The Size Anthology

by KT Morrison

  It had been a long day at work and he was still feeling his way around his new job. He worked hard but he never knew when he was giving enough; or too much, maybe if you worked too hard it meant you weren’t working smart enough. He just wanted to make an impression.

  He was at home at the gym, that was for sure. He knew when he was giving it enough there—or not enough. Troy and Emma moved out here to Texas when he’d got the new job, and they got that little twenty-two hundred square foot ranch in a mid-century subdivision. It felt like a neighbourhood from a different time. And it was a great school district. Emma loved it, and he loved coming home and seeing her in her homemaker routine, how she took to it. She graduated same year as him in Architecture, and she had a head for that stuff. But right now what she wanted more than to be an architect was kids. Lots of them. To raise a good old-fashioned Christian family. This was an exciting time. Late at night he’d lay in bed and he couldn’t sleep. He felt electric. He couldn’t be luckier. He’d scored this great job, he had his sweet smart Emma, everything was on track and their future looked more promising than he’d even hoped.

  And his Emma: the only girl for him. Ever. The only girl to get him. To not be disappointed in what they found in his underwear. And to not think he was weird when he asked for something that tickled his darkest thoughts. Who would have known she could be like that. His little Georgia Peach. Prim and proper. Prided herself on manners—on being a lady. But she’d turned out to be a real devil in the sack. He never would have imagined that when he met her. She was so sweet on the outside, who could have known there would be so much going on under that plain and proper presentation. He could be anywhere at anytime and think about her and his heart would swell up, his eyes would get watery. He was the luckiest guy he knew.

  He nodded to Brett, the gym owner, as he walked past with his clipboard. This was a big glossy place, with bright lights and a pounding soundtrack, not really his style. But one-fifth of the place was a legitimate set up. Brett was a former powerlifter and College ball player and he didn’t ignore true strength trainers even while the majority of the business was middle-aged guys and girls trying to get the train back on the tracks. They were the ones who were keeping his lights on though, he figured.

  He tightened up his belt, sucking himself in and squeezing the pins into the holes just past the worn, stretched set that they were used to. He was down ten pounds. Hard work when you had a wife that liked to stay at home and cook all day. But he was looking really good and he knew it. He loved when Emma’s eyes would light up when she touched him. He was lean enough now that the veins stood out in his groin and up into his abs. Emma would run her tongue down them, follow them down to his pecker and then put her mouth over him.

  He walked the bar out, five-eighty-five bent over his shoulders. He dropped down, gave it three good, deep reps. He liked giving up the wrestling, giving it up and just doing the strength training. Didn’t miss the sore neck, the joint pain, or the worst: that feeling when you were cutting weight. That hazy, distant, foggy mind. The dry, cracked lips, the mindless shuffle. He was at his leanest right now that he’d ever been but he was bright-eyed and strong, getting up numbers that were the highest he’d ever had. His squat and deadlift were in the six-hundreds, his bench high four-hundred. These days what drove him in the gym was thinking about his wife. He used to do this so he could throw around other men who were in the two-hundreds, now he was doing it so he could lift his hundred pound wife. Lift her with one hand and make her squeal. She loved that. Loved being a feather in his grip. It made him feel like a man. They’d watch themselves in the mirrored closet door, he would stand and hold her hips and he would lift and raise her on himself, just the strength of his forearms and wrists enough to move her.

  He kept his heaviest workouts the shortest—worked out today because he wanted to get home and get himself ready for the party tomorrow. He wanted to kiss his Emma, watch an hour of TV and then hit the hay for a solid nine hours. They had to be up early for the drive out to Abilene. He dropped plates off the bar and left it at three-fifteen. He ground out twenty-five reps, slow and steady and that was going to be a wrap for today.

  Troy got himself into the locker room and took his stuff off. He looked around before he pulled his underpants down. Twenty-five years old and he was still that little twelve year old boy sometimes. Looking around back then, seeing everyone else’s getting bigger and hairier, wondering when his was going to start. Only it never really did.

