "I'll come with ya, mate."

I grinned nervously as he followed me to the bar. I wasn't sure if I was enjoying myself. I'd already determined that this was gonna be my last beer for the night. I'd made an appearance, but soon it'd be time for me to head back to my hotel room. The plan was to get a good night's sleep, then drive home in the morning.

"So, cunt, what've ya been up ta?" Dale inquired, swaying into my face. A Gosford skirt swam by. Dale slapped her on the arse, and she turned around with her middle finger in the air and a shiteating grin on her face. She poked her tongue into her cheek, giving him the universal sign -- if you want a hot blowie later, this is the mouth you want.

I blinked. For a second, the Gosford skirt took my attention away. Tracy? I remember hearing about the handwritten note she left under the school captain's windscreen wiper one afternoon -- 'we can't do anal this arvo, I'm going home early, I'm feeling a bit crook in the guts, but you can fuck me in the arse again when my gastro's gone.'

That sweet, innocent era before mobile phones.

"So, mate, tell me about your past twenty years," Dale reiterated, nudging me with a tattooed elbow.

I was surprised. "Wait, me?" I knew Dale and Tracy hooked up at school just about every afternoon. Well, that's what the rumour mill told me at the time. I used to jack off in bed late at night, thinking about his dick in her mouth, feeding her sweet ropes of his thick white...

"Yeah, you," he said. "Smart cunt like you's probably workin' for NASA or somethin'. Like, don't ya have some tales to tell? If any of us blokes from school was gonna make somethin' of themselves, it'd be you."

Us blokes? That's a form of tribalism I never felt in Year Twelve. To be honest, I was much more interested in what *he'd* been up to. I took a deep swig of frothy amber. "I... like... umm... I don't know what you wanna know."

He frowned. "Well, so what do you do for a livin'?"

I always struggle to explain my job. "I work for the government."

"Those fuckwits in Canberra?" sneered Dale.

"I live there these days," I coughed, "but I'm not a public servant."

Dale sipped his beer. "Yeah, OK, so what do ya fuckin' do there, then? Fix the dunnies?"

I gulped. "I'm a... I'm a policy consultant."

"So you tell the fuckin' Pee Em what to do?"

"Umm... no, not really... that's not how it goes."

Thankfully, Dale's interrogation changed tack. "You ever get hitched?" he asked me.

"Yeah, but it didn't work out." I sipped my beer.

He leaned in closer. He stank like tobacco. "Who cheated, mate? You or her?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe we both did."

I didn't want to tell him that I cheated with a guy, and my wife cracked the shits when she found out. Given her conservative upbringing, divorce was the logical conclusion.

"Come outside," he said, and though I wasn't sure why, I followed.

We sat at a table, facing each other. He lit up and exhaled. "Haven't kicked the habit?" I asked.

"I'm wearin' a patch," said Dale. He rolled up a sleeve to show me; instead, I ogled his tattooed arm. "Tryin' to quit, but it's fuckin' hard when I'm out at the pub." He took a drag. "The hand-to-mouth association is hard to break."

I froze.

"You ever smoke?" he asked me.

"No, but I remember you at school. I remember one time you got kicked out of class and you're standing in the corridor smoking three cigarettes at once for some reason, and..."

"I remember that too," Dale interrupted. "My head spun so fast I nearly fell over."

I blinked. "Why'd you do it?"

Dale shrugged. "Fucked if I know, mate. Attention, maybe. Made a good story, though, hey? I mean, you still remember it from fuckin' twenty years ago." I watched him inhale four thousand chemicals before exhaling blue smoke. "Everyone does stupid shit when they're young."

Do they? And did I? I wasn't sure. "So what's your job?" I asked.

I watched him take another drag. "Factory shit," he said. "Fitter and turner."

I'd heard of that occupation before, but I had no idea what it was. "What's that?" I asked.

His answer reminded me of metalwork class at school. I was terrible at best, and at worst, an outright liability. I remembered a younger me with safety goggles and a protective apron, firing a piece of metal in a kiln until it glowed bright red. The bell went for lunch, and forty-five minutes later, I came back to find my piece of metal wasn't glowing anymore. Thinking it had cooled down, I reached in and picked it up with my bare hand.

The school nurse bandaged my savaged palm. All my skin peeled off. It looked like I'd been masturbating for a month.

"What do you make?" I asked.

"Huh?"

"In your factory. What do you make?"

"Fuck, dunno." Dale took a long drag on his cigarette before exhaling. "Parts for shit. Cars, fridges... umm... washing machines..."

I couldn't work out why I was sitting here talking to someone who couldn't give a fuck about me twenty years ago. Maybe the passing of time changes things. I looked down at my palm, remembering what it looked like back then, raw and tender.

"... but they reckon our factory might close soon," Dale continued, "the lazy cunts in the office keep tellin' us to work harder 'cause we can't compete internationally... like, Indonesia, Thailand, an' so on... I'm glad I've got a trade, so if this job goes under, I can probably find work somewhere else... hey, you did economics at school, so you probably know what all this shit means, 'cause I'll be fucked if I can work it all out..."

