Biggest Dick In My Dorm (Patreon)

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Chapter 1: Reputation

No one really gets how gay a group of straight guys can be. Like, gayer than gay guys, oddly enough. Before I got to college, I already knew I was carrying a hefty piece of meat between my legs, even if my reputation was clouded with ambiguity. It earned me a nickname in high school, after PE one day, when a kid grabbed an empty tennis ball tube and held it up next to my dick in the lockers, shocking those who looked with the aptness of the comparison. And he announced that my dick was the size of "a whole puppy dog." That turned into "Puppy Dick," which everybody refused to explain when asked, so while half the school decided I must be packing something tiny, it also gave me an opportunity to whip it out and prove them wrong a lot, leading to at least a partially positive reputation.

College was a reset, no reputation, no nickname. Nobody had seen anything yet. The showers on our floor were basically a communal space that first week of freshman year, if still a quiet, shared activity. The stalls had no doors, and we were all normal about it, sort of modest, wrapping our towels or getting dressed before we came out. Eight or nine of us had turned into shower buddies almost by accident, because we all had the same habit of showering at midnight before bed.

Then this one ballsy guy named Mark started talking about dick size one day, loudly, stall to stall, over the running water, asking questions to make the other guys laugh. In a room full of naked near-strangers, he somehow made comparing our dicks seem like a normal activity for us to do. 

Guys yelled numbers into the room, mostly "six" and a couple bolder claims, with one guy announcing "I'm four hard. It's not the size of the boat... or whatever." 

Some guys called each other liars. And eventually, upon hounding from Mark, one by one, the whole group of us stepped out of our stalls, towels over shoulders instead of around waists, under fluorescent lights that made everybody's skin look paler than it actually was, sort of glowing. 

I was drying my hair next to the third stall, my arms up, which meant I wasn't covering anything either. I braced and waited for the attention to be brought to my triple-meat-package. And everybody was doing the male instinct when they get naked in front of someone, reaching down and grabbing themselves and shaking it a couple times, resettling it, while their eyes traveled around the room.

Mark said it out loud first. He was the loudest guy on the floor by a wide margin, wide shoulders, chest hair barely coming in, patchy, and he had a bark to his voice that carried over the running water.

"Bro. Bro." He pointed with his whole hand. "Nobody's carrying meat like that soft. That's not fair. That's a soft dick? Really?"

The room turned toward me at once.

"Yeah," I said.

"That's nasty," Mark said, delighted. "Elephant trunk."

Down at the far end by the door was Taylor, another hall mate. He had finished showering before the escalation occurred, and he had put his clothes on. He was skinny, boyish, freckles running down the side of his neck into his collar, his hoodie pulled back on over nothing with the drawstrings uneven. He hadn't said a word. He also hadn't looked away from me.

Mark's problem was that he couldn't leave a thing alone once he'd started it. He got two steps toward the sinks and then wheeled back around, a glimmer in his eye.

"Okay, but soft doesn't count," he said. "Hard is the real number. Let's compare hard."

Somebody groaned, but nobody left. It was freshman week and backing out of anything in freshman week felt sort of wordlessly forbidden. We were in a state of fear of missing out. And every guy in that room knew it in his bones without anybody explaining it. So eight of us turned and faced the wall like we were being frisked, and the shower room got quiet except for the water running, and our shoulders started moving as we got ourselves hard. Guys were peeking a little left and right to see if the others were actually doing it too, and I saw a bunch of butts, a couple of them tensing, a couple phones out to help things along.

It took just a few seconds for the group of hormonal college freshmen to be ready. I faced the tile with my hand under the towel doing exactly what everybody else's hand was doing, and the whole time some animal part of me registered the comparisons from what I'd already seen soft.

We circled up as soon as we turned around, everybody shuffling in close enough to compare, and mine dwarfed these other dudes, easily. The real debate became who was in second place. I had the height on most of them too, so I stood over the ring of dicks, literally overshadowing their hotdogs with my massive dong. I felt the ego surge in my chest, an actual thrill. I couldn't believe I had never done this with another guy before. 

Mark pointed out qualities of some of the guys' dicks like an auctioneer, one comment per guy, few of them kind, all of them funny. 

