Eleven-and-a-half: A Fantasy Of Great Length by Ray Wilder Chapter 12: Flashback This is a work of fiction. All the characters, events and locations portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, events or locations is purely coincidental. Copyright © 1996. All rights, implicit or implied, except for distribution by this archive and personal use by the individual downloading the file, are reserved. Inquiries regarding publishing rights for this book should be directed to: raywild@aol.com ======================================== One day in the middle of June, at the end of Arnold's senior year, Mr. Ridell was standing at the entrance to the shower room with his basketball held firmly in front of his crotch while Arnold finished showering. Unlike every other day since the two of them had been teamed up, Mr. Ridell did not insist on Arnold's "clearing the pipes". In fact, he told Arnold that he wanted him to keep from masturbating until after their final work-out of the school year the following day. Arnold looked at him curiously, wondering what the man had planned. It had become an important part of their daily ritual and to skip it even once seemed inconceivable. The look on Mr. Ridell's face, though, reassured Arnold that it was in his own best interests, so Arnold agreed to comply, though not without certain misgivings. He couldn't remember the last time he had gone over twenty-four, much less forty-eight, hours without shooting his wad. Just the thought of it caused his cock to begin to rise. Mr. Ridell shook his head and told him he'd have to learn to control that monster sooner or later. Life outside this shower room was notoriously unsympathetic to a pair of swollen balls. He wasn't sure which was worse: the night time in bed, when all he had to do was run his hands up and down the massive shaft and a flood of cum juice would have poured out of the slit, or the following day when he had to be in class and every girl that walked by him, every guy who eyed him with envy, caused his cock to leap and struggle inside his pant leg. Waking that morning he found there was no way he was going to get into a pair of jockey shorts, his cock wouldn't tolerate being cooped up like that. He opted for a pair of boxer shorts and took an ace bandage and wrapped it around his mammoth penis to hold it against his leg. This lasted for a little while but the pressure of the bandage started to stimulate the cock and it grew thick and firm. Walking between first and second period classes proved to be an almost orgasmic experience so he ducked into the boys room and removed the ace. He took his cock and bent it around to the right, hoping that his boxer shorts would hold it in place. By fourth period it seemed half the school knew about his raging hard-on. Girls giggled or blushed, several actually got dizzy as he walked by. Boys who were familiar with his anatomy from gym class showers smiled smugly. He tried to carry his books in a way that would cover it up, but he didn't have that many books. None of this was really upsetting him, except for the fact that he couldn't cum, but he was afraid he might get in trouble if the vice-principal thought he was trying to cause confusion in the school or something. By the end of sixth period his over-active balls were starting to work and drops of seminal fluid leaked out of the end of his dick. A spot of wetness appeared on the side of his hip, just past the front pocket. By the end of eighth period, the final class of the day, he couldn't stand it anymore and excused himself from class, explaining to the teacher that "he wasn't feeling well." All the students who knew what was going on tried very hard to stifle a laugh as he walked out of the room, the outline of his cock quite obvious along his right hip. The teacher expressed his hope that Arnold would be feeling better real soon. Arnold made a bee-line for the boys room on the second floor and dumped his books on the sink on his way to one of the stalls. He struggled with his zipper and belt as he worked frantically to free his raging cock. His boxer shorts, where the head of his dick had spent a good portion of the day, were wet with his emissions. He pulled them down and his cock sprang forward in a joyous leap to freedom. He stood there with his jaw hanging down. He had spent a lot of time looking at and feeling this part of his body. He knew it very well. So when he saw the massive tool that extended from his lower abdomen after having been so cruelly neglected for the past two days, he almost didn't recognize it. The thing was larger than it had ever been before. The color was a much darker purple than he had ever seen it. It ached and throbbed. As he stood there looking, it bobbed up and down, reacting to the beating of his heart as more and more blood was pumped into the already swollen shaft. He gently grabbed and pulled it towards him to look at the head. It was so dark it was almost black. A trickle of pre-cum juice seeped out of the slit and the simple act of touching it seemed to increase the flow. He was afraid that something was wrong and didn't know what to do. He needed to cum very badly but wasn't sure if that was the cure or if it would just aggravate the situation. He decided that Mr. Ridell was the one to ask and, with great difficulty, stuffed his cock back into his shorts and pants, leaving his shirt untucked to cover the stain from the juices leaking from the end of his suffering organ. He grabbed his books off the sink and started for the door. As he was about to step out into the hallway the door opened and the vice-principal of the school stepped in. This man's mission in life was to try to get as many of the students as possible to dislike him at the same time. Usually he did this by lurking around the corridors during classes, attempting to catch the juvenile delinquents who dared to venture away from their assigned prisons without the appropriate documentation. His favorite busts were made in the boys and girls rooms, either of which he had no qualms about entering completely unannounced. His keen sixth sense had told him that something was afoot on the second floor and so he had struck out to investigate. His heart leapt with joy when he discovered his arch-enemy, the moron with the big muscles, hiding out in the second floor den of iniquity. The thing that made this big jerk so abhorrent to him was not that he did anything wrong, on the contrary, he could never catch the son-of-a-bitch in the act of miscreance, but that he seemed to be so squeaky clean there was no doubt in his mind that the big jerk was up to something. His grades were a solid B+, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that he cheated on tests; no one with a body like that could possibly maintain such a high average without cheating. His attendance record appeared to be near perfect, telling him that he was indeed a difficult truant to catch in the act. His personal marks were pretty much exemplary, indicating that he obviously intimidated his teachers (probably with threats of physical violence) into squelching reports of his misconduct. He couldn't find a single student who would speak ill of him so he obviously was the ringleader of all the other troublemakers in the school. All these things added up, in his mind, to a criminal of major proportions