Dale kept talking, but for some reason, my mind spiralled back to that night when I lay in bed, thinking about what I'd seen in class that day: Dale pretending to suck his own cock, and hearing rumours around the school quadrangle about how big he was.

Given my injury, I probably jacked off with my wrong hand that night, imagining it was his.

My dick twitched. I was so fucking curious. Maybe it was just a myth. Maybe it was all bullshit.

"You havin' an alright time tonight?" he asked.

I blinked back to reality. "Yeah, it's OK."

We sat quietly for a moment. He finished his cigarette, stubbing it out.

"I'll be honest," I continued, "I'm not sure why I'm here. I probably shouldn't have come. There aren't many people here tonight who were my friends at school."

"Yeah," said Dale. "I know. I'm kind of the same."

"You serious?" I exploded. "Everyone in high school was either your mate or a hole for you to plough. Do you know jealous I was?"

He lit up again. "School is weird," Dale exhaled. "It's... it's unrepresentative."

I raised my eyebrows. That's a word I never expected to hear him say.

"Seems your brighter days were ahead of you after school finished," he continued, "but... for me, maybe not." Dale took a deep drag on his tobacco. "You remember Brenda?" he tested.

Yeah, of course I did. From what I heard, she was insatiable. She put out for everyone, except for me. Back then, I'd never been between a woman's legs before, but I tried to imagine what her pussy tasted like. Even though I had no real idea, it didn't stop me thinking about what it'd feel like to bury my face in her warm thighs, making her moan with my tongue and the heat of my breath.

One night in bed, I imagined I was eating her loose, puffy cunt just after Dale had busted inside her, and I'm licking his hot sperm out of her...

"Anyway, we had twins. Like, I wasn't even nineteen when I was a dad, and let's just say it didn't work out." I watched him swig the rest of his beer. "Gonna get another one," he said, pointing to his empty glass. "Another beer, I mean, not another fuckin' kid. Like, they're free tonight, so why not? Kids are expensive, but beer isn't. At least not tonight." He swayed a little on his feet. "Ya want me to get ya another one while I'm up, mate?"

The DJ played the hits from our era. Girls on the dance floor went ballistic.

I glanced at the glass sitting on the table before me. It was still half full. "Ta, yeah," I answered, mentally committing myself to sculling the rest before Dale came back with fresh ones.

I was starting to feel a little bit drunk, and I wasn't sure why Dale was spending so much of his time talking to me instead of catching up with the alpha boys from twenty years ago or getting his dick sucked by one of twenty Gosford skirts vying for his attention.

Or maybe he was still mates with everyone. I'd moved out of western Sydney. He hadn't, and I'm assuming most of our former classmates had also stayed local. Maybe there was no need for him to cover the past two decades with anyone else in the room; maybe he was already up to date.

For a moment, I watched the action on the dance floor.

Dale returned with two fresh schooners and an unlit cigarette between his lips. He plonked the beers onto the table before reaching into his breast pocket. He retrieved his current pack and brandished a lighter. "You want one?" he asked, offering.

"Nah," came my somewhat embarrassed response. "I don't smoke."

"Wise decision," said Dale, lighting up and inhaling hard.

"Watching you and the boys from the school footy team turned me off tobacco for life."

"Even wiser," he said, exhaling from the corner of his mouth.

I took a sip, thanking him for the beer, even though we both knew it was free.

"Tell me about your last twenty years?" he asked again.

Watching the stick of tobacco smouldering between his thick fingers, I told Dale about my time at uni. I told him about what I studied for my masters degree. I told him a little bit more about the wife I had, but how things never worked out between us. I told him about some of the trips I'd taken overseas, and...

"I knew you were gonna be a success," he interrupted. "You've seen the world. Like, I could just tell."

I'm not sure if visiting Tokyo for a week of stressful work-related meetings makes a person successful.

"Furthest north I've ever been is Brisbane," he admitted. "I've never owned a passport."

As I sipped my beer, all I could think about right now was Dale's cock. For the first time, I noticed his eyes. Dark, intense, and bold, like a strong coffee. I totally forgot what he just said.

A girl swung by, draping her arm over Dale's shoulder on the way to the bar. "Hey, sexy," she said. He slapped her arse on the way past.

"I could never work out," I started, "how... like... why I was always so shy around girls at school."

Dale nodded, listening, drinking.

"I mean, I was kinda shy around everyone."

"Yeah," he said, "I remember."

"No way," I volleyed. "There's no fucking way you remember me from school. You were hardly ever there, and when you were, you were a pain in the arse."

"Yeah, but I made you laugh at least once," he grinned.

For a moment, I was stumped. "Huh?"

He took a drag. "There was one day in class when I was being an arsehole, an'..."

"Which day of the week was this?" I interrupted, surrendering half a cheeky smirk.

"Cunt," he exhaled, spewing blue smoke into the darkness. "Anyway, I remember a bunch of us arseholes up the back of the room made the teacher cry and she said 'I'm not coming back until you compose yourselves', and as she stormed out of the room, I stood up pretending to be an orchestra conductor, and you cacked yourself laughing."

The distant memory returned to me. Wait, you remember that? How the fuck do you remember *that*? "Yeah," I smiled, reliving the moment. "That was funny."

"You remember, right?" tested Dale.

I did. "Yeah, I remember that."