"Meh... Respectable... Hmm, not bad... Okay, that's a little pinky, that's rough, man, I'm sorry, you should probably just be gay."

"Fuck you."

"I'm being supportive, buddy."

Then he got to me, and he chuckled.

"That is a forearm," a guy named Owen said. "Bro's got a forearm with a helmet on it. Like a baby's fist."

I stood there with my hands on my hips, letting my hard dick speak for itself.

"He's gonna hurt somebody with that thing," another guy said.

And, honestly, I was harder than I had ever been in my life.

A black guy named Deshawn held his own up next to mine for scale, letting it touch, and then quit halfway through his own joke about "BBC". He just let go and stepped back and said "yeah, no," and everybody screamed laughing. 

Somebody put a hand on my shoulder and turned me toward the lights so he could see it better, and I saw myself in the mirror. A bunch of guys, shorter than me, staring at my dick, looking like they wanted to hold it and feel its weight. I felt something.

Mark took a pic before I could weigh in on the idea, and I flinched for a second, then just shrugged it off.

I turned toward the door with my towel back over my shoulder, and Taylor was still standing there with his sleeves pulled down over his hands, and he was the only one in the room not laughing. I finally wrapped my towel around my waist and let the conversation drift to something else behind me as I left the room.

"Nice cock, bro," Taylor said, smirking for some reason.

He said it in such a specific, casual, ironic way that I didn't know what to say back. There was something different about him.

I just raised my eyebrows and nodded as I kept walking back to my dorm.

····[]····

The next couple weeks, my reputation settled a little better than it had in high school. One time, two guys from the hall knocked and said they were curious if it was real. 

"We saw a pic," one of them said. "It looks like AI."

"Lemme see it," I said, and they showed me. 

"No, yeah, that's the real thing," I said.

They looked at each other and chuckled, then looked back at me. 

"Prove it."

They sat down on my roommate's stripped mattress, no sheets on it because my roommate had transferred out before I even arrived on the first day, and I stood by the desk in gym shorts with the waistband hooked in both thumbs.

"You're not gonna be weird about this," I said.

"We are absolutely gonna be weird about this," one of them said.

I pushed the shorts down anyway.

····[]····

I had started getting laid a bit, which helped my reputation, but I found it abnormally boring in a way. It was like even though girls talk a lot about big dicks when they're horny, none of them really excited me. None of them worshiped me, at least not the girls I got with at the end of the night in a dark room in the back of a party. They just wanted to lie there, say a couple dirty things, and have me stick it inside her until I came. And only a couple girls could even take it inside past the head. So suffice it to say, my sex life itself wasn't exactly fulfilling in my first couple weeks at school.

Another mirror pic I took for exactly one girl I met at a party ended up being shared around the whole building less than a day later. This one had my face in it, and I found out when a guy I'd never met held his phone up in the dining hall line and said "is this you" with his mouth full, and my jaw dropped, a rush coming into my stomach. 

"Where'd you get that?" I asked.

"A friend who doesn't even go here. She said she heard it was from a guy who goes to this school."

"Jesus fucking christ."

I grabbed my food that I was too manic to eat now and sat down with some of the other guys in my hall, including Mark. When I asked if he heard about people talking about me, he had a lot to say about it and delivered it between bites.

"Ashley's roommate asked what your room number was," he said. "Like, unprompted. In the middle of a conversation about something else."

"Okay."

"Then Ashley asked about it too." He put another forkful in and chewed on it. "My girlfriend. Asked me. About your dick. She asked if it was real."

She wasn't really his girlfriend. They had sort of paired up a week prior upon move-in, but I don't think she really saw him the same way he saw her, if that makes sense.

He was still smiling when he said it, but the smile had thinned out a bit, and he stabbed the next bite harder than the food required. He kept the bit going for another minute and I watched what it cost him to keep it going.

····[]····

Soon after that, the touching started, which I had not been ready for.

It came in first as bets. A group of us were playing strip poker in one of the dorm rooms in my hall, and a guy lost a hand when he was already naked. I was in my underwear, and, out of absolutely nowhere, some random girl I didn't even know chimed in.

"Make him hold the big dick. For like, five seconds."

