He goes to a doctor

John’s hands were shaking as he hurriedly got into his car. He had to stop himself, and take a deep breath.

Yes, something strange had happened. Yes, it was frightening. But there was no pain, which meant it probably wasn’t immediately dangerous to him. He was going to go to the hospital, get it looked at, and get it figured out. It was probably some weird glandular thing; wasn’t that always it? In a week he’d be looking back and laughing at himself for being so panicked.

His heart racing a bit less, John started the car and drove off.

As he drove, there were more curiosities he might have noticed if he weren’t so focused—how few other men were on the sidewalks he drove past. How sexually charged the billboards and bus-stop ads he passed were. The absence of certain stores; the presence of others.

He took in none of this, intent as he was on solving his own personal mystery.

When the receptionist nurse at the hospital’s walk-in clinic asked why he was there, John clinically described it as a “reproductive issue”. He was surprised at how much that made her blush—surely she encountered men with penis problems in her line of work from time to time—but she wrote it in nonetheless.

After being told he’d have a half hour wait, John nodded his thanks and went to take a seat in the waiting room. Plopping himself in a relatively empty area, he checked his phone in case there were messages, then glanced around the room.

It was at this point, with his own problem finally in the process of being addressed, that John started to notice the oddities around him.

For one thing, there were a surprising amount of women in this room. Despite there being about thirty people waiting, John could only see two other men. Actually, just one man—the second other male was a kid, currently transfixed by an iPad.

Except… was that girl over there actually a guy? She had no tits at all, her attire was decidedly unisex, and there was a faint hint of masculinity about her face. His face? And hey, the same with that girl (guy?) over there! And her! And her over there!

He supposed they could be trans, but why so many? The more he looked, the more he noticed. It seemed like almost half the girls in this room could actually be male! Maybe this clinic provided HRT? He supposed that would be nice; John wasn't exactly involved when it came to LGBT rights, but he liked to think he was more ally than obstacle.

…

But why all trans women? Shouldn’t there be some trans men in here for testosterone? And besides… surely they wouldn’t get something like a routine treatment at a walk-in clinic; they’d schedule an appointment for that. Looking at them more, it increasingly seemed like they were just really, really effeminate guys.

John realized he was probably staring. He didn’t mean to be offensive; he was just curious about the statistical abnormality.

Although… it seemed like he wasn’t the only one with a staring problem. Now that he looked for it, it seemed like the majority of the women (and the maybe-women) couldn’t help but steal frequent glances at both himself and the other man in the waiting room. By accident, he made eye contact with one who was looking in his direction. She blushed bright pink and looked away.

John blinked in surprise. Had she been… checking him out? But she was way out of his league—a young volleyball-player looking type, with a skinny waist and big tits. John was by no means ugly—he was fairly tall, and had a nice jawline—but he wasn’t the kind of guy that girls like that would swoon over. Ironically, when it came to physical attributes, his only really exceptional quality was his dick!

He was thinking about looking back over at her—maybe even going over and trying to chat her up—when his name was called to see the doctor

Another half hour later, John walked out into the hospital parking lot, frustrated and confused.

The doctor—a well-spoken middle eastern man—hadn’t questioned him when he explained that he’d woken up with a bigger penis than he’d gone to bed with. He’d asked John to take his trousers down, and then did a quick inspection. He’d told John that he didn’t see any bumps or bulges to speak of, leading John to clarify that he meant literally bigger, in terms of length and—he’d hesitated to use the word ‘girth’, and ended up going with ‘width’ instead.

Then came the first real surprise—the doctor pulling up John’s medical record, and pointing to a line graph showing his penis size at various checkups across the years. Around adulthood, the line stabilized… at 9.5 inches flaccid, and 15.1 inches erect!

John had stared at that for a while. It was baffling that a record of this even existed (he didn’t recall ever having had his penis measured while at a doctor’s office), let alone that it suggested he’d always had this much cock between his legs.

The doctor had politely offered to measure John’s flaccid penis, which he numbly accepted.

9.5 inches flaccid, right on the line.

The doctor had then suggested that John take the tape measure into the bathroom where he could privately measure the erect length. John agreed, and crossed into the toilets across the hall from the examination room.

It was astonishingly easy to get it up considering his nerves at the time. All it had taken was twenty seconds of stroking, and he’d found himself looking down at a throbbing, raging erection with a greater length and width than his own adult male forearm. If it had dangled straight down at this length, it would have almost reached his knees.

He took the tape measure to it.

15.1 inches. Pushing 15.2, in fact.

John had almost dropped the tape measure. What the hell was going on?! He knew his own life, and he knew for a fact he hadn’t had this thing in his pants for the past twenty-plus years!

He’d looked down at his dick again, still throbbing and rock-hard despite nearly a minute without stimulation. Shouldn’t a cock this big have trouble getting erect? Something about blood flow? Even his old eight-incher had taken some real work to get this hard, and yet despite the near doubling in size, his embiggened penis had been steelier than ever before.

After another two untouched minutes, his erection had finally begun to flag and he was able to get his dick back in his pants comfortably (he’d absentmindedly noticed that the crotch of his pants seemed to have been sewn to be a little roomier than he remembered, but he might just been imagining.)

Returning to the examination room, he’d reported his measurement. The doctor had seemed to take that as confirmation that nothing was amiss. He’d told John that it was likely stress, and the difference in size was his imagination playing tricks on him. John had been about to argue, but with the records right there on the computer screen, it had seemed impossible to make any point that would be believed.

Now, out in the parking lot, John slammed his car door shut as he got in, and took a steadying breath.

His dick hadn’t been like this before; he was sure of it. There must be some explanation.

Perhaps the curiosity with all those possibly-trans women earlier had put his mind in a state of answer-seeking. Perhaps the confusion around his penis just had him looking for abnormalities everywhere. Whatever the reason, the outcome was that on the drive home, John noticed all the discrepancies he’d missed on the way up. The tonal shift in the ads and the shop windows. The far greater number of female (or possibly, female-looking) persons out and about. The fact that he was sure this town didn’t have three sex shops on the main street alone, or that so many fast food signboards hadn’t been bragging about their soft drinks’ electrolyte count.

By the time he made it home, John was sure that something was up. Something had changed. Many somethings, in fact—including his own body.

He needed to figure some things out…