"Maaaaaaaaaaaate," he grunted, lifting his beer glass up for me to clink.

We talked about shit for another five or ten minutes before I asked the question I'd always wanted to know the answer to.

"How'd you get so much pussy?"

"Wait, you never got none?"

I gulped. "Nah," I admitted.

"Not even Tracy?" Dale waved at her across the room. She waved back.

I shook my head. "For a while, I thought there was something wrong with me. Like, maybe I was ugly, or whatever."

"I reckon it's just how shit works," he said. "Yo didn't smoke, ya never fuckin' wagged class, ya never played footy, ya never rocked up to class after neckin' half a bottle of vodka for lunch, ya never gave shit to any of the teachers, and ya spent all your spare time in the fuckin' library." He sipped his beer. "Like, I often wondered if the nerds were fuckin' the other nerds, but..."

"Not that I was ever aware of," came my sad confession. "There were two or three girls who spent as much time studying as I did, but I was nervous, I was shy, and I never knew what to say, so I left them alone."

"Reckon you could've got some attention if you tried a little harder. All you needed was some cheesy pickup lines from porn, an'..."

"I never discovered porn until I was at uni," I interrupted, "so that wouldn't have helped."

"You fuckin' serious?" Dale exploded. "Porn was... like, we had a VHS racket goin' in high school, an'... like, we had pirated copies of all the classics from the era, big natural titties, hair blowdried to the fuckin' bejesus, bright red lipstick on fat cocksuckin' lips, hairy pussies, an' Peter fuckin' North spewin' ropes of cum everywhere."

I adjusted my pants. The thought of watching Dale jerking off to porn with his mates from the footy team, the room clouded in thick wafts of smoke as he fucked his own face...

"How did you not know?" Dale insisted, leaning closer. His breath stank of beer and tobacco.

"Don't know," I replied, "but I wish I did. About the porn racket, I mean."

"Yeah, mate, some of those tapes were real fuckin' grainy, y'know, like they were copies of copies of fuckin' copies. So bad that sometimes colour drained to black and white, but at least you could still see the hairy pussies and fat tits." Dale took a drag on his cigarette. "I loved to eat pussy back then. Still do, but everyone shaves these days, and it's not the fuckin' same. Back in vintage porn, when you had to go huntin' for your prey through a thick jungle of pubes..."

He left his thought unfinished. My bladder was full, but I couldn't stand up. I was as hard as a rock imagining Dale's face buried in Tracy's hairy cunt, his tongue finding her bean... teasing her, flicking it from side to side... his mouth sucking hard on her slutty pussy... squirting, drowning his face...

Dale drained the rest of his beer. "You want another one while I'm up?" he asked.

I couldn't work out why he was spending so much time talking to me when there were at least twenty, maybe thirty chicks in the room, all wearing skanky Gosford skirts, who would've gladly drained his balls in the manner of his choosing... plus Tracy... fuck, I wondered what her cunt tasted like...

"Yeah, OK," I said. The schooner glass in front of me was still half full. "Maybe just get me a middie this time."

"Fuckin' pussy," he smirked.

As I watched his denim-clad arse walk towards the bar, I adjusted my pants again.

Dale returned from the bar with a little beer for me and a big beer for himself. If the rumours were true, the relative sizes of our drinks felt appropriate.

"Gonna head off, bae," said Bec, draping an arm around Dale's shoulder. I remembered her from English class. "Babysitter is only on until ten," she said, "an' it's already past that, so I need to get home, but text me and we'll fuck tomorrow."

"Is your babysitter cute?"

"Yeah," replied Bec.

"Gonna eat her out when ya get home?"

"Probably," Bec answered.

"Good girl," said Dale, slapping her arse.

My mouth watered. I swigged my beer.

"Yeah, me too," said Tracy, following in procession. "I'm done for the night. Catch up soon?" she tempted, craning down to kiss Dale on the cheek.

"I'll text you," said Dale.

All these chicks filing past... each wanting a piece of his meat... he wasn't moving.

"Hey, Dale," whispered Sheralee, gliding by, groping his chest.

"Hey, bitch," came his response.

"You're still the biggest dick I've ever had," she declared.

OK, so it was true. Dale was big. But how big?

"You can have me whenever you want," she swooned. "And you can have any hole you want."

Dale fished his phone out of his pocket. "I don't think I've got your number." He opened a new contact, surrendered his device to her, and she keyed in her digits.

"Don't fuckin' waste this number, Dale," said Sheralee. "I'm a good girl these days, I don't just give it up for anyone anymore. But it's been ages since I've had anal, and my poopchute needs your nine fat inches."

Nine inches? Oh my fucking god.

Sheridan kissed Dale on the cheek, leaving without acknowledging my existence in any way.

This was my opening. "Is that true?"

Dale pocketed his phone. "Is *what* true?"

"That she loved it in the arse?"

"Sheralee?" Dale exhaled.

"Yeah," I said. "Like, at school, I only ever caught the edges of conversations, and..."

"She's the biggest anal slut I've ever met."

Fuck me dead. I gulped.

"Is the other thing true?"

Dale said nothing.

"That you're... that you're big?"

"Yeah." He took a confident drag of his cigarette. "It's true."

