Aw, fuck! Not again! I mean, come on! I've jerked it, what, four times today already? But sure enough, I can feel the rushing warmth of blood flowing into my swelling dong...

Maybe if I just ignore it, the stupid thing will go down. I focus on my cereal, on the delicious, sugary-cinnamon taste of these delightful little--okay, that's not working. I can feel my plumping meat pushing against the pouch of my tight briefs and pulling them tighter against my ass. It feels good. NO! Not here. Not at the goddamn kitchen table! Uhhhh... I can't let it get inside my head. Just concentrate on anything else, really.

"So! Uh, Rick, what's going on today?" My older brother Rick sits across from me in the kitchen. Dad's still in bed--he's a surgeon and works nights, so he's actually only just gone to bed. Mom already left the house for her 6:00 am yoga class--well, it's not real yoga. It's "Christian" yoga. You know, for ignorant xenophobes who want to reap the benefits of other cultures' traditional practices and beliefs while also denigrating them as Satanic barbarism. Cool, right? Yeah, my family rocks, I know...

Rick stares at me bleary-eyed and silent. Even half-asleep and hungover, Rick is the epitome of masculine power. Dark hair, blue eyes, 250 lbs of solid muscle packed onto a 6'4" frame. It's a real shame that the poor guy is dumb as a rock. That's actually why he's still here, living with Mom and Dad. He's two years older than me and was the town's great football superstar. Everybody swore he was going to be the next Drew Brees (I have no idea who that is... famous athlete or something) but after getting recruited to play ball up at UT, he couldn't keep a qualifying GPA. Since failing out, he's been taking some classes at the local community college, but from what I understand, that's not going great. Dad made him get a job at Pizza Pete's because, and I quote, "No son of mine is gonna be a fuckin' bum."

Rick's best days were high school. His nickname was Big Dick Rick. People at school still talk about him; in fact, my lab partner, Jess, asked about him just last week. "Is it true?" she asked. "Does he really have an eight inch cock?"

I told her I wouldn't know.

In fact, I do know. How could I not? Rick's dick is his pride and joy, and he loves showing it off, trying to make me feel jealous, trying to make me feel insecure. And although I haven't seen it up close when he's fully boned, I'd guess 8 inches is about right.

What I wouldn't give to have a fat, heavy eight-incher, too. I am jealous, but not for the reason Rick thinks: See, my cock is even bigger than his.

My cock is a monstrous absurdity, a true, honest-to-God, 11 inch masterpiece of veiny, throbbing perfection. And it's a huge pain in my ass.

Oh, and, now I'm fully boned at the kitchen table. Sitting across from my asshole big brother. In my baggy flannel pajamas. With a fully turgid, throbbing, precum-leaking, steel-hard erection jutting up past my thigh and threatening to peek up over the edge of the kitchen table.

Great. Just, great.

I've gotta get out of here before he notices.