The apartment was always loud. Too loud for four grown men who pretended there was no chemistry between us. I was sitting on the couch, shirtless, my legs spread out comfortably. Nick had just walked through the living room wearing nothing but a towel, his hair wet, his chest still damp from the shower. Jason threw a pillow at him, laughing like an idiot.
"Seriously, Nick, put something on already," he snorted. "Matt's going to start checking you out any minute now."
I didn't deny it. I didn't even flinch.
Jack was sitting across from us. Calm. Quiet. His T-shirt hugged his chest perfectly, his pants sat low on his hips. He was always like that, present, but somehow distant. And that's exactly why Jason couldn't help himself.
"Hey, did you guys hear that?" he blurted out suddenly. "Apparently Jack has a tiny one. That's why he's so quiet."
Nick burst out laughing. I didn't. I looked at Jack. For a second, his jaw tensed. That was all.
"It's bullshit," he said calmly. "You don't know the truth."
The silence was thick. Jason tried to add something else, but Jack had already stood up. He walked past the couch. I could smell him, feel the warmth of his body. He didn't even look at me.
The door to his room closed without a slam. It was worse than a slam.
Nick shrugged.
"Hey, chill, it's just a joke."
But I was already getting up. Something inside me had snapped. Not curiosity. Something deeper. I knew it wasn't a joke to Jack. And I knew it wasn't over yet.
I followed him.
I stopped at his door. It wasn't locked. Just ajar. I knocked lightly, once.
"Jack?" I asked quietly.
Nothing. Silence. I pushed the door open.
He was lying on the bed, hands behind his head, still in the same T-shirt, but without his shoes. His gaze fixed on the ceiling. I stepped inside carefully. I closed the door behind me.
"Don't worry about it," I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Jason's an idiot. Everyone knows he talks shit."
Jack glanced at me sideways. His eyes were calm, but the tension in his body gave him away.
"It's not about him," he said quietly. "It's that I'm pissed off because… because the truth is completely different."
He propped himself up on his elbows and looked me straight in the eyes. I could feel the temperature in the room rising.
"You think they made that up?" I asked.
Jack didn't answer right away. He slid his legs off the bed. He sat down across from me. The distance between us: maybe half a meter. I could feel his heat. His tension. His resolve.
"Yeah," he said firmly. "And maybe it’s time someone finally saw what the truth looks like."
Before I could react, he stood up, unbuttoned his pants. The movement was calm, confident. No rush, no shame. He slid them down and let them fall to his thighs.
I didn't get a chance to say anything.
I didn't have to.
Because the truth came to the surface. And it silenced me immediately.
I froze.
Not dramatically. Not exaggeratedly. My brain simply stopped keeping up with what my eyes were seeing for a second.
It wasn't "tiny."
It was a monster.
Jack's cock hung heavy, thick at the base, massive along its entire length, slightly raised as if it were already reacting to the mere fact that someone was finally looking. Semi-erect, but one that still looked bigger than the full erections of most guys I'd seen in my life. The skin was taut, the veins prominent, pulsing lazily. The head was darker, full, as if it were about to swell even more.
"Fuck…" slipped out before I could stop myself.
Jack didn't smile broadly. He didn't look smug. He just looked at me intently, as if gauging my reaction. As if he wanted to make sure I saw.
"The guys were wrong," I said quietly. "Very wrong."
He reached for the nightstand. He opened it. He took out a measuring tape. A plain plastic one, the kind you'd keep in a drawer and never think twice about. He handed it to me without a word.
"Here," he said calmly. "Measure it. And stop staring like you've seen a ghost."
I swallowed. My fingers trembled slightly as I took the measuring tape. I sat closer. Too close for a casual conversation. His cock was right in front of me, at the height of my hand. I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
I placed the tape at the base and slid it up slowly, inch by inch.
"Seven and a half inches…" I said aloud.
Jack just nodded. As if it were technical information. As if he were waiting for something more.
I felt shame. And excitement. It's a strange combination when you know you're crossing a line, but your body says: go further.
"And now..." Jack said, looking me straight in the eyes. "If you want, wrap your hand around it."
I thought: I'd love to.
And before my brain had a chance to protest, my hand was already on it.
My hand wrapped around him carefully. I felt how tight the skin was under my fingers, hot, almost slick from body heat. He was heavy, as if his size demanded gravity and had to fight against it. He didn't fit in my hand. My fingers couldn't fully close around the shaft. He was too thick. Too wide.
It pulsed. I could feel it clearly. Every heartbeat echoed in it, steady, deep, faster and faster. The head became more swollen, darker, moist at the tip.
Jack wasn't looking at me anymore. He leaned back slightly, resting his hands behind him on the bed, his hips shifted forward, as if giving me more access, more room. His abdominal muscles twitched. And then he did something that surprised me.
He started moving his hips. Slowly, calmly. His cock sliding in my still hand. I didn't have to do anything. He was the one fucking me. Slowly. With focus.
I watched his lower abdomen tense. How every movement looked as if it were just the beginning of something bigger.
"I like this," he murmured low, almost to himself. "Do you?"
I looked into his eyes. They were dark, focused, intense. Without shame. Without asking for permission. As if we'd already done this a million times.
"Me too. Very much so," I answered, my voice lower, rougher, as if my body had already started losing control.
I didn't pull my hand away. I let him fuck my hand, faster and faster, harder and harder. I could feel him tensing up, how every movement became heavier, more desperate. As if his body was deciding on its own that it needed more.
And honestly? I wanted it too.
His hips sped up. There was no more slow dance, no more feigned control. Now there was only tension, raw, hot, growing with every second. I could feel his cock pulsing harder and harder in my hand, as if it were about to explode.
Jack suddenly grabbed my wrist with both hands. Tightly, as if he needed something to hold onto. As if that was the only thing that could keep him in check.
He let out a quiet, broken groan.
And then it happened.
He shot.
Hot cum hit my fingers, my palm, spilling across my palm and over my knuckles. It wouldn't stop. Stream after stream, pouring, heavy, copious. I felt something strange welling up inside me, not just arousal, but something more primal. As if I'd received something intimate, raw, real.
Jack leaned forward slightly, breathing heavily. His cock was still throbbing, lazily, as if it were still trying to squeeze something out of itself.
He looked me straight in the eyes.
He was still holding my hand, soaked with his cum.
"Do you think they'll keep laughing?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.
I looked at his face, then at my hand. I felt my throat tighten with excitement.
"No," I replied. "Now they'll be jealous."
I didn't wipe my hand. Not yet. I wanted to feel it a little longer. I wanted… more.
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