"I'd always wondered."

Dale remained quiet. The corner of a smile crept across his face, and in this moment, it felt like something changed.

"Like, at school," I continued, "you hear things."

Dale's smile widened. "I don't know what you heard. Like, you didn't know about our pirate VHS tapes, or..."

"We never talked at school," I said. "You and me, I mean."

He sipped his beer.

"Like, you didn't even know who I was."

"Nah, that's bullshit," Dale protested. "I knew who you were, an' like I said earlier, I always knew you'd be a success."

This was getting weird.

"I didn't inherit the smart genes," he said, "but I guess I inherited the cock genes."

"How big?" I spluttered. I wondered if I'd gone too far.

"Erect? About nine. Like Sheralee said."

Fuck me dead. "Inches?" I gasped.

"Yeah. About that much. About that long."

Sweet jesus. I wondered how big he was flaccid. I wondered which side of his pants he tucked himself into. "Fuck," I whispered. "Nine inches? That's... that's fucking huge. And Sheralee took you in her arse?"

Dale sipped his beer, fixing his gaze on something in the middle distance. "That was a long time ago."

Yeah, I thought, but she wants it again. Fuck, I'd love to watch. I desperately needed to pee, but given current events, I couldn't work out how that was gonna happen.

Dale leaned a little closer, almost leering. "You wanna see?" He burped, and I smelled beer. "You wanna see my cock?"

There are women in this room, decked out in boobtubes and Gosford skirts, who I'm sure would love to...

"You wanna feel?" He reached across the table, grabbed my hand, and pulled it beneath the surface.

I could hardly breathe.

He guided my hand towards his dick, still encased inside his tight jeans.

"Feel it?" he said.

As my fingers landed on his submerged shaft, I'm sure my eyes bulged. "Fuck," I gasped.

I couldn't work out why this was happening.

"You wanna see it?"

And so now I'm wondering if this is a trap. I didn't know what bisexuality was when I was at high school, but I'm starting to wonder whether my classmates knew I wasn't 100% straight, or at the very least, that there was something different about me... my mind went back twenty years ago, when I was an uncertain eighteen-year-old, worried that unbridled cocklust meant mental illness...

I felt hypnotised. "Yeah."

"You sure?" he asked. "You really wanna see my dick?"

I gulped nervously. "Yeah," I croaked. "I wanna see your dick."

"Follow me."

I obeyed, even though my erection nearly snapped myself in half when I stood up. My bladder pulsed, full, ready to burst.

I desperately, desperately, desperately needed to urinate.

I followed Dale through the brightly lit carpark into a darker patch of space. "Fuck, mate, I'm bustin'," he said, whipping it out. I heard a thick stream of piss drown the roots of a tree.

Fuck me dead.

I needed to piss, but wanted to cum.

I considered pulling my phone out and turning on the light. I'd say I was just helping him see where he was pissing, whereas in reality, I'd have an obvious ulterior motive.

I wanted to see his cock.

If he got upset at me, what was he gonna do? Chase me through the carpark with his dick still pissing?

I let him piss in the darkness, listening to the thick hiss of his urine as it thundered down. Though the light was poor, I could tell his dick was beautiful.

"Sorry about that," he explained, shaking stray drops off his flaccid shaft.

I swear I was drooling. Even with a bladder full to bursting point, I totally would've let Dale piss down my throat.

"You need to go?" he coaxed, zipping himself up.

"Yeah," I admitted, licking my dry lips, "but I... but I can't pee."

Especially not after watching that.

"You're full?"

"Yeah, mate, but... like... I'm so... I'm so fucking horny right now, and..."

The cat was out of the bag now. I'd said what I never wanted to say. I thought about running away into the darkness, letting my bladder loose against a telegraph pole by the side of the road, then slinking my embarrassed way back to the hotel, taking a shower, going to sleep, driving back to Canberra as soon as the sun rose, never thinking about this night ever again...

"I'm just gonna go over here for a second," said Dale, shrinking into shadows. "Gonna give you some space to... unload."

I'm standing in darkness, hearing the party slowly winding down. I'm pointing my cock at the base of a tree, trying to piss, replaying what I'd just said.

I'd told Dale I was horny, but I never said why. At no stage had our conversation touched upon the possibility I might be anything other than heterosexual.

Nothing's coming. I squeeze. I strain. I'm worried I'm gonna burst a blood vessel.

Is my dick too hard to pee? I wouldn't say I had a full-on erection, but I felt ridiculously aroused. It felt like it'd be easier right now to cum than to piss, but it wouldn't do anything to relieve my aching, swollen bladder.

I seriously considered jerking off against the tree, just to make it easier to piss.

"What's up, mate?" asked Dale. "You OK over there?"

I stood at the trunk of a dark tree, my fly open and my cock in my fist. "I can't... I can't piss, because..."

"Because of me?"

Mental note to self: do not answer that question.

Never in my life had I felt so desperate to pee, yet so unable to. Tonight was such a bad idea, and drinking with Dale was even worse.

After minutes that felt like hours, I got a tentative stream going. My sprinkle slowly became firmer and more solid, and then, as I began to relax, I drenched the grass.