At this point everyone knew which dick she was talking about, as weird as that sounds. I didn't like the idea of doing something gay like that in front of a cute girl, but since she was the one who suggested it, I looked at him and shrugged. He shrugged back, and suddenly my dick was a useful tool for college gambling.

"Woah," he said as he lifted it from my thigh. "It's like, heavy."

I started to get hard during it, and had to tuck it away before it became a problem. That's what happens when you mix nudity and girls. It had nothing to do with a guy touching it, right?

Another time it was Owen, who had basically taken second place at the comparison night in the showers, a ranking he brought up every time someone mentioned my dick in public. He was slumped in my desk chair one afternoon doing absolutely nothing when he suddenly sat up and asked if he could hold it. He wanted "to see how much it weighs. No homo."

"No," I said.

"It's not gay if it's for science. You let that guy down the hall hold it."

"It's extremely gay and the answer's still no."

"C'mon," he said, and his voice elicited a certain pity from me. 

I sighed, and stood to walk over to where he was sitting, and pulled my shorts down to expose my meat to him. I watched him breathe in slowly through his nose as he reached out tentatively to touch it, then wrap his fingers around it, and then lift it, separating it from my balls.

"Yeah," he said with a nervous voice. "It's, got weight to it."

I felt myself start to stiffen up in his hand, but since it was just the two of us, I didn't stop it right away this time. He squeezed it, and I felt the blood flow into it, filling it. 

He held it against his flat palm, and lifted it a couple more times, before letting it drop, clearly bigger than when he had started it. He pulled his hand away, and neither of us said anything about the size change. I pulled my shorts back up, and went back to my computer. 

····[]····

That night, I still left my door about four inches ajar, with my desk lamp on.

I sat on my bed with my back against the wall, shorts pushed down to my knees, and I angled myself toward the lamp instead of away from it. The light put a shine on me that I approved of. I spat in my palm and started slowly, long pulls from the base, keeping my eyes on the laptop screen even though nothing was playing on it. Looking at the door would have ruined it. I was just a guy jerking off in his own room, with a door that happened to be accidentally open.

The hall stayed quiet for a while. Then a pair of shower sandals slapped past toward the bathrooms, and my grip tightened, and a bead of precum rolled over my knuckle. I still didn't look. I pictured what the gap actually showed from out there instead, the corner of the mattress, my bare legs, the whole heavy length of me standing up out of my fist in the lamplight, and I got harder picturing that view than I even got picturing girls. In my head I thought, if somebody stops, they stop.

The sandals came back the other direction and slowed, or at least in my head they slowed, and my hips lifted off the mattress, showing off for someone who might be behind me in the hallway. I stroked faster, breathing through my mouth, and when I felt it building I grabbed an old shirt off the floor and squirted into it, three long pulses that made my legs straighten out against the sheets, my head knocking back into the wall. I didn't muffle any of the sounds I made, since I was in a room by myself.

Afterward I lay there sweating with my shorts still at my knees, my dick softening against my thigh, listening for the sandals to come back.

····[]····

Taylor seemed like the only guy who never brought up my cock. And somehow he ended up closer to me than anyone else in the hall. I barely saw him at parties, but he was around a lot in the daytime. We walked to the gym together most afternoons, even though he didn't work out much. He'd peel off into the library next door while I lifted, trying to get "college swole," and he'd be waiting by the doors with his hood up when I came out. 

That was us, barely talking, getting closer anyway. And he was in my room a lot too. 

I was sitting on my own bed facing him in basketball shorts with nothing under them one day, mid-sentence about something related to classes, when I reached in and took it out and let it lie there soft on my thigh. I guess I just wanted it looked at, because by then I'd gotten used to it being looked at.

Taylor stopped talking.

He looked at it in my lap. He didn't move off the other bed and he didn't lean in and he didn't laugh or grab for it or start a bit that every other guy on three would have started right away. He just looked, long enough that I thickened up under his gaze without touching it at all, getting stiff while he sat there, six feet away, mouth closed, not moving.

He looked me in the eye for a second, and I raised my eyebrows, starting to smile. He smiled back and we started laughing. I put it away.

I felt kind of stupid for doing that. There was just something intriguing about him, and the only tool I had for social connection recently was my package.

