The Pee Wee Peewee

I'm a jockey. Not just a jockey, but a jockey that wins race after race. My services are in great demand and because of this, I am well off financially. There are already rumors in the right circles I will ride in the Kentucky Derby. If selected, and if I win, I will be a shoe in for the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes. Dare I dream it? I could be a Triple Crown winner.

I have not contracted myself to any particular owner so I am on the market and when I win a couple of more races, a bidding war for me will start. Live is good. I get fan mail and requests for autographed pictures. Yes, the fans always want me either in the saddle with a horse I won on or else standing next to it, but it is my autograph they seek, not the horses. I have a fantastic home, a great car, a great wife, and a kid on the way. (Due in five months)

Now as you probably already know, being a jockey means you cannot be heavy. No horse has ever won the Kentucky Derby carrying a two hundred fifty pound jockey. I weigh one hundred ten pounds. A weight both the trainer and the horse love. When I stretch, I am five feet to the inch. I have sandy blond hair, light blue eyes, and a flawless complexion. At the age of twenty-five I still have a couple of decades ahead in my chosen profession.

I also have a small dick. No matter how I measure it, whether in be in inches, millimeters, yards, miles, lightyears or any other system of measurement, it comes out to a whopping four and a half inches. My four and a half inch dick gets rock hard and I only need fifteen minutes after each sexual act to perform again, but still, it is four and a half inches.

Let me say this in no way affects my love life. The reason behind that is I am only with one woman, my wife, and have no desire whatsoever to bed anyone else. Before getting pregnant my wife was also a jockey. She is four feet ten inches tall. Let me say that is a marvelous four-ten. Her breasts are half way between a B cup and a C cup. If she was the size of most women, that would translate into a D cup. They fit my hands and there is overflow. Also, her vagina is in proportion to her body. While my prick might be a laughing matter for many women, for her it is a perfect fit. With the exception of the times I ask her for a quickie, there has not been a single time, not once, that she did not have orgasms that rocked her world.

Still, I have a small dick.

Now most of the time this does not bother me. I associate with other jockeys with about the same height and weight, so I just make the assumption they are of comparable size. While the fact I had a peewee peepee was always at the back of my mind, I do not harp on it. At least most of the time. My size really hit home one day last week. I was in the winner's circle at a racing track I had never been to before. This place was undergoing major repairs and the jockeys showers were out of service.

"No problem," one of the employees stated. "The gym across the street has agreed all jockeys can use their facilities to clean up."

I did not look forward to showering with a bunch of jocks, but technically, I was a jock also. Besides that, jockeys sweat. There is a lot of work to riding a horse. It is not only getting in the saddle for just over a minute and then head home. To say it plainly, I smelled like a horse. The passengers sitting next to me when I flew back home might not understand I did not want to shower with strangers, they would just know I stank.

With great reluctance I grabbed my travel bag, the gym pass, and had a track worker cart me to the gym.

This was my lucky day. Not only did I win the race, but the shower area was empty. I was able to latter up and wash down without any disturbance. I left the showers and hurried to the locker room to dry off and dress.

I had my trousers on and was slipping into my shirt when a dozen men entered the area. They had finished their workout and were ready to shower. They had no modesty. They either did not see me or more likely did not care. They pulled their gym pants and jock straps off and moved for the shower. They were not with me for more than a minute and not one of them glanced my way. They may not have seen me, but I saw them, at least a part of them.

There were a dozen pricks flopping around, and everyone was seven inches at least, the majority somewhat larger. I did not take out a measuring tape and ask to measure any of them, but I am confident in my estimations.

I left the gym and took a taxi to the airport. I tried not to dwell on it, but I could not get it out of my mind. I had a four and a half inch dick. I did not talk to any of the people sitting around me on the flight. There was only one thought racing in my mind: What can I do to get a bigger prick?

I got home late that night. My beautiful, loving, pregnant wife was up waiting for me. We talked about my winning the race for a short time and how my trip went. The time came when she said she was tired and had to go to bed. I kissed her goodnight and patted her pretty ass as she walked away.

