Pop!
Abdul stopped immediately. That wasn’t a sound you wanted to hear while tugging on the meat-stick. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The urge to orgasm was now gone, flipped off like a switch. He looked down at his crotch and almost screamed.
His cock was no longer attached to his groin! It was a clean slice at the base, severed off behind the balls and shaft. Abdul was frozen in shock. There was no blood, no gaping wound on his unattached manhood or his now featureless groin. It was a separate piece altogether, yet still warm, still throbbing as if his own blood was coursing through its protuberant veins. Then it squirmed, and Abdul promptly opened his hand and let it fall to the floor.
Holy shit!
This was the onset of madness, it had to be. The first stage. Step one: are you seeing things that aren’t there? Abdul glanced at his flat, bloodless crotch again, but the real phenomenon was on the ground, wiggling around like a blind, disoriented rodent. His cock had a life of its own, a mind of its own. It moved, even though it was no longer connected to his body. After some time of confusion, it seemed to gain a sense of its own cylindrical body, a sort of understanding for its place on the floor and range of movement. It used its swollen head to pull itself along, dragging its balls. Despite its size, it couldn’t move much faster than a snail.
And Abdul just watched it. He kept telling himself it was a dream. You shouldn’t have taken all those energy shots! This was sleep without closing your eyes. A dream state of full cognizance and sensory perception. A place in the mind where all the rules could be twisted and fictionalized, and yet presented through truth spectacles. True insanity. Abdul had slipped off the edge and fallen into that bottomless pit. The real world was only a dim light up above, getting smaller and smaller, far out of reach.
Like a newborn animal, his dick was curious about its surroundings. It moved until the path ahead was blocked by a cardboard box. Then it turned itself around on its awkward body and crawled toward the bed. Abdul lifted his feet as it went under the mattress, reappeared out the other side, and bumped its pink head into the door. It didn’t seem to have any sort of vision. Of course not, it’s a dick, Abdul told himself. It turned around again and made its way back to the center of the bedroom. A trek from one end to the other took three or four minutes.
Abdul was beginning to embrace the madness. “Hey … can you … hear me?”
The sentient dick turned its head toward the sound.
“Yeah … it’s your … father, I guess. You can hear me, can’t you?”
The dick began crawling toward him.
When it came closer to the bed, Abdul picked it up by the shaft. He didn’t drop it this time. It was still reasonably hard—an eight out of ten on the erection scale. Well, it had to be, right? A limp dick couldn’t very well move around. Its body needed to be long and thick, sturdy enough to pull its own weight. The dick wiggled back and forth briefly, apparently frightened by this sudden detachment from the only thing it fully understood: ground.
Abdul rubbed his eyes and glanced at the fishtank. “You need a place to stay. You can’t go crawling around.” If Veronica or Jeff ever saw this thing … Jesus.
He carried it over to the dresser and carefully lowered it into the fishtank. The dick—now seemingly glad to be on solid ground again—made its way around the perimeter, memorizing the dimensions of this new see-through cage. All the roaming around apparently made it tired, for it eventually stopped in the center and remained still. At that point Abdul noticed something else. It was fucking breathing. Like any warm-blooded mammal, Abdul’s dick needed a constant supply of fresh oxygen. The center of the shaft expanded like a man’s chest, drawing in air through the pee-hole. Then it expelled it slowly, and the process repeated anew.
Abdul looked at his own crotch again. It was completely smooth. He began to worry about how he was going to take a piss, but saw that there was still a tiny hole there, perhaps a little lower than where his cock had been, but a definite exit for his urethra. He touched it with a fingertip to confirm its existence. This was all too goddamn weird.
After observing the dick for a few more minutes, Abdul lay on the bed and closed his eyes. Exhaustion had hit him like a Mack truck. In less than five minutes he was totally out. He slept all the way through the afternoon.
Jeff stopped by the bedroom after he came home from work. No doubt Veronica had told him everything from that morning. Abdul tossed a t-shirt over the fishtank. Seeing a dick moving around on its own would’ve given the man a heart attack. Abdul didn’t need that right now.
“I don’t know what it is,” Jeff said to him. “If what Veronica tells me is true, then how do you explain yourself? I’m trusting you to act like any civilized human being, Abdul. What’s gotten into you? As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never been … that way. First the computer, and now you’re snooping through my wife’s lingerie drawer. What the hell is going on?”
Abdul knew what was going on. Oh yeah, my dick was controlling me all along. But everything’s okay now because it came off. Wanna see? But he couldn’t say that. Instead he used the stress excuse.
“Stress, huh? Yeah … yeah, whatever. Never heard of stress making a man do what you’ve been doing. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. You got your own reasons. But this can’t continue. Veronica already thinks you’re some creep. But I know you a lot better than she does. You’re not some weirdo. And I keep telling her that.” His face became more stern. “But if something else like that happens—I don’t care what it is—something else weird happens, I’ll have to kick you out. I’ll get you a hotel room for a few days while you work things out, but that’s it. I won’t have you in my house if you keep scaring my wife. You got that?”
Abdul nodded.
“Good.” Jeff went to the door. “Don’t bother coming to the table for supper. I’ll bring you a plate of leftovers.”
