Jumbo

Jumbo

Todd Young

Published by Mercurial Avenue

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 Todd Young

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the copyright holder.

ASIN: B0082155UO

Published in the United States of America

1st Kindle Edition

Cover Design by Justin Baxter

Warning: This book is not suitable for readers aged under 18. It contains sexually explicit descriptions. All sexually active characters in this book are aged 18 or over.

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Also by Todd Young

Corrupted

Dressing Up

Subject 19

Naked

1

Jumbo hated his name — not that his name was really Jumbo. It was Mitchell. But everyone had started calling him Jumbo a few weeks back, and Mitchell hated it.

Mitchell was on the swim team. He was a good swimmer, good at backstroke, and being a swimmer, you’d expect a guy to have some testosterone. Well, he did have some testosterone. He had a higher than normal amount of testosterone, and a higher than normal amount of estrogen, which he was supposed to have, though most guys probably wouldn’t know that. He had been tested. He had asked his mom, said could he go to the doctor about something, something personal, and she had said yes, okay, standing in the kitchen and frowning at Mitchell, whose eyes had been smarting with tears.

It had started in fall, a day or two after his eighteenth birthday. He had been in the showers after swim practice, and Robby Michaels had said, “Hey, Jumbo, how’s it hanging?”

There had been a guffaw.

Someone had cried out, “Jumbo!” getting the joke, and then all the guys, the whole swim team had started laughing at him, while Mitchell stood naked in the shower, stunned, holding a bar of soap in his hand, but unable to do anything.

And from that day forward Mitchell was Jumbo. The boys called him Jumbo, and the girls, once they had heard the swim boys calling him Jumbo, started calling him Jumbo too, though Mitchell supposed they didn’t really understand what Jumbo meant, or he hoped so.

Jumbo meant he had a small cock.

He had always had a small cock. But while the other guys’ cocks had filled out over time — even Tadd Parker’s growing until it was enormous, so that Mitchell had to goggle at it — his own cock had never grown. He had been to the doctor about it. That was what he had asked his mom — if he could go to the doctor about his penis, though he hadn’t said this; he had said about “something,” and his mom had said okay.

The doctor had said that there was nothing wrong. He had sent Mitchell to a clinic, and Mitchell had had to sit in a side room where there were some magazines and jerk off into a little cup. He could jerk off fine. It only took a thumb and a finger, because that was the whole length of Mitchell’s cock — like the lid of a marker pen. In fact (and Mitchell had cried over it some nights) it was practically nothing at all. When it was erect, it stuck straight out from his body, horizontal, a tiny little prick, like the last joint of his thumb. And most often when Mitchell was in the pool, or when he was swimming, he had a boner, his cock sticking straight out, an inch out from his body, tight in his speedos, though no one ever supposed Mitchell had a boner, or would think he could have a boner almost all the time, but he did.

When the results came back from the sperm count, Mitchell found out that he had a higher than average count, though Dr Carter said that that was partly because he was an eighteen year old boy. The average was an average for all men taken together, and it declined over time. There was nothing wrong with Mitchell, Dr Carter said, calling him Mitchell, because of course Dr Carter didn’t know that his name was Jumbo now, practically everywhere, with everyone he knew. The only people who weren’t calling him Jumbo were the people in his family, his mom and dad, his brother Pete, and Sally, who was a dog.

Pete, Mitchell’s brother, wasn’t at school anymore, and it was a long time since Mitchell had seen his brother’s cock. He had seen it when they were little kids; but that had been years ago.

Mitchell had to wonder if Pete’s cock was normal, or if it was like ... well, abnormal, because that was what Mitchell’s was. Sometimes he tried to steal a glance at Pete’s cock when Pete was walking past him, but he had never been able to tell. Perhaps Pete had a sock (or something) stuffed into his underpants — something Mitchell had been doing since he was fifteen, though he couldn’t do it on the swim team, and he had been swimming and wearing speedos since he was thirteen, and no one had ever said anything about it until now, until just a few weeks ago, and it was ruining his whole senior year.

“There is an operation,” Dr Carter said, “but I would advise you strongly against it.” He told Mitchell to look into it. He gave him the name of the operation, and suggested Mitchell do some research of his own, because there were serious dangers involved, he said. Mitchell had gone home and done just that. He had looked up the operation on Wikipedia, and had found that there wasn’t just one operation, but two main ones — one to lengthen a penis, and one to widen a penis — and then he had looked further, and found some photos of what it looked like when these operations went wrong. It was horrible. Not only were these guys’ penises mutilated, but often they lost the ability to get erections, and it made Mitchell sick to think of it, to think of some doctor cutting into his penis with a knife.

The one thing that was okay with Mitchell was that he could get erections. Hell, he had them anytime he exercised, like it was part of his regular circulatory system. And it felt great. Did he want to lose that, just for the possible benefit of having a slightly longer penis?

No.

2

The week after he saw Dr Carter, Mitchell went back to school. He’d spent Thursday and Friday at home. His mom had been worried, and had asked if there was anything wrong, but Mitchell had just said no, could he have a couple of days off? He would go back to school on Monday; everything was fine.

