by Doc King
The Chronicles of Enhanced Males
Part One: Living Enlarged
- Smashword Edition -
Published by Doc King at Smashwords
Copyright © 2015, by Doc King All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Foreword
What is power?Is it money? Social status? Career? Family? Sex?
Whatever answer you pick, you’re not wrong. However, whatever answer you pick, you’re not right, either.Power is not a one-way street. It is a synergy of different factors, intertwined, complementary, which merge into a superstreet that can either be the Stairway to Heaven or the Highway to Hell. Most of the time, it’s both.
Of course, different people have different needs, and the relative proportion of individual factors we use to measure power varies from one person to another. For some, career is the key factor that makes them feel powerful; for others, it’s money; and finally, there are those who measure power by the number of sexual partners they’ve had. It is all relative and susceptible to discussion and analysis, but I’m afraid I’d go too far, trying to explain every little detail.
Besides, since the very beginning of mankind, people have strived to find answers to numerous questions about the essence, being, and other matters that human existence relies on, including the matter of power.
Likewise, I have spent my entire 36-year-long career trying to answer miscellaneous questions dealing with the essentials: “Who are we?”, “What are we?”, and “Where are we going?”
What is the force driving us forward?
Power?
Could be. But, what kind of power? What forces underlie it?
I’m Dr King, a psychotherapist, and I specialize in behavioral therapy and psychoanalysis. I’ve had over 2500 clients. My main field of expertise and the focus of my work is the theory of the evolution of libido, within which I have developed various methods for overcoming various problems. Throughout my career, I have encountered many cases in which problems were often caused by deficits in self-awareness, self-confidence, and valuing one’s own capacities and achievements. Or, to put it simply, the problems stemmed from the deficit in power.
Over the years of working as a therapist, I have devised the so-called, “mirror technique”, whose goal is to make the patients see themselves where they currently are, and, by the end of therapy, realize who they really are, leaving my office as better, more self-confident, and more successful people.
I have triumphantly applied this technique in almost 95% of the cases. Numerous colleagues have been talking me into writing a book about this technique, to patent it, so to speak, and profit from it. However, I’m one of those people for whom money doesn’t rate high on the list of power factors. I was happy just having my patients come to me and leave my office satisfied.
So, what made me decide to write this book?
Throughout my long career, mostly men have been turning to me, looking for help, and one could notice a sort of a pattern in the sample. The root of their problems was more or less the same. It was sex that was stopping them from reaching their true selves and their full capacities. This pattern inspired me to perfect my methods in the field of sexual therapy, so I could help my patients more adequately.
Numerous sexual dysfunctions, such as inability to achieve an erection, premature ejaculation, or inability to climax, were main reasons why my patients decided to turn to me for help. Sexual dysfunction pushed them towards anxiety, depression, and into a vicious circle they couldn’t break.
One of the most frequent problems my patients spoke of was inadequate size of the sex organ. They are not alone in this; it is the problem most men suffer from in the contemporary world, where power is directly proportional to the size of the penis.
Self-confidence induced by a large penis is the key to success in life, be it sex, love, or work. It’s easier to find a partner, a job, or achieve success of any kind if your body language exudes self-confidence resulting from the size of your sex organ. True, statistics have shown that the danger of catching an STD and dying in consequence is greater as well. This book will also deal with the problems of men whose penis is large or too large.
Now try imagining how, for some people, everything is diametrically opposite because their penis is too small. It is harder for them to approach persons of the opposite sex, because they know that it is just another failure waiting to happen. Other people will get the jobs they want, because during the job interviews, their body language, impeded by the size of their penis, shows the employer how anxious and insecure they really are.
In treating this problem, therapists most frequently resort to the traditional approach, explaining their patients that they have no choice but to be themselves, and founding their therapeutic approach on the efforts to make the patients happy with what they’ve got.
My approach goes one step further, because I wasn’t satisfied with the results that basically summed up to pulling the wool over everybody’s eyes. What we were solving were mere fragments, while the real problem remained unsolved.
I decided to explore unconventional methods that could help my patients solve their problems. At first, I suggested using auxiliary methods, such as vacuum erection devices, so they could begin by eliminating at least one problem on the psychological level.
But this merely solved the temporary problem of achieving an erection, not the problem of permanent penis enlargement.
