The Colossus of Callum (Patreon)

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Chapter 1: Praise-Worthy

Callum would have walked to Brooklyn at three in the morning if Samantha asked him to. She never asked him for anything. I watched him wait on her every night from the other end of our couch, phone face up on his knee, and meanwhile the two of us texted each other porn until we fell asleep.

Callum was my roommate, and the two of us were a couple of horny gooners. He kept his medium brown hair short, with a widow's peak, and he smiled a lot, like a default setting. It made people around him comfortable, but he was still shy. He made friends more easily with nerds and gamers, and he was most himself around them. Our friend groups didn't overlap much. Mine were the partiers and frat boys, and I partied too hard in college before I eventually got my shit together. 

I always liked him, and he made me feel like I could tell him anything. We had a special, weird bond in a way. He kept me accountable too, somehow. He wasn't pushy. He just made me want to be a better person. 

He called me out when I called someone "ugly" once.

"That was unwarranted and mean," he said, and I actually felt like a piece of shit, because he was right.

"Yeah, my bad," I said, because I didn't have the words to say more.

And the main staple of our dynamic was that we had been swapping porn since we met back in freshman year of college. We clocked each other as gooners at the first party we met at, and after that we were regularly sending links back and forth and rating them. He would text me a clip in the middle of the night with no caption, and I would reply with a score out of ten and a note like "her acting ruins it" or "bro, the ANGLES". At some point that turned into a competition, because everything between us turned into a competition, from tennis matches to whose load shot farther off the edge of the bed, which we judged on the honor system.

So naturally we invented the big contest: who could go the longest without cumming.

We would send each other porn to make each other break. And it always worked. Neither of us ever made it past a couple days. Every week we restarted the competition: no cumming starting Monday morning. Honor system. We both ALWAYS failed by Wednesday night, but I started looking forward to the self-torture and the ritual.

I remember the first time we tried it. I texted him on Monday afternoon.

Me: How's your big cock doing?

Callum: I've already came twice

Callum: I've surrendered to gooning

And one thing about Callum is that while his face is good looking already, and girls and gay guys already call him cute, he absolutely MOGS when it comes to dick size.

I found out about it the first time he used it to win an argument, back in freshman year of college. We were fighting about something dumb, who had the worse record with girls probably, and he pulled up a pic on his phone and held it out to me. It didn't exactly settle the argument, but it definitely ended the conversation. I handed the phone back and we both started laughing.

Another time he sent me a pic late at night from his bed, no caption, just the pic. I gave it a score, like it was one of our porn clips we share.

Me: 10/10

He replied with a single thumbs up, and we didn't mention it again.

And one weekend, sometime after we became roommates, I told him pics lie. Angles, lenses, AI and all of that. I told him if he wanted credit for being King Dong he had to prove it was real. He stood up in the middle of our living room, pulled his sweats down, and showed his fat bulge in his white briefs underwear. I stared at it with my mouth open for probably a full minute, before I pushed it further.

"Is it real?" was all I could think to ask.

He found the courage to pull his underwear down too, and I saw it. A light bush above a large, heavy piece of meat. A monster of a dong the size of a monster can, soft, and two big balls that looked like kiwi fruits.

"Okay," I said. "You win."

And that's why it never made sense to me that he was so shy about girls. I guess nerdy trumps hung for some guys. But if my dick was that big, I'd be nailing every size queen on Tinder in every neighborhood of Manhattan.

I pointed it out, kind of frequently to be honest, as playful asides and stuff like that. It's hard not to think about it once you know a guy has something that special about him.

····[]····

One late afternoon we were coming back from an amateur tennis tourney that we played at sometimes, a nice court on the Hudson River Parks path, both of us sweaty and heading back to our apartment in The Village. 

"You make the funniest faces while you're playing, dude. It's the same as when you play video games. Your mouth falls open like you're in shock."

He smiled. "Why do you notice stuff like that?"

"I don't know," I said. "It's funny."

And I did notice stuff about Callum that others might miss. He played in the same white t-shirt every week. He was tall and lanky, his sweaty hair plastered flat across his forehead, a dark line of sweat running down each temple, glasses he kept pushing up his nose with one finger, shoulders that were toned enough that they would have been impressive if he ever chose to stand up straight.

And on the walk back I pointed out his huge bulge.

"Bro, you aren't even wearing underwear. I can see your whole dick through the wet fabric."

He looked down and cupped a hand over it.

"Watch," I said. "Spread your legs apart."

He did what I said quickly, as he usually did. The sun was setting behind him and shone right through the fabric, a perfect shadow of his large cock hanging down between his thighs.

"The king's scepter is on display," I said, still honestly in awe of it.

His face went red and he tugged his shirt down over himself. 

“Dude, be proud of that weapon,” I said.

He smiled in a different kind of way. It had boosted his ego. I caught myself still looking at the front of his shorts half a block later and made myself look at the river instead.

We spent a block trashing the "pickleball faggots" who kept stealing our court, trading impressions of their dinky little serves. I punched his arm and he punched mine back harder, shoving me half off the curb, and his glasses slid down his sweaty nose while he laughed about it.

“I’m hanging out with Samantha again tonight,” he said.

He was obsessed with her. I knew her too, and I was pretty sure she was a lesbian. Historically bisexual, but I had only ever seen her with girls, and honestly she treated Callum like he was just a friend.

"Dude, she's a tease. You gotta admit, she just likes the attention. She only dates girls. And I don't think she's gonna do a threeway or anything with you, if that's what you want."

"No," he said quickly. "Not a threeway. I just want her."

"You think there's a chance?"

"Maybe."

I shrugged and dropped it.