After the bedroom door closed and I saw the light escaping from under the door go out, I moved to my office and turned on the computer. I typed in the search engine, 'How to get a bigger dick'. At once my screen filled with sites to aid me in my quest. There were diets and stretches, exercises and pills, pumps, lubricants and drugs without end. Some sites had more exotic remedies, ranging from crystals to magnetic bracelets. I found charms and rings all promising to help me with my dilemma. There were Asian sites that offered chants and prayers. I did not want to gamble on not getting the right one, so I ordered them all. It cost extra, but I put a rush delivery on them. This was after all an emergency. I also ordered a few things for my wife and the coming baby to help hide my activities.

Two days later the first of the deliveries arrived. I hid them all in a refrigerator in the basement the wife never looked into. By the time five days passed, all the items were there. When my wife got curious about all the UPS trucks at the door, I handed her some newborn clothes and a couple of items of jewelry for her. She squealed in delight and hugged me and the questioning stopped.

My wife is going to a baby shower this night. That is when I will see if anything works or not. She was out the door at five PM and promised to be back home by eleven. She was not out of the driveway before I was at the refrigerator putting the items in a large box. The bottom of the box was covered and I even had a second layer of bottles and gadgets. I went to the kitchen table and spread them out.

The bottles of pills all had directions, but I ignored them. After all what do you do with a pill? You swallow it. That is what I did. I swallowed pills by the dozen. Worried it was not enough, I took them all again. Then I started on the lotions. My dick had layers of lotions on it ten coats deep. I pulled out pumps and I got pumped. There were things that stretched and I was stretched.

My CD player played chants. My wife's CD player sounded out a variety of Hindu prayers.

There were a dozen plates around me, each burning a different incense. Around the plates were assorted crystals and charms.

I had rings on my fingers and bells on my toes. There were half a dozen necklaces around my neck and two headbands wrapped around my head. I had magnetic bracelets on each wrist, three penis rings on my prick, and an assortment of rubber bands around my balls. There was even a lozenge up my ass. All of that was wrapped with a scented cloth reportedly made out of the robe Jesus wore when He was crucified. To top it all off, I wore a crown that had dicks all around it. They started off small and as they circled grew in size.

My wife came home at ten thirty. The instant she walked in the door she stopped and said, "What is that smell?" She saw me sitting crossed legged in front of the TV and moved to me.

"Incense, Darling," I said. "I am looking into meditation. According to the gurus this helps clear your mind. You see things clearer and have better understanding." Also a bigger dick I thought, but did not tell my wife that part.

"What is all that stuff on your head? Am I going crazy or are there bells on your toes? How many rings do you have on?"

"More mystic items. All of them will make us happier." I was grateful I decided to put on a pair of gym pants so she did not see the assortment of jewelry decorating my dick.

"Are you going thru midlife crisis? I did not expect that for twenty years."

"No, Dear. Just want to try something new."

"New or not, I want that stink stuff out of the house."

"First thing in the morning, Dear."

She did not talk about all the packages she carried with gifts from friends and family, but went to the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. It was not two seconds before it opened again. "Turn that racket you are playing off. I need to sleep." The door slammed once more.

I compromised. I turned the sound down, but not off. It must have worked because she did not open the door again.

I spent another two hours working at dick enhancement before all at once I became so sleepy I began to droop over to the floor. I used what little energy I had and slowly stumbled to the bedroom. I would clean up the place in the morning. My wife was already asleep and within ten seconds of laying my head on my pillow, I joined her.

Then I had a dream. I dreamed I heard screaming. The screaming grew louder as I woke up. Then I realized it was not a dream, but my wife sitting up beside me on the bed and screaming in terror. I reached for the pistol in my nightstand, believing a robber had broken in. I turned back to wife, gun in hand looking for the intruder.

Her eyes were wide open looking as if she saw a monster, but I saw she was looking at our bed. To be more specific, she was looking at my crotch. I followed her gaze and a yelp consisting of a combination of amazement and fear escaped from me.