"Sorry for flashing you my cock," I said as he stepped out.

"No," he said quickly, "Never apologize for... that thing."

We went back to what we were doing separately, and he had a reason to leave just a minute later. 

····[]····   

The common-floor suite got loud around ten on Saturday. Somebody had a speaker and a case of the warmest beer I've ever put in my mouth, real freshman shit, and by midnight the room was well past quality metrics anyway. The girls from the floors above and below us were there, people were sitting on the counter with their feet on the dishwasher, the TV was on with the sound off playing a sports highlight reel that nobody was watching.

I was on the arm of the couch in a t-shirt and shorts. It was the exact clothing that I felt sexiest in, and I would wear that combo together on weekends. 

"Yo," Mark yelled across the room. "Get over here. There's a question about it."

I went over, already knowing what he must've been talking about. And before anybody dared me, before Mark got the sentence out, I stood up in the middle of the floor and hooked my thumbs in my shorts and pushed them down to mid-thigh myself.

The people in my immediate vicinity turned and looked. There was a sound among the group of them, "Ohhhh."

Owen was sitting on the floor right in front of me, and he reached in and took hold of it, and I didn't move away. His hand was warm and soft and dry and he was holding it like a bat, wrong, and it stiffened in his fist quickly.

"Oh my God," a girl on the counter said. "Is that real?"

Mark came in from the side and took it out of Owen's hand and hefted it in his palm, testing the weight of it, up and down like a produce guy, and then somebody behind him wanted a turn, and then somebody after him. I put both hands on the back of the couch and stayed upright with my shorts at mid-thigh as they basically passed my dick around like a trophy after a win.

Girls in the doorway watched openly, phones up as the worship session began. I got fully hard, achingly so. Some of the guys pretended to be nonchalant, looking back and forth between me and the TV, which was still on mute, so they were doing a lot of intense staring at a bunt. I was hard in yet another guy's fist with a full room of eyes on me, more sexually excited than I had ever been in my life, and I stared up and away, trying to distract myself somewhat before the excitement became an actual problem.

Taylor came in late.

He stopped in the doorway in the same hoodie he wore a lot. I remember noting in that moment that it was probably his favorite hoodie. He had his sleeves shoved into the front pocket, and he didn't come closer, but he didn't leave. He just stood there and watched, smirking at me, while I lightly shrugged at him.

And, somehow, I got even harder because of it. There were several hands on me, literally moving up and down at this point, and a bunch of girls watching me bare-assed in public, but I noticed Taylor, the quiet friend of mine, standing in the doorway.

Whoever had me at that point was stroking it now instead of just holding it, their hands moving out of sync with each other, which was somehow even more stimulating. 

"It fits literally three hands on it. Fuck, maybe four," somebody said, and my knees started locking up.

"Wait," I said.

But nobody waited. The hands kept moving and my thighs went rigid inside my shorts and both my fists clamped down on the back of the couch, and I finished right there, standing up, out into the room. It squirted up into the air, landing on two guys' shoulders, and on the carpet in front of everybody. The noise went up immediately in the room, screaming, somebody's red cup tipping over sideways on the counter.

Mark dropped into a crouch and grabbed the spilled Solo cup, shoving it under the head of my dick as he grabbed my shaft, pointing it down into it fast enough to catch the last several pulses, holding it steady while I twitched lightly from the powerful orgasm. 

When I stopped squirting it out, he came up with it and held it over his head.

The room lost its mind.

"Somebody drink it," someone wheezed between laughs. He was bent over with his hands on his knees, hiccup-laughing, a strangely wet, clicking laugh. "Jeez, that's a lot of cum! Somebody has to drink it!"

Guys looked around, daring each other to do it, while heads shook "no" at each other.

Then Taylor crossed the room.

He took the cup out of Mark's hand, and looked me in the eye as he tipped it back into his mouth. I watched his throat undulate, drinking it down while looking straight at me. I was still standing there with my dick out, my shorts at my thighs, still rock hard, hands off the couch now, doing nothing.

He wiped his mouth with his hoodie sleeve and set the cup down on the counter.

The room came apart around us, people screaming, phones out, Mark howling about how Taylor was the MVP.

Neither of us looked away.