  He covered himself up and walked past some other guys, got himself to the showers with his towel held in front of himself, covering it. There were two already in there, and he checked them out. One pretty normal sized one, and another guy that had one that looked kind of big. He looked away before anyone caught him. He got to the stall, still covering himself, started up the spray and turned himself to the wall while he hung the towel up. He got it hot enough and showered himself up, making it quick.

  He’d been in locker rooms thousands of times. From High School, the State Championships, to College, where he wrestled Division 1. He always seemed like he was the smallest one. He’d check the other guys out like it was a sickness. Seeking out some vindication, trying to find someone who he was bigger than. He never did. What he did see frequently, and it killed him when he did, were those guys on the other end of the scale. Guys with really big fat ones that hung down, touched their legs when they walked.

  Any one of them could have been a guy who would sleep with your girl or had slept with her somewhere in her past. And when you were the smallest guy around it killed you to know your girl was with a guy maybe one time that had a real piece between his legs. That she would have played with one that swung around, not one that jiggled when you walked. She could have had one in her hands that she couldn’t get her fingers around, she could have had one inside her that made her gasp. Almost every girl he figured, worried, had been with one boy who had a penis she would tell her friends about. Your girl would have to think about those times when you had your tiny little thing inside her. The disparity was so great she couldn’t not notice it. That’s why Emma was worth a billion dollars.

  She never cared, right from the beginning, that his erection was only four and a quarter by four and a half. She didn’t laugh, chuckle or say aww the first time she’d seen it. She felt him inside her and he felt her tight too. Some girls had laughed. One even once sighed and she just got up and left without saying a word. That was maybe the worst. No, that was the second worst. That was in his first year at university. There were girls like that out there, girls that didn’t care about your feelings. He’d never, ever hit a girl, but sometimes he wouldn’t mind if a bad one thought he’d might.

  Like Jen Dawson. She was the worst. The first time his heart had been broken. He loved her like the way you do when the feeling is new when you’re a kid and that love is all you ever think about. He lost his virginity with her but she’d been with other boys. They were together a whole half a school year. Then she slept with this tall boy who just moved to town. He got popular real fast and he was on the basketball team. Joey Miller, who wrestled at one-eighty, told him he saw Jen and this new kid together at Chuck Kilpatrick’s party and he said they went upstairs together. He confronted her about it, trembling as he spoke and she cried and admitted it. He ran off and left her. Hoping she would drown in her shame. He knew he'd come back to her—he left her because he wanted to hurt her back. They got back together and it was so hard for him. He wanted to be with her but all he could see in her face was someone who couldn’t be trusted. Someone who held his innocence, his trust, but she didn’t care for it, didn’t respect it. She didn’t know how vulnerable he was. Then he saw a text she’d sent to some of her friends saying how big this other kid’s penis was. Served him right for snooping through her phone while she was in the bathroom at the cinema. She told them all how small Troy was. She was laughing that it was true about going black. She was never going back. They all laughed. Laughe
d at him and his misfortune.

  He’d had other girlfriends who stayed a while. Mostly for his body. Three long relationships that lasted for months. But he was really self-conscious about his size and tried to talk about it with them. That’s how he discovered he liked hearing about other experiences from girls that he had feelings for. He’d talk honestly about his feelings, ask them, Was he pleasing them enough, was he too small? They’d reassure him, tell him it was okay. Then eventually they’d mention other guys, and he couldn’t help it—he’d ask them how he compared. When they told him it drove him wild. He was so embarrassed by it though. He’d try and steer them that way, make them talk about it while they were making love but it seemed to freak them out. They’d all left him. Good for them; made way for his Emma.