I saw a red spark a few metres away: Dale had lit up again. "Well done," he said. "You empty?"

"Think so," I replied, giving myself a shake before repacking.

"Gonna grab another beer," said Dale. He checked the time on his phone. "Shit's gonna wrap up soon, I reckon. One more for the road?"

"Yeah," I replied.

Given the offers Dale had received tonight, I totally expected he'd get his dick sucked and he'd go home. This was gonna be one last beer before I head back to my room, turn the lights out, and go to sleep. I'd spend the next twenty years or so jacking off to the memory of watching Dale pissing in the darkness, his fat log spewing a thick stream of beery urine...

"You got plans for after this?" he asked.

Maybe Dale just wanted to make sure I had somewhere to sleep, now that he knew I didn't live in Sydney anymore.

"I've got a room at the Travelodge," I replied, "just up the road from here. I'll probably just head back there. Driving back home tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, OK," he said.

We headed back to the venue for that last beer. The mood was winding down now; the DJ began dialling it back, spinning slower tunes. Dale's phone was in his hand, updating contact details for the boys from the school footy team.

"Can I hang out with you tonight?" he asked me.

What, in my hotel room? For the briefest moment, I wondered if he didn't have a roof over his head tonight. Like, maybe he'd had a fight with his current girlfriend, or...

The Good Samaritan in me replied. "Yeah, but there's only one bed."

"No worries," he said. "I can sleep on the floor if you're uncomfortable."

If I'm *uncomfortable*? What the hell did *that* mean? That if I was cool with sharing a bed with him, he was too?

I can't remember what I said next, and it wasn't because of alcohol. I felt lightheaded, and I swear I could hear ringing in my ears.

This guy's got nine inches down there. I just watched his flaccid meat spewing piss, and even soft, he's bigger than me hard. He asked to share my roof and implied he'd be OK with sharing my bed.

I wondered if something else might happen. I wondered if something else was on his mind. It isn't possible. Dale's 100% hetero. Fuck, maybe he'd lost his house keys or whatever. There's any number of reasons. He'll sleep on the couch. Or on the floor.

I wasn't sure what else to say. "Yeah, OK."

I watched as Dale wrapped up shallow conversations with the footy team vets, interspersed with passionate tongue kisses and arse gropes with the slutty Gosford skirts who hadn't gone home yet.

Against all odds, it was me who was taking him home tonight.

It's midnight, venue's closed now, get out.

A few people gathered outside the shuttered doors, talking, smoking, reminiscing, not quite ready yet to call it a night. I hovered on the edge of the circle, waiting for the congregation to break up.

I didn't collect anyone's number, and nobody asked for mine. There was nobody here I wanted to keep in touch with.

As we walked the short distance to my hotel, I had no expectations. I expected he'd take a shower before curling up onto the hotel room floor.

I knew Dale was straight. Sure, I'd asked him about his cock, he'd let me grip it through his jeans, and I'd watched him flop it out to piss against a tree, but nothing was gonna happen. I'd seen him kissing dozens of women tonight.

I turned my key in the door.

"Gonna take another slash," Dale stated. He closed the bathroom door behind him, and I listened as his alpha rain thundered into the bowl.

Oh my fucking god. I started boning up again. It's gonna be lights out in a minute or two. I'll drain my balls when I get back to Canberra tomorrow afternoon, dreaming about what might've been.

I heard the toilet flush. "Hey," said Dale.

"Hey," I replied. "You ready for sleep?"

"Yeah, nah," he replied. "Not just yet, but I know you had a drive up today, so if you're wrecked, then..."

The light in the hotel room was bright. He rummaged through the cupboard, finding two spare pillows, a blanket, and an ironing board. "Won't need this," he grinned, holding the board aloft. He lay down on the couch -- it was smallish, and his legs pointed up in the air -- before pulling the blanket down on top of him.

He was unshowered and clothed. He stank of cigarettes and beer.

"Thanks for letting me stay here tonight, mate," he said.

"No worries," I replied. I took a shower, taking a long piss under the warm water. I dried myself on a fluffy white towel, closed the bedroom door, then crawled into bed. I checked the time on the clock radio next to my bed. Nearly one-thirty.

I stared at the ceiling, completely unable to sleep. The dude I used to masturbate thinking about is in the next fucking room. I could feel my heart racing. I knew I wasn't gonna get any sleep unless I jacked off. I got the job done as quietly as possible, collecting my mess in some cheap hotel tissues before balling them up and throwing them onto the floor.

At some point, I must've drifted off into a light slumber.

*

I heard a soft knock on my bedroom door.

I stirred, but I must've imagined it. It must've been part of the dream I was having. I rolled over.

I heard it again.

"Hey," came a voice.

I don't think I imagined that.

"Oi."

Nup, that was real. I blinked. "What?"

"Oi, mate, are you asleep?"

"I was," I protested, frowning, still drowsy, "until you woke me up." I checked the time. Two-thirty. Fuck.

"Sorry," he said, pushing the door open a crack. "It's just... mate, I... I can't open the balcony door."

