A man from our reality

John woke with a yawn. No alarm, just the end of a natural sleep cycle. The blessings of a Saturday.

He let his eyes stay half closed for a bit as he slowly stretched. He was trying to recall the details of the dream he’d been having when he woke. It had been a good one. Sexual in nature, though not exactly a wet dream—at least, he hoped not.

Just on the teensy tiny off-chance, he opened his eyes properly and lifted the covers to check. Not that he was really expecting anything—he’d gotten through puberty with only a single literally wet dream, so the chances of it happening now were—

What the fuck?

John had always been proud to boast a large penis. At almost eight inches, it was in the top one percent of the top one percent. It hadn’t actually helped his chances with the ladies much—he’d had a whopping one real relationship in his life—but it was a nice confidence booster if nothing else.

However, ‘almost eight inches’ surely would fail to describe the massive slab of meat that was laying between his legs now. Despite being completely flaccid, it had to be at least nine inches. It was twice as thick as it was supposed to be, rivalling his wrist. And—his balls! Each one was the size of his fist!

John scrambled up into a sitting position, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and throwing the covers back completely. Any thought that it could have been a trick of the light was tossed away as he got a proper look at his inexplicably engorged cock.

Looking at it properly, John noticed more abnormalities. He had definitely been circumcised when he went to bed last night (and for all of his life leading up to last night, for that matter), but now the head of his cock was covered in a distinctive foreskin. And, what had happened to the boxers he’d been sleeping in? Why was he completely naked?

If John hadn’t been so distracted, he might have noticed other discontinuities around his studio apartment. While it was the same size and layout, things were a bit nicer. Less peeling paint on the ceiling, more even floorboards, a cleaner sofa. As it was, though, such things were the furthest thing from his mind.

It must be a prosthetic, John thought. Some elaborate prank that Tom pulled in the night? Though fuck knows how he'd have gotten into my apartment...

Hesitantly, he touched it. It was warm and fleshy, and he could feel his own finger touching it just fine. This was no prosthetic.

John’s mind raced. How the fuck could this be possible? Penises didn’t just grow overnight; not when you were in your twenties, at least. He was no doctor, but he was pretty damn sure of tha—

Of course. A doctor. He should just go see a doctor!

Except… would they even take this seriously? Worse, what if they took it too seriously? Hauled him off to a lab or something? John knew it was an irrational line of thinking, but it was hard not to panic while in the middle of the most impossible thing that had ever happened to him.

Okay then, what about… Jess? Yeah, Jess!

His long time best friend, Jess was a nurse. She might know what’s going on. Plus, he’d feel a lot less awkward. Despite being best friends since high school, there’d never been any sexual or romantic tension between the two of them. Jess was a life-long lesbian, and her tomboyish attitude meant she’d always been 'one of the guys'. They were pretty comfortable talking about private stuff.

Granted, he’d never shown her his penis and asked her to diagnose it, but still…