  He put his towel around his waist and made it back to his locker. He always kept himself covered. Nobody would say anything to him now. Not any man at least. That locker room shame when he was a kid probably had a little something to do with him becoming the behemoth that he was. They made fun of him in Grade Nine and Ten, but by Grade Eleven that stopped. Nobody said a thing any more. He was sixteen and he was benching three-fifty. Problem was no one said anything to your face, but they loved to say it behind your back. All the kids at school heard the rumour that the beast on the wrestling team had a tiny pecker. All the girls knew. Sometimes he’d meet a girl and she’d ask him right at a party or wherever: Is what they say true? Is it really that small? Maybe they still would have been with him, but hearing something like that just took the wind out of his sails. Sent him home.

  2

  When he got home he found her in the kitchen. She was decorating the cake that she’d made for the house-warming. He watched her from the hall as he took his shoes off and put on his slippers. She had a pastry bag and she was making chocolate designs around the lip of the caramel covered cake sitting on its porcelain stand. She looked over her shoulder at him, gave him a sultry sort of naughty look. She could be like this sometimes. Letting him know she wanted it. He could feel his pulse jump. He didn’t expect to come home to this.

  “I didn’t expect you home so soon,” she said. She acted like she was trying to hide from him what she was doing on the high marble kitchen counter. She looked so pretty. Her ginger hair shining, almost blonde in some spots where the low sunlight coming in through the kitchen window lit it up. She had a long and light floral dress on, buttoned right up, short little bloused sleeves with a cuff that ended up high by her shoulder. The only thing bare was her ankles and her long alabaster arms, a thin little leather watch around her wrist.

  He walked into the kitchen, he kept his face stern, waiting to see where she would take this. She turned to him, hid the cake behind her, blocked it from his view. She folded her arms across herself, clutched at the collar of her dress, protecting herself from her brute of a husband.

  “I hope you’re not upset with me,” she said, playing up her Southern drawl.

  He strode to her, loomed over her, pinned her against the kitchen counter putting an arm on either side of her. She leaned back, made herself seem frightful. “What have you done?” he asked her.

  “I know you told me not to, but I just had to bake this cake,” she said, then bit her lip, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

  “Let me see it.”

  She winced, then got herself to the side so he could see around her. He looked at it. It was beautiful of course, a work of art. She’d written the names of his friend and his wife in her pretty handwriting across the top in chocolate frosting. Welcome to your new home.

  “What are we going to do with you?”

  She thought a moment, looked at him with her head tilted. She said, “I hope whatever you do you don’t spank my little bottom.”

  He moved his right arm slowly behind her, he gripped her firm little butt cheek and she gasped.

  “Please go easy on me, daddy.”

  He threw her up over his shoulder effortlessly with one hand and she shrieked with a laugh.

  “Please, I’ll listen next time, I just couldn’t let us go there with empty hands,” her voice gasping to the hall behind him as he marched her into the family room.

  He got her off his shoulder, spun her around face down with one palm spread across her chest, the other between her legs as he sat on his leather chair and placed her over his knee.

  “If I tell you not to bake a cake what should you do?”

  She put her arms behind her back and covered her rump. She was bent over his knee, her butt turned up to him, her pretty bare feet folded together resting on the arm of the chair. He noticed how clean the soles of her feet were; she kept the place immaculate. “Not bake a cake,” she said, quiet, high at the end, like it was a question.

  Her fingers pulled at the fabric of the dress’s skirt, inching it up to her, bringing the hem of it into her hand. “Why, I guess I asked for it didn’t I, daddy?” she said as she peeled the skirt up over her rump. She pulled it up and over, slowly revealing her bare bottom to him. She wasn’t wearing panties. He wondered how long she’d been thinking about this today.

  “I hate to do this to you, honey. It hurts me more than it hurts you,” he said. He patted her firm cheek, watched the slight jiggle. Her skin was white and pure as could be.

  “I know it does, sugar. Don’t blame yourself, it was me that brought this to—”

  He slapped her hard across her bare ass, right across both cheeks. It made her jump and she cried out. He did it again just across one cheek this time, watched her flesh shake.