Fuck, dude, buy more patches. "Wait a sec," I said, throwing the covers back. I donned a t-shirt and a pair of boxers (I always sleep naked) before presenting myself. I soon discovered the balcony door was locked. I unlocked it with my room key, and Dale stepped out, lit up, and took a few breaths. I climbed back into bed, knowing he'd close the door behind himself when he was done. It didn't need to be re-locked. I rolled onto my side, wanting nothing more than to sleep until morning.

I heard another knock on the bedroom door. "Hey," whispered Dale.

I was starting to feel impatient. "What?" I asked.

He didn't answer. Instead, he opened my bedroom door, forced me onto my back, and without an invitation, lay on top of me. An aroma of stinky unwashed masculinity, cheap underarm deodorant and freshly smoked tobacco assaulted my nostrils.

Plus, the smell of his fat BWC resting on my face.

"Dale, what's going on?" I asked.

"I'm horny as fuck," he seethed, "an' I know you fuckin' want this." He lifted his dick up off my face, just for a second, before letting it slap back down. "You were askin' about my cock tonight... I remember the look on your face when I let you squeeze it through my fuckin' jeans... an' you said you were horny while you were watchin' me take a piss, so..."

He reeked so good. I'd never gotten so hard so fast. "Dale, I mean... like... it's the middle of the night, and..."

"You want this shit, ya fuckin' sissy boy. Don't ya?"

I was like a rabbit caught in headlights, paralysed. He could've had anyone he wanted tonight -- like, literally anyone -- so why the fuck is he here with me?

"I watched you starin' at me while I was takin' a piss outside, an' I bet you were listenin' at the door when I took another one just now."

My mouth watered. I wanted him so fucking bad.

"Weren't ya?" he insisted.

I nodded. I was. I'm a terrible liar.

"No need to pretend, mate, chill out, we're all good. I wanna get off, an' you've got a wet fuckin' mouth. The maths works out."

I could hardly breathe. I'd fantasised about this moment so much, plus so many other scenarios...

I looked up. He was leering down at me. I gazed at his lips and the stubble on his unshaven chin.

Gingerly, I licked the head of his circumcised cock.

"C'mon, faggot, I bet this isn't your first fuckin' dick, so don't be such a fuckin' pussy 'bout it."

I bristled at the f-word -- I *hate* it -- but as if I was gonna let terminology get between me and this monster slab of meat. I gripped him with both hands. It was thick yet smooth, like a sausage hanging in an expensive deli. I couldn't feel any veins. I tried to suck him into my throat, but I was still lying on my back, hardly the best position. I sat up, and as the movement of my body rustled the curtains, letting in streetlight, I got my first proper glimpse of him.

I couldn't imagine a more perfect cock than Dale's. My eyes widened like saucers as I sat up in bed, desperate to get much of him in my throat as I could.

I switched the bedlamp on. Even though my eyes had been adjusting to the darkness, it was still too dim, and I wanted to remember this.

"Fuck, Dale," I gasped, "that's enormous."

"I know," he replied.

If he was born in the States, I reckon Dale would've ended up in porn.

I pushed him off me, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. I kneeled before him, kicking my cum-stained tissues into a corner. I stared at his massive appendage pointing to the sky.

"Suck it."

I impaled my face on his dick, taking about half of it into my mouth. I felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing me down, making me gag, making me choke. My eyes watered.

I drooled down the length of his fat shaft, getting him wet. I spat into my palms and began stroking him with both fists.

"Lick my balls," he commanded.

I sucked one of his hairy, stinky nuts into my mouth, rolling it around on my tongue, then the other. I spat on his scrotum, making sure he was as sloppy wet as possible.

The entire room stank of masculinity and tobacco.

Dale spread his meaty thighs wide as I sucked his dick back into my mouth. I tickled his fat nuts, imagining the semen boiling inside them. "Fuck yeah, cunt," he breathed.

I gasped for air; my red eyes stung.

"I reckon you've done this before," he challenged. "Haven't ya, ya fuckin' faggot pussy?"

I took my mouth off his enormous rod for just a second. I'm sure my face was pink and wet. "Yeah, once or twice," I gasped.

"Once or twice?" he laughed. "Bullshit, ya fuckin' cockslut."

I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

"Keep suckin', faggot."

The room fell quiet. All I could hear was the sound of Dale's wheezy breath, my own gasps for air, and the soft noise my mouth and lips made as he fucked my face.

I felt his balls start to twitch. I felt his fat shaft grow even fatter in my mouth. I felt his rough hands on the back of my head, holding me in place.

I knew what was gonna happen.

For a second or two, it felt like he was pissing warm cum straight down my throat. At first, there were no ropes, it was just a continuous stream of thick semen. I gagged a little, and dribbles of his precious sperm spilled from the corners of my mouth.

"Fuckin' eat it," he roared.

His dick began to spurt now, granting me precious microseconds to gasp and breathe. His seed smashed into my tonsils, painting them a pure milky white.

I swallowed, and I heard him moan as he fed me.

As he lifted his hands from my head, I knew he was done. I let him fall out of my mouth, and I watched his meat deflating slightly as it rested on his sweaty thigh. Everything -- his dick, his balls, his thighs -- was absolutely soaked in wet spit.

A stray pearl of cum formed at the tip. I licked it up, not wanting to waste a single drop of his delicious alpha cum.