Mitchell’s mom had eyed him, had given him a long, searching look, but then she had nodded her head and gone back to fixing dinner, though Mitchell could see that she was worried, worried about him and what he might have been seeing a doctor for, about why he wanted a couple of days off.

The truth of it was, he wanted a couple of days off to steel himself against the onslaught he was getting at school. Everyone was calling him Jumbo now — even Coach Marley. Mitchell didn’t suppose anyone on the swim team (any of the guys) had gone and said to anyone why they were calling him Jumbo. He didn’t think they would do that to him. But on the other hand, well, people did come to the swim meets; people came to the trials; they saw him in his speedos. It wasn’t a good look, and it wasn’t just his cock — it was his balls as well. Really, when it came right down to it, Mitchell had pretty much of nothing that was supposed to make him a man. He had seen the other guys’ balls in the showers; he had seen them hanging in sacks, round and bursting, full and flopping, while his — well, they were the size of grapes at best. Little green grapes, he said to himself on Friday, lying on his back naked on his bed, feeling his balls, and trying to decide how he felt about the whole thing.

He had to get some perspective on it. His mom was a life coach, and Mitchell had often had to listen to her theories on how you had to get a handle on problems in your life: assessment, perspective, making a plan, setting goals, taking steps. None of those things seemed particularly helpful. He had a small cock, and small balls, and these things weren’t just small, they were ridiculously small. People had started making fun of him because of it, and on top of all that — his one and over-riding problem — Mitchell was gay.

He knew he had been gay ever since he knew he could come. He hadn’t ever had any thought of any girl — never. He wasn’t interested in girls. He liked them as friends, but, well, he just didn’t want to think about their ... anatomy.

And he had been on the swim team for so long, had been walking around in his speedos and in the showers with a boner for so long, looking at other guys for so long, that the gay thing, well, he had pretty much come to accept it, though he had never said anything to anyone about being gay (not even online) and he would have really liked someone to talk to about it.

Pete was gay, or at least Mitchell was pretty sure he was. He imagined Pete, who was only ten months older, being just like Mitchell, thinking the same thoughts and feeling the same feelings. Up until a few months ago, Pete and Mitchell had been real close, though lately Pete seemed to have changed. Mitchell had an idea that he was taking drugs, though he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that Pete and him weren’t talking anymore, not really, and he didn’t see how he could bring up the gay thing with him. Pete wouldn’t be interested.

On Monday, Mitchell went back to school. Tadd Parker greeted him in the parking lot, raising his hand and saying, “Hey, Jumbo, wait up.”

It was friendly. It was a casual greeting, and Mitchell told himself this — that the name thing was nothing, that it didn’t matter. It had happened. And now it had stuck, and he would just have to do his best not to worry about it.

“Where were you last week?”

“I had a couple of days off.”

“Yeah. I noticed. Coach Marley says you better get to practice today, or he’s coming down hard on you. He wanted me or one of the other guys to ring you.”

No one had rung.

“Were you sick?”

“I had a cold.”

Tadd Parker nodded, and they walked into calculus together. Monday morning, first thing, it was always calculus. Tadd Parker pulled up a chair next to him and sat down. He didn’t always sit next to Mitchell, though he sometimes did.

Mitchell didn’t really like Tadd Parker. Tadd was dark-haired and smiling, with white teeth and a too-cute smile with dimples. A typical jock. And Mitchell wasn’t a jock, wasn’t anything. He was no one. He didn’t really want Tadd sitting next to him, though he couldn’t help throwing a look at Tadd’s groin as Tadd leaned forward to pull his books out of his pack. Tadd’s cock was bursting in his jeans. So big. His balls and his cock making a big soft packet.

Mitchell felt his dick shrivel inside him. Sometimes, like today, when it was cold, his dick shriveled right up until it was back inside his body, the head not even poking out. If he put his thumb against it, he could feel a little indent, and in there somewhere was the head of his cock. He had a sock in his jocks, and he could feel it scratching against the tip of his foreskin.

He wondered what it would feel like to be Tadd Parker, sitting there with a perfect face and big broad shoulders and biceps — and a huge cock and balls. He supposed, if he were like that, he would be a bit of a jerk too — a real confident jerk.

“Do you get this calculus stuff?”

“Kind of,” Mitchell said. It was pretty easy, and he already had the hang of it.

“I don’t have a frigging clue, man.”

Mitchell said nothing.

“I could really use some help sometime. I mean, if you’ve got any free time to—”

“Parker!” Mrs Jerlow said, and Tadd lifted his head. She chewed him out for a minute while Mitchell tried not to smile. When she turned to the board, Tadd turned to Mitchell and raised his eyebrows, making a shocked face, and Mitchell couldn’t help smiling at him. Tadd was chewing gum, and he blew a bubble of it.

Mitchell had physics with Tadd as well — and gym — but they didn’t have any other classes together on Mondays except for calculus, so Mitchell didn’t see Tadd again until after school, until he was in the locker room, changing into his speedos.