Her gaze fell to my dick, which, for the first time since she’d met me, wasn’t hard. “That’s what it looks like when you’re not erect?” She giggled. “It’s kind of…”
I faked an angry expression. “You’re laughing at my dick?”
She paled, thinking I was serious. “No! I just…I’ve never seen one—” she stammered, trying to find a way out of the laughter, but each time she tried, she would glance at my cock again and the giggles would start all over, and I was still holding the angry expression, and she would try to stifle it again. “I’m sorry, Baxter, I swear I’m not—it’s not…” She breathed out shakily, caught between worry that I was really angry and hit by the giggles at the sight of my flaccid cock.
I couldn’t hold on to the expression any longer, and I burst out laughing. “I’m teasing, Eva, relax. Limp dicks are inherently funny. They just are. As long as you don’t laugh at me when I’m hard, we’re good.”
She glared at me. “You’re a jerk. I thought you were actually upset.”
“You really think I’m that sensitive?” I snorted, crossing my arms over my chest. “No way. I can take a joke. I grew up in locker rooms, remember? Lots of naked dudes, lots of teasing and giving each other shit about dick sizes and whatever.”
She was eyeing my cock, again. Unable to stop herself, clearly, and I sure as hell didn’t mind. Let the girl look. “It’s just so different. So much…smaller. I had no idea.”
“Well, I’m a grower, not a show-er.”
She frowned up at me. “What does that mean?”
“Some guys, their cock is basically the same size all the time. When they get wood, it just gets harder. A little bigger, maybe it stands up a little straighter. They’re what you call show-ers. Like, they show their actual size. Me, I’m a grower. It’s like this, and then I get hard and it grows like triple the size.”
Evangeline snickered, reaching out to touch the tip. “Triple? Try quadruple, at least. Quintuple. Sextuple. Septuple. Octuple, even.”
“Octuple? You think my dick growseighttimes bigger?”
“Maybe. I’d have to measure to be certain.”
I laughed at that. “No measuring.”
“No? I was always under the impression that all men have measured themselves at least once.”
I shrugged. “I mean, maybe when we’re like, thirteen and just discovering the wonder of a hard-on. Not as a grown-ass man.”
Her eyes met mine, full of curiosity and humor and arousal. “So? Did you?”
I rolled my eyes, sighing in irritation. “Yeah, sure.”
“And?”
“You want to know?”
She nodded, moving to sit cross-legged on the bed, facing me. “Yes. I really would like to know how many inches your penis is.”
I laughed. “You really do?”
“Of course! It’s part of the Baxter Badd experience. I want to be able to brag, even if just to myself, that I had sex with a man with a huge cock. And I want to be able to say how many inches it was.”
“Keep in mind I was thirteen, and men keep growing until we’re at least twenty-one. So it might be more, by now.” I let out another breath, because it was weirdly embarrassing. “Eight and three-quarters inches.” I laughed again. “I was so pissed it wasn’t a full nine.”
She blinked. “Eight and three-quarters inches? When I tell my girlfriends about this, can I just round up to nine inches?”
“Sure.” I frowned at her. “Are you really going to tell your friends about this?”
“Would you mind?”
I shrugged. “Hell nah. Tell away. Just make me sound good, I guess.”
Her gaze was serious, all humor gone. “It would be impossible to make you sound anything except incredible, Baxter, because that’s what you are. All I have to do is tell the truth, and even then I don’t think most of my friends would really believe me. They’d think I made you up, because it just has to be impossible for a man like you to really exist. If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.”
I felt my heart flipping and twisting, and worked hard to keep that from showing. “You’re full of shit, but thanks, babe. I appreciate the ego boost.”
