Chapter 1
This all started when we went to see the movie Boogie Nights in the late 1990s. There’s a scene at the end where the super-hung porn-star hero unzips in front of a mirror and hauls out his enormous cock for all to see.

For days afterward, my girlfriend Laura could not stop talking about that scene. She obsessed over it constantly, asking questions like: “Do you think it was real, or did they use a prosthetic?” “Are ones in real life that big?” “Did you ever know anyone with one that big?” On and on with queries and comments. For no reason, she’d compulsively shoehorn Dirk Diggler’s big cock into totally unrelated conversations.

I was shocked because Laura did not strike me as the type of woman to have such a keen interest in cock size. She dressed and acted conservatively. She was raised a strict Catholic and still went to church. She didn’t even swear. And our sex life to that point had been vanilla and unadventurous. Where were these obsessive questions coming from?

Dick size being a sensitive topic, and our relationship being new, at first I danced around the subject. But finally I just blurted out the obvious: “Of course penises can be that big. Haven’t you ever seen a porno movie?”

Surprisingly for a woman in her late 20s, she had not, which was rare even in the days before ubiquitous internet porn.

So I took a risk and rented a size-themed video (Chasing the Big Ones), unsure how she would react. Lucky for me, the movie gripped her attention like a magnet. The way her eyes widened and her gaze stayed glued to the screen, I could tell those mammoth cocks touched something deep within her psyche.

In those days, Laura’s look was girl-next-door: Blonde, blue-eyed, with alabaster white skin, she was tall, 5’10”, towering over me in heels. Her physique was model-like: a narrow torso and long limbs. But she wasn’t skinny. She was voluptuous, with lush flaring hips and a waspish waist. Large, hyper-sensitive nipples capped her medium-sized tits.

As we watched the video, I reached over and stroked her clit. It seemed ready to burst, like a tiny overfilled water balloon, more stiff and prominent than I’d ever felt it.

When I jiggled it just a little, she came instantly. The orgasm was so intense her pussy squirted. I could actually feel the labial flaps spread open beneath my fingers as her juices streamed onto the sheets. She’d never done that before.

That’s when I knew my girlfriend was a bone fide Size Queen.

Not that I minded. In fact, if anything, I welcomed it. I’d been starting to worry Laura was too sexually uptight for me. This kinky size fetish might liven things up, I thought.

And I wasn’t intimidated either, although only averagely hung myself (5.5 inches). Maybe this is an example of the delusional overconfidence of young men, but I felt I had other strengths: I could get rock hard anytime, anyplace, had boundless stamina, and could climax at will. Plus I could cum five or six times a day.

Around the same time, I noticed something else about Laura: her attraction to black guys.

When a handsome black actor or celebrity would appear on TV, she’d make approving comments. Or, watching a football game, she might remark on the tightness of a black player’s pants. Observations like that happened enough for me to notice.

Again, surprising in someone so prim and proper, but by no means a dealbreaker. I’m no racist and didn’t feel threatened by a girlfriend with interracial fantasies—a trait I knew many white women shared anyway.

Looking back, that’s where another man probably would’ve left well enough alone. And probably where I should’ve too. But I’m drawn to risk like a gnat to a porch light. So, on our second Valentine’s Day together, I gifted her a video staring the enormously hung African American porn actor Lexington Steele, along with a 10-inch black dildo.

At first, she laughed them off as joke gifts. When I pled sincerity, she flat-out refused even to consider taking such a huge cock in her vagina, afraid it would permanently damage her pussy’s tensile strength.

But after a fancy, champagne-soaked dinner relaxed her defenses, she agreed at least to watch the movie. In her bedroom, scenes of white women climaxing on Lexington’s monster cock further lowered her inhibitions. The physical signs were there: her eyes turned glassy, her pale skin flushed, and her nipples thickened and protruded like oversized pencil erasers.

I took one nipple between my thumb and forefinger and firmly squeezed.

“C’mon, baby, let’s try it. It’ll be it your Valentine’s present to me.”

She pursed her lips. “What if it’s painful?”

“Then we’ll stop.”

“Ugh. The things my perverted boyfriend talks me into. All right.”

I took a tube of Astroglide and applied a dollop to the onyx head of the dildo, then slathered its 10-inch length.

“Slowly now. Be gentle,” she said nervously, lying back, eyes shut.

Kneeling on the bed between her legs, I aimed the huge black shaft at her vulva. Pushing it forward, I met resistance.

I warned, “I’m gonna apply more pressure.”

With a bit more force, the slick head strained against her opening, the shaft began to buckle, but then popped into her pussy quickly, followed by an inch or two of length.

“Ow, ow. Okay, okay, okay.” Her eyes squeezed shut, palms lifted in a “stop” motion.

“You all right?”

“No, wait. I think so. God that thing is huge. It feels like a soup can in there.”

We stayed still for a moment as she adapted to the wide girth.

“I’m gonna move it just a bit, okay?

“Okay, a little. Slowly.”

I carefully slid the dildo an inch back and forth.

“How does that feel?”

“Mm. Yes. Okay.”

After about a dozen one-inch strokes, I advanced to a two-inch, slightly faster. I could sense her nervousness fading, the vaginal passageway begin to welcome the massive black invader.