Here's what I thought would happen now. Dale would go back and sleep on the couch, and I'd head to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth before catching a few scarce hours of sleep before sunrise.

But that's not what happened.

"I'm not done with you yet, mate," he said, and I noticed he was hard again. Before I could blink, he threw me onto the bed, rolled me face-down onto the mattress, and buried his face in my arse.

I could scarcely believe this was happening. He literally growled like an animal as he ate me out.

"I ain't gay," he said, taking a breath, "if that's what you're thinkin', mate. I'm just a horny cunt, always have been, and holes are holes."

I felt his fingers pulling my cheeks wide apart. I desperately wanted to fuck the mattress.

"The way I see it," he observed, "there ain't no difference between fuckin' a chick in the arse and fuckin' a faggot in the same fuckin' place. Tastes the same, feels the fuckin' same..."

He went back to work, and as I felt his rough tongue scraping across my sphincter, I knew things were about to get very serious.

"You ever been fucked in the arse before, mate?" asked Dale. "Yeah, faggot," he said, answering his own question, "of course ya have."

He was right, but I'd never taken a dick as big as his. It was difficult enough fellating him, so I wasn't sure how well this was gonna go.

I noticed the phone on the bedside table. Dial 9 for reception, it said. OK, so if his enormous dick rips me in half and I need an ambulance, at least I only need to press one number.

"Well, have ya?" my room guest repeated.

"Yeah," I surrendered.

"I fuckin' knew it," he sneered.

"But I've never had anyone as big as you."

He went back to work. "Your hole tastes good," he declared. "Nice an' tangy. I reckon I could eat your cunt until sunrise."

If he wanted to, I'd let him. He was so fucking good at this. And I guess the high school rumours were true -- he loved eating pussy, and what's so different about this.

My hole felt like it was on fire.

He growled again, burrowing his tongue deeper into me.

I was as hard as a fucking tentpole. I reached down to touch the tip of my cock. I was leaking bad. And as I felt Dale's fingers reaching between my legs to cup my balls, I couldn't hold back. Bolts of lightning ran through my body as my cunt twitched on his face. I sprayed like a sprinkler on a high school football field, saturating the bed.

Dale rolled me onto my back. My cock was still spasming. "Gonna fuck you now," he said, throwing me into the wet spot I'd just made. As I glanced down at his beautiful, smooth nine inches, I knew I was in for an experience.

"Got a rubber?" I asked. My back was soaked with my own sperm.

He grabbed his wallet and fished out a Magnum XL, tearing the golden wrapper open with his teeth.

I drooled as I watched him roll it on.

He pushed himself inside me, missionary style, and I winced.

"That's just the tip," he snarled. "Better relax, cunt."

My heart raced. Whether it was from desire or fear, I couldn't tell.

He pushed another inch in. "Fuck," I whispered. "Fuck, this hurts."

"I know," said Dale. His frame towered over me.

Another inch.

I gazed at his beautiful tattooed arms.

He stank like cheap deodorant and cigarettes.

Another inch.

I pressed my palm into his chest, as if to say 'wait, give me a second'.

Yet another inch.

Fucking hell.

It wasn't so much his length, it was his girth. His cock was so fucking thick. I'd never had anything this big inside me, not even a dildo.

"Go slow," I pleaded. "You're big."

"I know," he said.

Something about the confidence he had in his size started to get to me. My own dick isn't tiny, but like most blokes, I wished I had another inch, or maybe two, but Dale seemed quite content with the meaty log that hung between his thighs.

I envied him.

Despite the pain, this was so fucking good. I reached up to touch his hairy chest, scraping my knuckles across a nipple. I heard him gasp. "Pinch 'em," he said, and I did. "Harder," he insisted.

I felt him growing wider inside me, thicker, filling me up. It felt so good, but at the same time, it was really beginning to hurt. I'm sure I was sweating.

I remembered the tight jeans he wore tonight; the denim showed off his arse. I rested my hands on his naked butt cheeks, giving them a light squeeze.

"Fuck yeah," he moaned.

Another half an inch. I didn't think I could take any more of this.

I massaged his buns. "You've got a really nice arse, Dale," I said.

"I know," he replied.

I wondered if he was *too* confident. I decided to try something. I sucked a finger into my mouth, lubricating it, then tickled his sphincter.

His eyes closed; I heard him sigh.

I pushed inside him, finding his gland. I pressed down, just lightly, and...

"FUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKK!" he roared, and I'm sure they heard him in the next suburb.

He twitched, ramming his hips into me, and though I felt him twitching and spasming inside me, I didn't feel the pulses of warmth I'd expected. For a second, I forgot he was wearing a condom.

He pushed inside me slowly, letting his orgasm wash over him. "Fuuuuuuckkkk," he moaned.

I sniffed my finger. The stink of a sweaty man's arsehole. Fuck yeah.

I felt him withdraw from me, and as I looked down at his perfect cock, I noticed the Magnum still ensheathing him, the reservoir at the tip glistening a creamy white. He began rolling it off, presumably about to throw it away.

"Wait," I said, my desperate hand grabbing.

"You want this?" said Dale, standing up beside the bed, holding the spent rubber loosely in his fingers.