He returned with a plate of lasagna and green peas, which Abdul happily gobbled down. While eating, the dick in the fishtank just watched him silently, its helmet-shaped head pressed up against the glass, the tiny lips around its pee-hole sucking down air. It had no eyes, but maybe it sensed that food was nearby. It was a living, breathing organism now. Maybe it required food to survive?
“You hungry, little fella?” Abdul carried the mostly-cleaned plate over to the tank and forked over some small bits of lukewarm ground beef and chopped noodles. Sure enough, the dick ate it down, sucking the bits of food into its tiny mouth. It devoured everything right up, and then Abdul gave it some squished pees to finish off its meal. The dick ingested most of them before becoming content with its meal.
“I’ll have to come up with a name for you.”
The next morning, Abdul woke with a hand between his legs. It was awkward not having his manhood anymore—and more awkward that his manhood itself was now his pet living in a fishtank on the dresser. But it still felt good to rub himself down there. There was no particular region of sensitivity, however. He experimented with the rim of his urethra, but that was just bizarre. Rather, the most satisfying hands-on application usually involved just rubbing his palm back and forth across his flat crotch. It didn’t get him to orgasm, but it made everything feel warm and tingly down there. Warm and tingly was good enough. His legs even trembled a little.
He stopped and sat upright. The dick was watching him.
“Harold, what are you up to this morning?”
The name had come to him during the night. Harold was the family dachshund when Abdul had been in kindergarten. He didn’t remember much about the dog other than it being old and always limping to the front door when he came home from school. He had loved that dog. His mother had loved it even more. Then one day on a rainy November it never came to the door. His mother told him the bad news.
Abdul crossed the room and reached in to pet Harold. Did dicks like being petted? Hard to say. They sure liked being rubbed. Abdul scratched it behind its swollen head. Harold looked paler today. An
d shorter. In fact, it was quite obvious the more he looked at his new pet. The skin was looser all over the shaft, and his head wasn’t so full of color anymore. If Harold had still been attached to his groin, those would’ve been signs of losing an erection, but Harold was a living, breathing thing now. Abdul was a little worried.
“What’s wrong, buddy?”
Harold looked up at him, the tiny lips chewing air.
“You hungry? No, that can’t be it. It’s something else, isn’t it?”
Abdul suddenly realized what it was. It was so obvious. As he sneaked across the hallway into the other bedroom, he heard Jeff’s voice. Don’t you dare do it again, Abdul. But this wasn’t about satisfying one of his subconscious perversions. Harold wasn’t looking healthy. He opened up Veronica’s underwear drawer and returned to his own bedroom with a yellow thong panty. He shared it with his new pet. Harold immediately began to show signs of color again, and he enlarged back to full size.
Abdul grinned, waving the undergarment back and forth. “You like that, don’t you? Don’t know how you’re seeing it without eyes, but whatever. And I’m talking to a dick. Let’s not question it.” He tossed the underwear into the fishtank. That would probably keep him occupied for a while. Probably gonna be a big white stain on them when I return.
Stephanie’s lawyer had left him a text message overnight saying to meet them at one o’clock. It was time to sign those final divorce documents. Abdul had been simultaneously looking forward to the day and dreading it. Everything would be finished after this afternoon, but he’d have to face Stephanie again to make it happen. The sooner that woman’s face was out of his mind, the better. He couldn’t stand to think about her.
But he needed to be presentable. With Harold busy with some lacy entertainment, Abdul went for the bathroom to take a shower. He cranked on the hot water, stripped, and looked at himself in the mirror. The clear lack of something on his crotch was still bitter to accept. He still had pubic hair, but he almost looked like a girl down there. It’d take a closer inspection to reveal that he didn’t have the right parts for it, however.
Something else was off, too. Abdul just looked different. There were minor discrepancies between the mental image of himself and what he now saw in the mirror. For one thing, his waist was clearly smaller, and his skin appeared smoother—now having a sheen to it that he didn’t remember it having before. His chin was as hairless as a twelve-year-old’s, and his nipples were sticking straight out. Abdul flicked them both and almost gasped at how sensitive they were. That’s new.
In the shower, the effect was compounded by the spray hitting him in the chest. Abdul ignored it at first, scrubbing himself clean, swabbing soapy suds over every inch of his naked body. His hips seemed to flare out more than he remembered, and his feet looked smaller. But that was all forgotten when he touched his nipples again. They looked like a pair of bullets. Abdul discarded the soap and washcloth and went to rubbing them again, twisting them. He had to be real gentle at that because they’d hurt if he did it too hard. But right before the brink of pain was something fantastic. Pleasure. Real sexual pleasure.
In no time at all, Abdul’s loins were burning again. He sent a hand down there, but only to rub; there wasn’t much else to be done without any real genitals to speak of. It wasn’t bad at all. With enough pressure—especially pushing a finger back and forth down the middle of his crotch—he became really turned-on. And those nipples! Abdul had never felt anything like it. He was definitely wasting water now, standing under the showerhead and letting it all cascade over his body. But he didn’t care. He rubbed at his smooth crotch. He pinched his nipples over and over again, swapping when one became too tender to touch. Eventually he felt an orgasm building. How the hell is that going to work? That didn’t stop him. With the hot water running all down his body, and his toes curling repeatedly, he finally succumbed to the pleasure.