For a split second I believed a snake had somehow crawled into the bed. Then I realized it was my dick. Son of a bitch, there was a sixteen inch prick connected to my balls, and I was not even erect. I froze in stunned amazement. My wife's shrieks continued. It must have been over a minute where the only movement from me was my chest expanding and contracting. The time came when I reached down a hand to see if this was real or if I was dreaming a dream within a dream.

It felt real. Both my hand and my new dick felt the touch. My hand could not wrap around it. I stretched my hand as wide as possible, my thumb on one side, pinky on the other. At most I only covered half the circumference.

At last my wife stopped her shouting. "Get out!" were the first words she said in celebration of my giant prick.

"Wait, look at the size of me now. I bet I have the biggest dick on the planet."

She repeated herself. "Get out. Now." She pointed at the new part of me and said, "Take that..." she paused for a moment, trying to come up with the appropriate word, "thing," she continued, "out of here and do not come back until it is gone."

"But Honey, don't you at least want to feel it?"

"I would not touch that with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole." She pointed to the door and repeated, "Out."

I stood up to get dressed, but stumbled forward and fell to the floor. The unaccustomed weight surprised me. I climbed back to my feet and put on my undies. Well, I tried to get them on, but no matter how I maneuvered or arranged myself, my dick stuck out. I had the option of letting it hang below my knee or placing it up against my stomach. I selected the stomach route. It stopped three inches above my nipples. I had a large baggy shirt I could wear and added a windbreaker I zipped up to help with the concealment.

I had no problem leaving. My wife held the door open for me. I was barely out before it slammed behind me. I heard her turn the padlock and slip the chain guard into its slot. Once in the car, my latest addition was shoved against the steering wheel. I had to slide the seat back another four inches before there was space between me and the vehicle.

It took me longer to get to the track than usual. My seat was far enough back my feet had difficulty reaching the pedals. I drove extra slow to avoid a crash. Behind me was the constant blare of horns from pissed off drivers. Each time one passed me, they threw angry glares at me. Many also tossed in a bird.

I made it just in time. Today was the weekly weigh in. Each week we weighed in so our official weight would be recorded. Odds makers and betters used that info to aid them in selecting the odds and making bets. For over two years I weighed in at a reliable one hundred ten pounds. There were shouts and gasps of amazement, along with a few groans, when I stepped on the scale this time.

"ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-EIGHT POUNDS!?" a trainer screamed as he looked at the scale. "How in hell did you gain eighteen pounds in a single week?"

"A new protein diet?" I suggested.

"Get off the diet and lose the weight. Get out of here and do not come back until you are back to your regular weight."

Great. Now I had a huge dick and no job. If I were to believe my wife I also had no place to live. I left the track wondering where I could go. Then it came to me. If there were internet sites telling how to get a bigger dick, then there should be internet sites telling how to get a smaller prick.

I drove to the library and hurried to the computer section. Fortunately for me, there was one seat still available. I typed in the search engine, 'how to get a smaller dick.' Nothing. The computer asked if I meant a bigger dick. When I entered the request again, all I got was 'No Results.' What the hell, I thought. You mean in the entire world, I'm the only one looking for a less impressive cock?

For close to an hour I entered all sorts of searches, using a variety of terms that came down to, 'How to shrink your dick.' It made no difference how I worded it, there was nothing to be found. I was about to give up when by chance I happened to glance at the computer next to me. It looked as if a college student was doing research on African customs. I got a quick glimpse of a screen before he moved on. It showed how certain tribes shrunk the heads of enemies slain in battle.

That was a possibility. I looked up 'head shrinking.' I was sad to learn the custom was no longer in practice. I looked at several sites before I came to a possible answer to my problem. Down in the Bayous of Louisiana was a shaman that shrunk heads. Now these were not human heads, but if you brought the head of a dog or cat or some animal, for an elaborate fee he would shrink it down. I headed to the airport. It was not a dog I would bring him, but what I brought would definitely have a head, just not the kind he would expect.