who, sooner or later, would make the fatal slip. And when that slip came, he would be there to nab him. Well, today was his lucky day. It took until the last day of the school year, but he had done it. He had caught the bastard and now he was going to make him pay for whatever wrong-doings he was presently involved with. The one item on the list of Arnold's faults which he didn't think about; the one thing which he couldn't bring himself to admit; the real reason this man held such a grudge against a student who had never involved himself in any type of mischief or misbehavior, was the fact that this lad possessed a cock which this poor, unloved, unappreciated, unrespected, under-endowed wart of a man coveted for his own with such a passion that all other reason and logic faded from the horizon. When he had attended this very same high school a decade and a half ago his minuscule penis had been the laughing stock of the shower room; that same shower room which Arnold daily baptized with a flood of cum issuing from his huge, rigid, ejaculating dick. The size of his genitals was, needless to say, nothing which he had control over; anymore than Arnold could have controlled the raging hard-on that currently wrapped its way around his waist. But boys could be cruel at that age and they had sensed his own feelings of inadequacy, stemming from a really fucked-up home life. They had fed on it, teasing him mercilessly until the boy turned inward and swore revenge upon all teenage boys who dared to possess genitals bigger than his own (meaning all teenage boys). It was unfortunate that this ruined, bitter man was so blinded by his envy of Arnold's genitals because they actually had a great deal in common, aside from their obvious physical differences. Arnold's advantage was that he had been able, through the efforts of Mr. Ridell, to turn an extremely negative homelife experience into a positive one of growth and self-improvement. Had this man had the same advantages, he might now be a successful businessman in the community, a role he had dreamed of playing. His feelings of inadequacy, about his cock and himself, had bled over into the rest of his life. As a result he had convinced himself not to aspire to anything which would put him in direct competition with the well-hung world. Acting on instincts which had been honed over the past decade of bathroom patrol, he pushed Arnold back into the bathroom and did a quick search of all the stalls, sniffing and snooping. There didn't seem to be any lingering smell of cigarette or pot smoke. He then turned to Arnold and told him to put his books on the sink. Arnold complied, knowing that to resist now would only cause the man to become more adamant and vicious. Arnold was curious as to what the man thought was the matter as he picked up his notebook and started paging through it, becoming more aggravated as he turned page after page of notes and homework. There had to be something in here that warranted the death sentence, it was just a matter of finding it. After several minutes of futile rummaging he slammed the notebook shut and turned his gaze upon Arnold. He noticed that the boy's shirt was uncharacteristically untucked. Perhaps he was hiding something in his pocket that was not meant to be seen. That thought, along with the fact that he had smelled no smoke of any kind, lead his brilliant, finely honed instincts to conclude the lad was obviously snorting coke. He reached for the boy's shirt tail and started to raise it. Arnold cringed in horror. The last thing he wanted was to have this man looking at his erection. He knew nothing of the jealousy this man held for his cock, he just didn't want to have to explain its present state. The vice-principal sensed the boy's reaction to his curiosity and knew that he was, indeed, on the right path. He raised the shirt tail and saw the bulge running under the fabric of the boy's pants. Under other circumstances he probably would not have mistaken that bulge for anything else than what it really was. But in the past fifteen seconds he had so convinced himself that the boy was a major cocaine dealer the more obvious answer completely alluded him. That was obviously a kilo-and-a-half of cocaine stuffed in the boy's pants and he was about to make the biggest bust of his career. Not having the slightest idea what was on the little man's mind, Arnold was completely befuddled by the man's reaction to the sight of his erection. The Vice-principal was downright ecstatic. In fact, Arnold had never known anyone to be so overjoyed (in a cruel, glorious way) to see his cock in such a state. He became even more confused when he was told to "take that out of" his pants. He looked in disbelief as the man told him to "hand it over". In fact, it made so little sense that he didn't immediately comply. The older man took this to be the ultimate admission of guilt and, in a rare show of physical bravado, spun the boy around and pushed him into the adjacent stall. Arnold put his hands out to catch himself before tripping into the toilet. He was still confused as to the man's intentions when he suddenly felt a hand reach around in front and start to undo his belt. Still being relatively naive about the ways of the world, it never occurred to Arnold that he was being raped. It never occurred to Arnold that he was being busted. The only thing he knew was that this man wanted to see his cock and wanted to do it himself. Arnold passively complied. With Arnold's belt unfastened and the top snap of his jeans undone, the man pulled down the zipper and reached into the waistband of the boy's boxer shorts. He truly was expecting to come up with a large stash of cocaine and so completely disregarded the evidence his sense of touch was sending to his brain. He had the kilo-and-a-half in his hands and he yanked it out into the open. Arnold screamed loudly as the man jerked his over-sensitive cock out of his pants and forced him to turn around. The man thought this move was one of aggression and prepared to defend himself. He bent down, maintaining a low profile just as he had seen on that cop show on television, and prepared to strike out with his foot. As he focused on his intended target the reality of what he had pulled out of the boy's pants slowly became apparent to him. Dangling from the open fly of his adversary's pants was the one thing in the world he coveted most: A cock big enough to make him President of the Chamber of Commerce. He crumpled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Arnold jammed his cock back into his pants, zipped up his fly and grabbed his books. He started out the door, but then turned back to the puddle of inferiority lying on the tiles of the second floor bathroom. "Is there anything I can get you, sir?" he asked. The response was a long, mournful wail that sent a shiver up his spine. Arnold walked out into the hall, happy that no one saw him, and headed for the gym office. He hoped Mr. Ridell would be the veritable fount of wisdom he usually was. He certainly had an awful lot of questions that needed answering. The most immediate one, of course, was what to do about the condition of his aching dick. Amazingly enough, through all that had transpired up on the second floor, his cock had not been the least distracted from its preoccupation with being stiff as an iron rod.