On one of my travels, I met a cultural anthropologist who was then conducting a research in an African tribe that exercised a ritual of penis enlargement. In their value system, penis size was a characteristic of every grown man that had to take part in the ritual. My trained eye couldn’t overlook the data in his report showing that the average penis size in that tribe was significantly greater than that in the rest of the world. The anthropologist had an interesting collection of research on penis size in other tribes around the globe, and I focused on those that had the largest average values. Taking further interest in those tribes, I discovered that what they all had in common were penis enlargement rituals. The rituals in question revealed an ancient technique which, if applied properly, resulted in permanent enlargement of erectile tissue.
I decided to approach a couple of my patients with the proposition that they could, apart from attending our sessions, try doing penis enlargement exercises at home, in accordance with the clearly defined instructions, and we would record the progress together.
This was a rather risky step to take, since I could have been labeled as a charlatan by many, which would result in my losing both my current and my future patients.
At first, we were equally skeptical, both my patients and I. But, as time passed, the results began to show, first in terms of enlargement (in some patients, noticeable in a matter of just a couple of months), and then, consequently, in terms of life changes. Changes for the better. My pa
tients became more self-confident, more self-aware, and significantly more extrovert; they advanced both professionally and romantically.
It was truly eye-opening, no matter how rough it might sound, that size really does matter. With larger penis came greater happiness for my patients.
We recorded their progress together, in the form of notes and audio diaries, created based on a series of conversations. I tried to make the conversations, although taking place in formal sessions, more casual than that in the standard sessions. I asked them to be open and detailed in their descriptions, and that is exactly what we had achieved.
Later on, while listening to the conversations and reading the notes, I realized that, by virtue of this casual form and the quantity and quality of information thus obtained, many people could benefit, since it was a simple way for them to recognize the extents of the change that had occurred. I entertained the idea of publishing the results in a series of books.
I contacted the patients that had participated in the application of this method, so I could ask for their permission to publish the collected material. I was shocked when a few of them explicitly demanded that I use their real names in the book, which I, of course, refused to do, in accordance with the legal and moral code of every respectable therapist.
- Ok, then at least don’t sugar-coat it. Let the people see, hear, and feel the real truth. – they would most often add.
Needless to say that most of them agreed to participate in the project, which is why this book includes the experiences of all those men who have agreed to share their stories with the readers.
I’m telling this story in their words. No censorship or sugar-coating.
All pieces of information in this book are published in agreement with the patients. The names of the persons, institutions, and locations have been altered for the purpose of preserving their discretion and privacy. Some of the original names have remained unchanged for the purpose of authenticity.
Any resemblance to real persons or institutions is purely coincidental.
Part One: Living Enlarged
I open my eyes. Daylight is shining through the curtains. Burning sun is multiplying my headache by ten. Last night’s alcohol mixing and pulsating in the synapses. Beer, vodka, tequila, a margarita pool with a waterslide, maybe even the filthy water from the cleaning lady’s bucket. Nothing out of the ordinary; Sunday is the best day for getting wasted. Sunday has that edge other days of the weekend lack. The edge you go stumbling along, knowing that you’ll most certainly fall off the thing. Fall straight into Monday, which strikes your head like a hammer and leaves you squirming like a worm in search of an aspirin.
Where am I, anyway?
I try to sit up. Who followed me on my Sunday adventure? I have rarely been a lone ranger. My eyes land on a sun-kissed ass on the right side of the bed. The best I’ve ever seen. I come closer. It’s round like a melon and sprinkled with golden hair visible only in broad daylight. Two dimples of Venus in the small of her back. Her skin smells like some sweet pastry. If Heaven exists, there isn’t a shadow of a doubt that this is what it’s supposed to look like. I run my fingers across her skin. Slide up her back. The owner of the round perfection shifts gently. My touch rouses her from her sleep. That’s when I catch a glimpse of the clock beside her head.
- Fucking shit!
It’s 8:22 a.m. I’ve got no more than 38 minutes to get to work. I jump out of bed. Look for clothes. One of my socks is in the middle of the room, the other one under the bed. Where are the pants? I find them on the sofa, under the shirt. Everything’s all wrinkled, as if I just pulled it out of the dryer. I see a stain on the left shirt pocket. I cover it up with my jacket. The erection makes it impossible to zip up my pants. Maybe I could cover it up with my jacket as well. I hop around like a kangaroo in heat as I put on the sock.
- Shit!
It’s 8:25.
-Have you got an aspirin? – I ask my last night’s hostess.
-Mhmm... – she mumbles and turns towards me.
The covers slide down, baring her breasts. Perfect, just like her face. Her right cheek is blushed. A pillow scar across it. She doesn’t open her eyes.
- Where is it? – I ask her.
- I haven’t got any... – she mumbles again.
- What do you mean, you haven’t got any? You just said...
