At a Banquet

Swipe. Crap.

Swipe. Swipe. Crap.

Swipe. Crap.

Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Crap.

Swipe. Huh?

Lou’s brows furrowed; eyes transfixed on his mobile. Beside him, a robust young man of similar build, though somewhat leaner and muscular, inhaled on a rolled paper. He took a few puffs before expiring the fine vapours through his down-turned, apricot pink lips. After he coughed for a brief spell, he passed the wrapped herbs towards his trusted friend. The man found himself in much of the same condition. Yet he possessed adequate resolve to blink several times before leaning over the rear side of his friend’s shoulders. They gave a half-suppressed laugh, a subdued coughing snort, before nodding.

“Yeah bro. Got the same email too. Didn’t open it though,” said Alex Rod with a long smirk.

“What do you think it’s about? Ten bucks it’s telling us to kindly fuck ourselves.”

Alex chuckled, almost dropping his joint.

“He’s one to talk. Bet he still fucks himself every night.”

“That’s if he could find it.”

Alex and Lou laughed in unison, with Lou opening the correspondence after they composed themselves. Though after glancing at the email, they went silent.

“Shit, guess I owe you ten.”

Alex licked his fingers, then tapped the burning edge of his joint. Lou’s head bobbed, reading through the message of his former high school victim, now turned multi-billionaire, Tristian Conner.

“Looks like TC’s hosting a large banquet at the end of the month. He’s inviting everyone.”

“Haven’t been home in a while. Not sure if I want to see the same ole chumps,” responded Alex, itching the nape of his thick neck.

Lou shrugged.

“Same, but I’m sort of curious to meet the new and improved TC. From the email, looks like he finally grew a pair.”

“Yeah. Sounds like a smug prick. Hmm...let me look,” spoke Alex, swiping Lou’s phone from his palm.

More than a decade-and-a-half has passed since Lou’s torment over Tristian ended. After graduating high school, Tristian promptly left their hometown thereafter. To do what, no one knows. But Lou did not expect the quiet, lanky nerd to become the nouveau riche. He flexed his strong, calloused fingers, noting a jitter phasing through his abdomen. He wondered if his pugnacious behaviour pushed TC to compensate.

Even now, he recalled catching the young man changing in the locker rooms before he called the other guys’ attention. Highlighting Tristian’s thin nub and berries near shrouded by his thick, coarse pubic hairs. Poindexter went out like a light from the laughter and stress. The students did not care. Gesturing and throwing around insults, calling out his infantile size. Their dual savagery and hilarity fuelled by Lou’s superior pride.

From there, until Tristian Conner left town, he was Tiny Cock. TC for short when in public. Though such details mattered little. Once the girls learned his nickname a month later, a joke amongst the guys became a brand of inferiority perpetuated by the student body.

Lou smirked.

With TC being one of the few black students at the school, the lost opportunity of fulfilling their Mandingo fantasy sorely disappointed the women. So much for those BBC stereotypes...

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Alex, accidentally smacking the smartphone’s screen into Lou’s face.

Lou cussed, though his annoyance tailed off as his clear, bright blue eyes charged open at the language before him.

TC, well TC’s enterprise, will host a sweepstake at this banquet. Granting the winner the chance to win $40,000.

$40,000!

A windfall of a common man’s annual salary.

“Yes dude! Forty grand! Is this shit even legal?!”

Alex continued talking, but Lou’s mind began ruminating on the possibilities. Well. One possibility. While much bigger than the twig between Tristian’s legs, he was not exactly a Mandingo himself. This was why he wore his custom-made prosthetic, which left an elephantine bulge in his shorts. He wanted to be the Casanova he projected on to others.

Hell. To himself.

With that money, he could make his desire a reality. Through some research of his own, he learned of an early stage state-of-the-art penis enlargement procedure, which has been delivering terrific results. At least based on the anecdotes from the social media group he joined. Men who discussed how the surgery turned their micro dicks into flaccid (and erect) beasts that could sway and bob. Some even helicopter. To think this extremely long and thick tube of silicone he wore could be his flesh and blood.

“You heard me?” questioned Alex.

He punched Lou’s shoulder, pulling the male from his thoughts.

“What?!”

“Thinking about TC’s TC still?”

Lou snorted, returning Alex’s punch with greater **** before handling his own bulge. His friend laughed, flushing at the cheeks.

“Why think about that? I have more than enough.”

“Okay Alpha Man, what do you want to do? We heading to this or not? Looks like the banquet is over the weekend. We can take a quick trip over there on Friday and return on Monday. Either $40,000 richer or nah.”

Lou agreed.

Over the years, he had seen many dudes ridiculed over their penis size. Though none as small as him or Tristian. He watched them shoot their shots with women, only to be countered with their slender, wagging fingers. Their modest chuckles beneath their breaths. Those askance knowing glances telling them all they desired to know. Omnipotent powered text messages or phone calls sniping at the guy’s partnerships. Decency. And manhood.

$40,000 was all he needed, but his chances winning were as small as his cock. His hometown was not some village in the boons. He competed against many people. Including Alex.

...he could just not bother. And expect anything remotely normal as a pipe dream. But did he want that?