"Yeah," I whispered. My hungry eyes fixated on the gooey liquid collected at the tip.

"You want my cum?"

"Yeah," I repeated. My pussy's gaping, spasming, screaming.

"Fuck, what a fuckin' cockslut you are."

Right now, I didn't give a shit what he thought. My breath was shallow, desperate, hungry.

"Tell me," he said. "Tell me what you want."

My mouth was dry. "I want your cum."

"Say it again, cunt."

Please, please stop teasing me. Right now, I can hardly even think. "I... fuck... fuck, Dale, I... I want your cum."

"You want my cum?" he mocked.

I'm staring at his fat nine inches, slowly deflating against his thigh.

"What are you gonna do with it if I give it to you?"

"I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna eat it."

Dale shook his head in a vague gesture of disgust, but right now, I didn't care what he thought. I wanted his sperm so fucking bad. "Tell me you're a cum whore," he said, "and you can have it."

I'm desperate, almost pleading. I'd do anything. "I'm a cum whore."

He gave the Magnum to me. My smooth, small fingers rubbed up against his thick, rough ones.

I drained the contents of his Magnum into my mouth. I swished his babies around for a moment or two before swallowing. I threw the empty rubber into the bin across the room.

He tasted so fucking good.

Dale stared at me for a moment, perhaps not quite sure what else to say. Without another word, he closed my bedroom door behind me, presumably returning to the ill-sized couch.

I gazed at the hotel room ceiling, my cunt on fire and my mouth aflame with the gooey taste and texture of his thick, salty semen.

I checked the clock radio on the bedside table. Four in the morning. I knew I wasn't gonna get much more sleep tonight.

My mouth tingled.

I thought about getting up to brush my teeth, maybe as a mental refresh before sleeping, but I decided against it. The taste of Dale's seed in my mouth was far too intoxicating.

I lay on the non-sweaty side of the bed, snatching scarce hours of desperate sleep, imagining massive penises spewing semen all over my face, drenching my hungry tongue, coating my neck, saturating my cheeks...

I can't believe I swallowed two fat loads of Dale's delicious seed tonight.

*

The sun, plus heavy traffic on the arterial just outside my window, woke me up around eight. I blinked, rubbed my eyes and stretched my limbs. I knew I wasn't at home, in my own bed, but it took me a second or two for my brain to click into gear.

I remembered last night. The high school reunion. Drinking with Dale. A conversation I never anticipated. Me putting him up for the night. Him fucking my mouth, and then my pussy. Two loads of his thick, delicious cum swirling around in my stomach. The absolute last thing I ever would've expected.

He's probably still here, crashed out on the couch, probably hungover. Or maybe he'd shifted to the floor during the night -- the couch was tiny. I had no idea what Dale's Sunday would entail, but he couldn't sleep here forever.

Hotel checkout wasn't until ten o'clock. Even though my pussy stung, I wanted him to eat me out and fuck me again.

I wasn't sure what kind of conversation to prepare myself for. All the things I jerked off thinking about in high school came true, at least to some extent, last night. I got to watch him piss, I got to suck his cock, and I got to experience his enormous dick deep in my arse as his masculine frame towered above me. And then I got to eat his load out of a freshly used rubber.

As I opened the bedroom door, I found only silence. Dale had gone.

In one sense, I felt relieved. I had no idea what the fuck I was gonna say to him this morning, or what he might say to me. Breakfast together might've been awkward. But in another way, I felt disappointed. Before we left the venue last night, he spent time making sure the contact details for his footy mates and the Gosford skirt brigade were all current and up to date, but he never asked me for mine.

I looked around the kitchen and on top of the fridge. Maybe he'd left a note with his number, but if he had, I couldn't find it. The only thing in the room that reminded me he'd ever been here was the faint smell of tobacco in the air and the spent rubber in the bin.

I took a shower, brushed my teeth and changed into a fresh set of clothes.

The sun reflected off the golden Magnum wrapper. I remembered Dale tearing it open last night with his teeth. I pocketed the souvenir before closing the hotel room door behind me.

Breakfast was included. I filled up a plate with eggs, hash browns, grilled tomato, wilted spinach and toast, ferrying it to a vacant table. I grabbed a coffee and slugged hard, rubbing my bleary eyes. Canberra was only three hours away, but the drive was boring as fuck. I'd done it a million times, and I needed more sleep than I'd had.

As I ate, my pussy pulsed from last night's pounding.

The only thing I regretted was not kissing him, but maybe for Dale, that was a bridge too far. But given how well he made out with my arse, surely...

Internally, I shrugged. Whatever. It didn't matter now.

I cleared my plate before grabbing a second cup of coffee. I knew I'd need it.

I climbed behind the wheel, turned the key, and headed south. It was gonna be a busy week at work next week, and I'm sure the emails were already piling up. I flicked my indicator on, heading out onto the road.

I'm tired, but there's caffeine in my system.

I sniffed my finger -- the one that'd been in Dale's arse, pressing against his prostate. It smelled so fucking good. So manly, so musky, so tangy, so pungent.

My cock twitched and grew, but I had a three-hour drive ahead of me. I adjusted my pants and fixed my eyes on the road.

I knew I'd jack off as soon as I got back home.