He backed against the tiles, rubbing furiously. It exploded all throughout his loins. Every inch of his skin tingled. But it didn’t come and go like a male orgasm. It lingered. As long as he kept massaging his flat crotch and playing with his nipples, the pleasure never fully subsided. And he moaned. Abdul had never moaned before during orgasm, but he just felt like doing it, like using his voice was a way to expel some of the pent-up energy swarming throughout his body. And then another crescendo. Louder moans. It hit him over and over again until he finally had to stop. His eyes were seeing white.
“Holy shit,” he panted.
There had been no release. No male cum. He no longer had the parts for that. Yet it had been just as enjoyable as any male orgasm—maybe even more so in some aspects. Minutes ticked by as he recovered, while wet ribbons ran all down his body. He switched off the shower and went to get dressed. There was more time to experiment with his changed body later.
First priority: finalize the divorce. Second: have more orgasms.
It was over. No more secrets.
And the day had been going so well. Abdul was returning to Jeff’s house after signing some more of those irritating dotted lines. Once the pen was down—and Stephanie had turned away and left for the last time—he finally felt relieved. Almost relaxed. On the way home, he reached between his legs and started rubbing himself again. It might’ve been just his imagination, but his crotch was beginning to feel more sensitive. Not nipple-level sensitive, but getting there. And it wasn’t totally flat anymore; he felt a shallow groove down the center. His urethra was right near the middle of it. It was directly between his legs, like where a girl’s parts were. Abdul felt a twinge of panic as he started thinking about the changes. They were rather girly. Hairless body, smaller waist, the definite lack of a penis—that stuff. His butt felt larger and softer, too.
He arrived at the blue house overlooking Lake Wymer, whistling as he entered through the front door. He didn’t see Veronica anywhere. That was all right; they weren’t on speaking terms nowadays anyway. He went straight for the bedroom to see how Harold was doing. It was probably time to feed him, or bring out the color in his skin again. Either way, Abdul just wanted to make sure his new friend was happy and healthy like any pet-owner should.
One problem with that—his bedroom door was open and Veronica was staring at the living dick inside the fishtank!
Her eyes were humongous. “Abdul? I … came into your room to clean, and I saw … saw that. That’s a—”
She couldn’t even say it. The same disbelief that Abdul had experienced yesterday had now grabbed her. That really was a sentient dick. A living, breathing dick. Not something you see everyday for sure.
Abdul’s eyes flitted back and forth between his pet and the stunned woman. “I … I didn’t know where else to put him. The fishtank seemed like the best choice.”
Veronica was still shocked. “That looks like a penis. What … what is it?”
“You’d be correct. His name is Harold.”
Against all odds Veronica didn’t faint.
Abdul explained everything. He felt obliged to—the cat was out of the bag now, and it wasn’t going back in. He explained to her the spell he had been under since last week, with the unexplainable sleepwalking episodes, the porn on the computer, wearing her underwear, standing naked with her panties on the floor, all that stuff. He refrained from telling her about the prostitute though. One thing at a time. He told her that Harold was, in fact, his penis. A penis with a mind of its own and all the bodily functions of any mammal. It needed to breathe. It needed to eat. And it had to be stimulated regularly or else it’d shrink and become pale.
Veronica just stared at the creature, her mouth agape. Abdul knew it sounded completely nuts, but the proof was right there. She understood surprisingly fast. Her panties were still inside the tank, but she didn’t seem to notice. Harold was the star attraction.
“So it wasn’t you doing all that stuff. It was … Harold.”
“All Harold’s fault,” Abdul said. “He’s a perverted bugger.”
“And
you said you feed him?”
He nodded. “Every day, with scraps.”
“Show me.”
Abdul returned with a handful of saltines. He carefully crunched them up and sprinkled the crumbs down into the tank. Like a mouse with the scent of cheese on its nose, Harold pulled himself over to the food and swallowed it all down, working his tiny lips along the bottom of the tank like a suction cup.
“I don’t believe it,” Veronica said. “I’ve never seen … anything … I don’t know what to say.”
“Yeah, I didn’t know what to think at first,” Abdul told her. “I just accepted it. And he’s friendly. Wanna pet him? He likes having his head scratched.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. Watch.” Abdul demonstrated with a finger along the flank of Harold’s pink head. He seemed to like that. Just a real gentle massage. A few moments later, Veronica did the same thing. It didn’t matter who touched Harold; he seemed to like all the attention.
“Oh, he’s drooling,” Veronica said.
Abdul saw. “Yeah, he must really like you.” A droplet of pre-cum oozed from his tiny mouth.
Veronica’s eyes dropped to Abdul’s crotch. “What about your—”
“It’s fine. It’s different, but everything still works. And zippers aren’t so dangerous anymore.”
A hint of a smile flashed across her lips.
“We’ll have to show Harold to Jeff. I want to see his reaction. Is that okay with you?”
Abdul shrugged. “Sure.”
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