Sizing Him Up

As I pulled on a pair of gloves, I saw that it was developing slowly. It had lengthened an inch or so and was - as impossibly as it seemed - thickening further.

It seemed his hand really had been telling the truth about its size.

I asked him, "Does your foreskin still retract at this stage?"

He stopped playing with it and it hung downward at a steep angle, rising an inch or so from his balls.

He peeled back his foreskin a little, exposing the tip of his cock's red-looking head. He said, "It does, yeah, but if I pull it any further back, it gets stuck behind the ridge of my bell-end. I can't get it back again until it goes soft..."

"Is that a problem?"

He began masturbating it again, using his unusual, but clearly effective, technique. He replied, "Well, when it gets to full size, it starts to really hurt. It feels like the head's being strangled by the foreskin... it hurts like hell, actually..."

I continued watching it increase in size, fascinated by how large it would become. It was up to nine inches by now, becoming as thick as his wrist, and still looking only half-erect.

I said, "And you say sex is painful without it retracted?"

"Yeah, it's impossible."

"Have you tried using lubricant on your girlfriend's vagina?"

He looked up at me, continuing to knead it larger and larger by rubbing his thumb against its head. "Actually, I'm gay. That could be the problem... arses are a bit tighter than... er... vaginas, aren't they?"

"Er... yeah... but it shouldn't make that much difference..."

He kept playing with it, watching me watching it reach epic proportions. He went on, "I sort of get it an inch or so in, and then the foreskin starts to chafe against my bell-end, and it's impossible to keep going..."

"Does using a condom help? It might hold the foreskin in place and stop it trying to retract...?"

He shrugged. "I always use a condom."

His cock was, by now, easily over ten inches long and as thick and round as a good-sized branch. It must have been the biggest organ I'd ever seen by quite a long margin.

I asked him, "Is anal sex important to you?"

He laughed. "I dunno yet... I've never managed to do it... but I'd at least like to try... I mean, I like to receive, but it'd be nice to return the compliment occasionally..."

I smiled back. "Yeah... I guess... but what about your... er... size? Won't it put guys off?"

Now he laughed so loudly that I almost jumped. "Show's how much you know about gay guys, mate! They'd be queuing up for it!"

He let go of his cock and it stood out at a ninety-degree angle from his body, well over ten inches long and looking like it could be an additional limb.

I said, "Well... to me it looks like it'd be kind of... er... painful..."

He flashed me a broad grin and, with a wink, muttered, "There's always a way and a means... you'd soon be loving it..."

His comment acted like a splash of cold water over my face: sharply reminded me that I was in a professional position and shouldn't be allowing patients to flirt with me. This was a no-go area; there was absolutely no room for sexual provocation here.

I coughed and said, deliberately primly, "Anyway. Am I to take it that you're fully erect now, Mr Smith?"

I recommended that he should apply a gel containing a mild steroid to his foreskin when he masturbated, as often as he could, and try to gradually ease his foreskin backwards over the head of his cock over a six-month period.

He'd laughed, "Wow! A prescription to wank as often as I can! You're my kind of doctor!"

After he'd dressed and as I was printing out his prescription for a few tubes of the appropriate gel, I saw that his right hand, once again, was curled into the same position it had been in when it was rubbing at his cock.

And after that, I began to see it everywhere! Wherever I looked, I noticed that guys' hands, when they were relaxed and not holding anything, tended to rest with the fingers and thumb curved inwards, making anything from an open 'C' shape to a closed 'O' shape and sometimes right around so that the thumb covered the top of the finger, making something like a '6'.

Here, surely, was the key to the secret.

Girls like Tara Phillips and Carol, with their so-called 'radar', must be picking up on this, even if they didn't know they were doing it.

I wondered if guys might curl their hands up like this because, without being aware of it, they were forming the same position that they used when they masturbated. Kind of like they were subconsciously wishing they could have a quick wank, or something.

If only Sigmund Freud was still around...

It seemed to fit. Or, at least, it fitted a lot better than my idea about bulges and hairiness, or Carol's theories about self-confidence.

Take this as an example.

A rugby player was wheeled in with a pretty bad groin strain and for some reason was referred to me. While he was telling me what happened, I noticed his right hand coiled up quite tightly. If my idea was true, it looked like the lad's cock should be pretty small, and yet the large bulge in his shorts told me otherwise.

When I examined him, though, and he pulled down his shorts, I realised he was wearing a cup to protect his crotch. Once he'd pulled it off, the front of his briefs didn't look so impressive at all.

And then, as if to prove my idea right, in response to my massaging between the top of his thigh and his balls, he sprouted an erection. I made my usual joke that I wouldn't be getting embarrassed if I had one like his, but the thing was looked like it was just three or four inches in length. A nice cock I'm sure - don't get me wrong, I bet he could do some great stuff with it - but the poor lad turned a shade of maroon that suggested he wasn't really that proud of it.

Here's another one.

When I met up with my brother one weekend, I noticed that his hand, like mine, tends to rest with a slight gap between the finger and thumb, forming an almost-closed 'C' shape. His 'C' was, perhaps, a little more open than mine, suggesting that his hand has something slightly bigger to fill it when he masturbates. Now, I've seen Gareth with erections loads of time, and I know that, while we're both built pretty generously, his cock is about an inch longer than mine.

So, again, my theory looked like it might be holding up.

I was, by now, almost tempted to write it up as a paper for The Lancet...!

The next time I saw Carol was a couple of months later in the library at the Medical School. We found an empty corner and whispered our news and gossip.

She was the one who brought up the topic of the 'radar', grinning and asking me if I was any more convinced about it than I had been the last time we'd spoken.

"I think there's a method to it... if you know what the clues are," I smiled.

"You mean you believe me about it?"

"Yeah, I believe some girls know what to look for, probably without even knowing what they're looking for..."

She looked interested. "And what are they looking for?"

I smiled coyly, "Ooh many things... it's impossible to pin it down, really..."

She looked sceptical. "Hmm... how big is... ah... I dunno... who should I pick?"

I laughed, "I'm not going to start reeling off the statistics about different guys' dicks!" I feigned a camp voice: "I'm not that sort of boy..."

She smiled. "Go on - just one! Just to prove there really is something in it..."

I chuckled. "Okay... if it's someone we both know but neither of us could possibly have seen naked..."

"That's not really fair. I don't know who you've examined and you don't know who I have..."

I shrugged. "Just because we've examined a guy doesn't mean we've seen him with a hard-on..."

Carol nodded and then had an idea. "I know someone!"

"Who?"

"Damien Richards..."

I shook my head. "That's not really fair..."

Carol shrugged. "Why? Because he's dating Kaz now?" And then, half-jokingly, "You'd give him a two-inch prick, would you?"

I wasn't amused. "I told you before: size isn't an issue. I couldn't care whether he's hung like a mule or like a mouse... it's just that I don't want to think about what he's doing with it..."

She went silent, a little taken aback by my discomfort.

"Anyway," I added, trying to lighten the mood I'd unintentionally darkened. "I saw him in the refectory the other day, having a coffee with a friend. I'd say seven inches, maybe seven and a half on a good day with a strong tail wind..."

Carol smiled. "I'd have said six and a half, but you're close enough..."

We chuckled together knowingly, like a couple of school kids who've just worked out together that Santa doesn't exist.

She said, "Well, Seb... I'm afraid now you know the secret, I'm just going to have to hypnotise you for the sake of womankind so you forget everything you've learned..."

I smiled. "I'll save you the trouble... it's not exactly a useful skill for me to have. And, in any case, the secret's pretty safe with me..."