- I’ve got coke... – she waves her hand, pointing towards the bathroom.
- Fuck...
I run into the hall. What floor is this? I call the elevator and it takes it forever to come up. I get in and press the first floor button five times.
- Come on already...
The doors close. The elevator begins to rise with a slight shudder.
- What the...?
It stops on the twelfth. The doors slide to the side. In front of the elevator, there is an older lady, looking at me with distrust. Keeping her eyes on me the whole time, she walks inside. Although the circle around the first floor button is flashing bright red, she pushes it once again. Just in case.
My pants feel tight around the crotch. I realize that I’m still standing there with an erection. Just great. It might as well spring out of the pocket and wink at the granny. I pull my jacket over the thing, but the woman won’t stop staring at me, from head to toe. It’s getting claustrophobic in the elevator as we descend. It feels like forever.
Ding. First floor. Finally.
Decisions we make shape the path of our life. The buttons we press, the doors we enter change us for better or worse. Most of the time we make those decisions by ourselves. Sometimes, others make them in our behalf. Could my life be better if I made different choice is the question we ask ourselves all the time. What would happen if elevator took Mark on seventh or ninth floor instead of twelfth? Would this turn of events change his day and life? Explore this possibility in Author's Cuts 1 and 2.
Leave your email address and download our Special package, including 1st episode and 3 Author's Cuts for FREE on author's website.
I run out of the elevator, out of the building, and straight into the street. I’m welcomed by the sound of car sirens and the bustling crowd. This city never sleeps. The hangover is back and it’s ready to knock me down. The uppercut and the double hook. Crushing my skull like an iron fist. I keep one hand on my forehead, and the other one in the air. The taxi drivers ignore me. I guess it’s no wonder, if my looks match the state I’m in. I didn’t even get a chance to look at myself in the mirror. I suppose that a pile of shit would be the most apt description of my appearance. A pile of shit in a 3000 dollar suit.
- Taxi!
One of them finally stops.
- ThinkBean. And hurry, please.
When your day starts with a rush and being late, it’s dumb to expect that it will continue with a green wave and empty streets. It seems that everyone who owns a car has decided that today is the day to hit the streets. I’ve been working at the ThinkBean for five years now, and I have never been late to work. The driver does his best to make sure that I don’t break the winning streak, but it’s no use. I leave him a tip and run up the stairs and into the elevator at 9:05. Luckily, it is empty and fast.
I hurry down the hall, hoping that no one will notice that I’ve just entered the building. I’m one step away from the office.
- Overslept again, did we?
I hear the kittenish voice behind my back. I turn around and smile.
- Laura.
- That’s why it’s not good to sleep alone. No one to wake you. Right?
She gives a throaty laugh. Laura, my secretary.
- Has anyone noticed that I’m late?
- No. But you have to see Angela at 9:30. Have you been a bad boy? Or does the old hag want you to be?
She laughs again and instantly puts her hand on her mouth, looking around to see if someone’s listening. I like her silly little flirtatious jokes.
- Could you get me two aspirins? And a coffee?
- Oh, it’s been a wild n
ight after all?
- Something like that. – I wink mysteriously and shut the door.
The desk is tidy. I’m not one of those people who have to check ten times if they’ve locked the door and turned off the stove, but my desk has to be in meticulous order. No paperclip may stick out. The files are neatly arranged. That’s discipline. I wouldn’t be where I am today if there weren’t for discipline. I take a look at the time. 9:12. I can squeeze in a jelqing session before my meeting with Angela. I didn’t get a chance to do one yesterday, and dedication is really important in this matter. Another segment of my everyday life where I show Spartan discipline.
I meet Laura at the door and she’s carrying my coffee and aspirin. I take the tablet and just swallow it. The coffee’s still hot.
- Leave it on the desk. I’ll be right back.
I slide down the hall and into the men’s room. It’s freshly cleaned. Vanilla scent. I hear the silent, monotonous buzz of the vents. All stalls are free. I lock myself up in one of the stalls and drop my pants below my knees. My buddy down there is asleep, and I need it wide awake for this. I slap it against the thigh a few times. Nothing, it doesn’t respond. I think of this morning’s lovely croissant butt. It does the trick. That’s right, up you go.
I grab it firmly with the thumb and forefinger of my left hand, making an OK sign around the base. I make another OK sign with my right hand, right above the left, and slide my hand up, slowly, counting to myself: 1, 2, 3. As soon as my right hand reaches the glans, I start sliding my left hand upwards. I place the right OK around the base and repeat the motion. 1, 2, 3. Slowly and firmly. One hand, and then the other.