····[]····

By the time we climbed the stairs to our apartment we both reeked, and he told me I could have the first shower.

"Nah, you go ahead," I said. "Wash that master dong."

He perked up again, more than usual, at least it seemed. It made me curious, in a confusing way, to see him cheer up like that when I complimented him. He wasn't a typical guy. Maybe that comes with carrying around a cock that dwarfs everybody else's. But I noticed his bulge literally flinch in his shorts, and I was not ready to confront that, even as a joke, so I shut my mouth and leaned against the kitchen counter, playing on my phone until he disappeared into the bathroom.

Later that night, I was on the couch, finishing up some work on my computer, when I heard him in his room. Or I heard something. Music? A movie? A moan came through the door, and I realized it was porn. He must have been blasting it in his headphones so loud that it actually leaked out of his room.

Me: Dude you're gonna bust your eardrums before you even bust a nut.

The sound cut off in two seconds.

Me: Come out here when you're done. I'm bored.

He came out a minute later with his hands jammed in his sweatpants pockets, failing to hide his bulge standing out.

"You finished already?"

"Shut up."

"You don't have to hang out if you're blue balled, dude. Go finish your nut. You deserve it."

"I'll wait."

"Your monster cock deserves a pleasure sesh."

His body literally twisted a little when I said that, his hips angling away from me like he could hide it, and his hand pressed down harder inside his pocket. His bulge jumped against the sweatpants anyway. He stared at the floor. I knew I had pushed past something again, and I didn't know if he was uncomfortable, or too comfortable, so I dropped it.

"Wanna watch the new show everyone's talking about?"

"Put it on," he said, dropping onto the couch next to me.

I put it on, and we chatted over it a bit, like we always did. A scene came on with a guy seducing a girl, and the girl looked just like Samantha. Callum quit talking mid-sentence. I kept my eyes on the screen and waited for him to say it.

"She looks just like..."

"Yeah," I sighed.

He rested his hand on his thigh. I had never jerked it in the same room as him or done anything crazy like that, but I got the sense that he desperately wanted to wank at that moment. He was thinking about her again.

"You still seeing her tonight?"

"No, she canceled," he said, scratching an itch on his leg, suspiciously close to his junk through his sweatpants. "I think she's on a date."

"Sorry to hear that. But at least I get you all to myself now."

He half smiled, in a fake sort of forced way.

"What do you look for in a girl, like in real life?" I asked.

"Samantha."

"You're obsessed, dude."

"Yeah."

"You think she would worship that giant cock?"

His eyebrow lifted while he kept his eyes on the screen.

"Would she?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know if she's the type."

"Well, she should."

He liked hearing me say that. He grinned at the screen and his knee started bouncing. It was nice to see him happy.

He kept shifting at his end of the couch, like his sweats were full of ants, and I finally called it.

"Dude, just go for it," I said clearly. "I don't care if you beat your meat. We all do it. You're suffering over there."

He glanced at me to check if I meant it, and I answered by switching the show off and putting porn on the TV.

"You know I like her," he said quietly.

"Of course."

He rubbed himself through his sweats first, slowly, still deciding, or maybe waiting.

"Whip it out, man. That weapon deserves some fresh air."

He pulled his waistband down and tucked it under his balls, and there it was, hard and in person for the first time, lit by the TV. I had seen it soft, I had seen the pics. This was a different animal. It was huge. He grabbed it with his fist and his fingers didn't even touch.

"That is honestly incredible," I said, and he moaned. Not at the porn.

At me.

I pulled mine out too, because sitting there hard and pretending I wasn't felt weirder than joining him. We jerked at our separate ends of the couch, porn going, and every time I said a word of praise he moaned again.

"You're a king, dude. Your cock is godly."

He responded amid little groans.

"I'm rock hard instantly hearing you say that."

He sped up after that. His legs spread wider, heels digging into the rug, and his fist blurred on that thick rod, choking the fat head as it turned dark red, appearing and disappearing in his grip while his stomach jumped under his shirt. He quit watching the porn altogether. His eyes closed, his glasses slipped down his nose, and his mouth hung open, little grunts escaping him on every stroke.

Those big balls pulled up tight against him and I knew he was close. "Say it," he panted. "Say it. Please."

I gave it to him. "You're a fucking god, dude. Your cock is the envy of all men. It is king of the cocks."

"Fuck," he groaned, out of breath.

"It deserves to be worshiped," I said loudly, and I saw his face twist.

He whimpered like a little boy, loud and helpless, and his rhythm fell apart completely, fast and desperate, chasing it. His butt tensed and his hips lifted off the cushion as he squirted all over the hem of his own shirt, heavy ropes that soaked into the white fabric, and he moaned loudly, nothing muffling him this time.

Watching that monster pulse in his fist pushed me over right behind him. I barely cupped my hand in time and ended up getting most of my own load on my stomach and the cushion next to me, down my knuckles and onto my shorts. It was a mess. The porn kept playing to nobody while we caught our breath at our separate ends of the couch, both of us softening, neither of us reaching for the remote.

It took a minute before either of us looked anywhere but straight ahead. He turned first, glasses halfway down his sweaty nose, and the second our eyes met we both cracked up. He laughed so hard his softening monster flopped against his thigh, which only made me laugh harder. I pushed myself off the couch, waddled to the kitchen holding my shorts up with one hand, and came back with the paper towels. I tossed the roll at his chest and he caught it against the soaked fabric. We wiped ourselves down, trading the roll back and forth, my load already drying on my stomach and the cushion. He kept dabbing at the hem of his shirt.

"Just take it off, dude. It's ruined."

He pulled it over his head, balled it up, and dropped it on the floor, and we sat there, mostly naked, talking about nothing of significance until it got late.