The flight to Louisiana was almost full. It seemed there was a lot of nuns traveling to Louisiana to take a tour of the churches and cathedrals. They had every seat booked except for first class. They did not want to spend the money for the first class ticket. First class however was almost empty. Only one seat had been sold. I bought a ticket and would travel at the front of the plane. Now there would be two passengers in first class. I told the ticket seller I had no baggage and hurried to where you had to walk thru the metal detectors and any carry-ons were examined. I had just stepped thru the metal detector when a Transportation Security Administration worker came to me. "For safety reasons, we are randomly patting down passengers. Please step over here."

A great fear grew in me with those words. I moved out of the line and stopped where the TSA agent pointed. I lifted my arms and he ran his hands over me. Everything was going good until he moved his hand along the middle of my windbreaker. "What is this?" he asked, running his hand up and down the length of my dick. He did not give me an opportunity to answer but instead called out to several agents around him, "This guy is hiding something under his shirt. It seems to be a large cylinder of some sorts."

Within five seconds there were a half a dozen agents around me. A couple of them had their hands on the butt of their pistols, just in case.

"Follow me," the one that patted me down ordered.

I was in the center of a group of agents that took me to a security room. The first thing they did was scan me head to toe with a metal detector. They paid special attention to the large bulge in my shirt. Not satisfied there was no warning buzz, they ordered me to remove my windbreaker. It came off and they searched it, but even while moving their hands all over it and scanning it once more, their main attention was on the bulge that still remained with me.

"It could be a chemical or biological device in a plastic container," one agent stated. "They could get one passed without the scanner finding it." They never said who 'They' were. He looked at me and asked, "Sir, give me your ID." I handed it to him and he said, "Is there anything you would like to tell us before we search you further? Any cooperation you give will be taken into consideration at a trial."

"It is not what you think," I said to him. "I have been," I paused looking for the appropriate word, "enhanced." I finally said.

"Okay, off with the shirt." All of them donned gas masks while they waited for me to strip.

When I undid the last button, my dick escaped. There were a series of shouts and gasps as it flopped out. One of the TSA agents pulled his pistol, ready to shoot.

"What the hell is that?" one of them shouted.

It took them about five seconds before reality began to dawn on them.

"Son of a bitch, it's his dick!" one of them explained to the others.

"It could be a trick," another said. "It could be an elaborate means of concealment."

They agreed that was a possibility. They pulled on it and tried to twist the top off. They worked at unscrewing it from my body. They pushed and pulled, twisted and spun. At any other time this treatment would have given just about anyone a boner, but my attention was primarily focused on the agent aiming his pistol between my eyes. Instead of hands on the dick I was concentrating on bullet in the head. At last they came to the conclusion it was a dick and not a transportation device for carrying harmful agents. Between their spurts of laughter, they apologized to me and let me redress. They took my picture and entered it in a bulletin they forwarded to every airport in the world so in the future this would not be a surprise for other agents. They freed me and I was permitted to hurry to the boarding gate. I looked back and saw them telling the story to other TSA agents and several passing stewardesses.

I reached the area at the right time. The boarding attendant called over the mic, "Now boarding all first class passengers." I hurried to her, got my boarding pass and moved on.

A tall beautiful redhead was directly behind me. I took my seat and she took the one across the aisle from me. We nodded to each other and buckled ourselves in. It was not long after that nuns by the hundreds passed as the rest of the passengers were allowed on.

About twenty minutes later the jet raced down the runway and soon we were airborne. It was just over a four hour trip to our destination. For the first two hours the flight attendants handed out sodas and food. The redheaded lady and I were the only two on board that ordered alcohol. Then they took up stations near the front of the plane and about every ten minutes one would make a journey down the passageway to see if anyone needed anything. There was only ninety minutes left until we landed when I saw the stewardesses huddled together and holding a little impromptu meeting. Several times they glanced my way. One of them held up her hands and spread them apart a couple of feet.