Then I progressed to a four-inch stroke. Her expression relaxed, her mouth opened slightly. Natural pussy juice appeared on the dark shaft and around the perimeter of her stretched pussy lips, frothing up white, a sign of her body’s receptivity.

“Oh, God. Is it all in there? I can’t look. I feel so full.”

“It’s only about half, hon. But you’re doing great. Does it feel good?”

“It, ah, kind of hurts a little…but it doesn’t feel bad.”

I continued the short thrusts, happy my experiment was working.

“I’ll go in about six or seven inches now. Ready?”

“Okay, let’s do it,” she breathlessly answered.

I slowly inserted the toy more than half way into her pussy. The pushback was intense. She felt stuffed to capacity.

“Aye, aye, aye, aye…ooh shit. That does feel good. The diameter is just…it’s stretching me. Ooh, fuck. Let’s keep going. Yes. Keep fucking me…”

Laura never swore, much less used the F-word, so I knew that big black cock was taking her somewhere new. I picked up a steady rhythm, loving the sight of her pink labia stretched tightly around the ebony pole. Then her pussy opened, somehow making room for the girthy toy. She was taking about seven inches per stroke, engulfing it like the porn actresses in the video we’d just watched.

Continuing to glide the dildo in and out, I got to my feet next to the bedside. “Please play with my nipples,” she rasped, her voice growing hoarse. With my free hand, I again caught one of her hard nipples between my thumb and forefinger, rolling and teasing it firmly, until the surrounding areola crinkled and hardened.

The nipple stimulation pushed her over the edge. Her voice became so guttural I could hardly recognize it: “Oh, yeah, keep fucking me with that thing.” She squeezed her eyes shut, lost in some private fantasy. “He’s a big fucker. He’s such a big fucker…he’s got a…big cockbig cockbig cock…” She kept repeating “big cock” like someone with Tourette’s syndrome…

By now I was fucking her with the full length of the dildo, plunging in and out at a furious pace, still teasing her nipple while simultaneously feeding her ravenous pussy’s size lust…Suddenly without warning she sat up, snapped open her eyes and wailed:


Terrified I’d hurt her, I jerked the dildo out in one swift pull. Her hand flew to her clit and she started frigging herself like crazy—but only for fraction of a second before pulling her hand away…

Then something unbelievable happened. Her clit popped out to the size of a thumb, looking like a tiny erect penis. The two labial folds spread apart and protruded forward about two inches, hanging slackly distended, yawning wide like the mouth of some undersea creature. From inside this dark, stretched-out hole an uneven stream of clear pussy juice spouted, making a tiny arc, like a rivulet in a water fountain, while those meaty outer folds spasmodically quivered and shook. This continued until at least a pint of fluid had soaked the sheets.

The Lovecraftian sight of that slavering, gaping fuck-hole is forever seared in my memory. To this day I can’t decide whether it was incredibly hot or just plain terrifying. I guess it was both.

After the vaginal spasms abated, she collapsed back on the bed, totally spent. It took a few minutes to regain her composure. Finally, she sat up, hair sweaty and disheveled, and murmured, “Wow. That was different.” I could sense her gauging my reaction, worried her over-the-top response to the much larger cock would provoke my jealousy.

I smiled, accepting my size-craving girlfriend. “You were great,” I said. “It was fun for me too. I only have one question.”


“Do you think you can fuck?”

“Um, I think so,” she replied, as if unsure anyone would want sloppy seconds after the pummeling her pussy just endured. “Let’s move to the dry side of the bed.”

I’ll never forget her words as I mounted her: “Get ready for a smooth ride.”

I aimed my cockhead at her pussy. The labia was still distended but had started to return to normal. I moved forward and my head disappeared into the hole.

But I felt nothing. Just air.

Okay. I thrust in deeper…still nothing.

Maybe I’m missing the target, I thought. So I realigned and pushed forward again.


Laura squirmed beneath me. “Is it in?” she asked, the question no man ever wants to hear.

Frustrated, I thrust forward, producing a watery sound, like a coin dropped into a well. There was a cool sensation on my dick, which I took to be the artificial lube.

“I think it’s in,” I said, but when I tied to fuck, my dick immediately flopped out.

“Here, let me try something,” she said. Reaching under her ass, she somehow used her fingers to pinch the bottom of her pussy lips together.

That finger trick tightened her pussy just enough for my dick to get some traction. But it was still pretty loose—I’d need a potent image to get me off.

So I conjured a vision of Laura, the churchgoing, reserved, wallflower type who secretly harbors a whorish lust for hung black men. The fantasy hinged on the contrast between her innocent public appearance and her taboo desire. Had she dressed and acted slutty, it wouldn’t work. An image of Laura fucking a muscular, hung black stud doggie-style while she blew me finally got me off, and I emptied my balls into the sloppy void of her sex.

After that night, interracial pornography and large black dildos became mainstays in our sex life. Even after marriage, three kids, and relocating to the suburbs, it remained our thing. Fortunately, we discovered that after every dildo session, in a day or two Laura’s vaginal elasticity would return to normal.

During fantasy talk, I would sometimes float the idea of threesomes with black men or even her being the center of a gang bang—and she would usually play along. But we both knew nothing so outlandish would ever really happen. We were far too vanilla and conventional to live out such dark desires. Right?
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