  “What’s it going to take for you to learn?”

  “I don’t know, honey-pie,” she said, then looked over her shoulder at him, making a mean face, “I still feel like baking a cake.”

  He slapped her again, did it three times quick, she yelped out, breathy, each time. He smoothed his hand over her flesh, soothing her. Her white ass showing red hand marks across it.

  He squeezed and coddled them, admiring his wife’s fine little body bent over him. He slid a finger between her cheeks, let it find its way down between her legs. She was hot and she was very damp.

  “You’re not supposed to enjoy this.”

  “I jus can’t help myself, daddy,” she said.

  No one knew she was like this. No one would even imagine. His little book club wife. Future mom to their four kids. She would go out, dressed up in her dowdy librarian, farmhouse clothes. No one in town knew how fine and shapely her lean little body was. No one had an idea that she could be this little temptress, one minute being spanked, playing the naughty Southern Belle, then talking dirty into his ear, telling him every detail about how she fell in love with some kid at the grocery store with a big bulge and she offered to jerk him off just to see what his dick looked like. No one could imagine that she liked to be pinned against a wall and fucked or eaten out. They didn’t know her. She was all for him.

  He spanked her hard and firm ten more times til he knew she couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Ow, baby,” she said, and she put her pretty hands over her cheeks, to protect them. “Ow,” she said again, and she was watching him, one sly eye looking over her shoulder.

  He let her get up and she stood herself before him. He sat on the couch and admired her. He had put his suit back on after the gym, but not his tie. His arms were over the sides of the chair, and he let her undress for him. She untied her apron, pulled it off her shoulder, let it fall to the floor. He could smell the chocolate as it dropped. Then she slowly unbuttoned her dress and he could see her pale chest being revealed. She slipped a bare shoulder out and he was excited to see it. The other shoulder came out and the flowery dress fell to join the apron and she was completely naked.

  She was so beautiful. She was tall and slim, five-eight, and light as could be with long, graceful limbs and a tight little tummy. Her hair was long and thick, hanging in ginger ringlets over her shoulders. He held his breath, felt himself tremble before her.

  “It’s yo
ur turn, sugar,” she said. She had her legs together, one arm folded behind her, her hand around the other elbow. She loved to watch him undress.

  He stood up over her and pulled his jacket off, his enormous chest thrust in her face. She was breathing him in. She started unbuttoning his shirt for him, she was impatient. She got the shirt spread open and he felt her hands over his skin. They went over his chest and down his sides, then back up slowly over the sharp, ridged muscles of his mid-section. He unbuckled his pants and let them fall and she pulled down his boxers. He was hard as a rock and the waistband got stuck on his erection. She did it slow then, using his boxers to pull it down all the way, painfully, then jump right back up when it was free. He pulled his socks off with his fingers and now they both weren’t wearing a thing. She looked him up and down, took him in, but he felt so free and safe with her and he just didn’t care that she could see it.

  He put his hands on her slim waist and hoisted her up effortlessly, and she wrapped her legs around his middle. He moved his hands quickly between them, cupped her ass cheeks then lifted her right up. She bent forward so she wouldn’t hit her head, and she put her hands on the ceiling. He held her up like that with his head between her thighs and she put her legs over his shoulders. He knew he was good at this. He had to be.

  She felt Troy work his tongue through her folds, felt his warm breath between her thighs. She put a hand down and ran her fingers through his hair, encouraging him. His thick, dark hair was cut short except for the top that he kept long and styled up.

  No one had ever gone down on her before Troy. She didn’t think that was something most people really did. That was something else she’d been missing out on. She laughed when she thought: is this going up?

  She pat him on his big shoulder, she wanted down. She wanted him inside her. He let her slide down and then he carried her up the stairs and into the bedroom, holding her in his arms like a baby, her legs dangling.