Chapter 1
Hey, it’s me, the author F.N. GoodTime. This book is weird, and I don’t blame you for stopping here or trying to get a refund somewhere down the road. This was meant to be a funny, little short story at the end of my last book, Seven Sensual Short Stories Sure to Sully Your Skivvies, and, well…things kinda got out of hand. 5000 words quickly became 10,000, then 20,000, so now here we are, with a whole book about a guy with dicks instead of fingers. Enjoy.
At some point in their life, every man will pull down his pants and question his manhood, thinking only if it were longer or thicker. I would even wager some would even wish they had two in the hopes it would be easier to talk a woman into having anal so your second shaft wouldn’t feel left out.
Peter never had this wish. For Peter was cursed. Always wearing mittens to hide his shame, his parents would tell people he was born without bones in his fingers, but as he got older this reality soon became very wrong, as one solid boner after another would form throbbing where Peter’s joints should have been.
This was the most unfortunate thing about Peter — not only would he never be able to do anything properly with his hands, but once he did get an erection, he couldn’t simply jerk off into a sock, like any normal developing youth. Instead, his early years of thumb sucking just took a very dramatic and messy turn.
Out of fear of making this story weird, the year will be 2023, and Peter will be in his late twenties desperately trying to make his meager living away from home, craving some independence from his religious parents. Peter moved into a small apartment in the city. Beige walls and few windows to let light in ran from the kitchen to the living room that might as well have just been a second bedroom as there wasn’t enough room for even a sofa, he filled the space with his desk, and a chair. A photo of home was hanging on the wall, so that whenever he felt homesick, it reminded him he was better off here.
It wasn’t a big city he moved to by any means, but it was much more heavily populated than the wide-open fields of farmland he had grown up on. Being homeschooled his entire life and his parents only ever allowing him to have pen pals, well, email pals as Peter couldn’t properly hold a pencil, he just navigated his laptop mostly by talking into a microphone that would listen to him and do what he asked. Most times. And with this skill, he was able to get his first job, a stay-at-home telemarketer.
This way Peter would never have to interact with people in person. He had many great tricks for avoiding contact with other people. Anything he could ever need could be instantly shipped to his door, from groceries to electronics, and everything in between.
The hardest part of the move was when he had to sign for the lease of his apartment, luckily just having enough control in his palm to hold a pen like a toddler would hold a crayon. Through his mittens, he was able to sign the paper in front of his new, unfazed landlord who at this point was sure he had seen everything — like a grown man wearing mittens in the summer.
But with that hurdle out of the way, Peter’s life could only get better. After a phone interview went extraordinarily well, Peter was able to set himself up with the software to call strangers and ask them questions to fill out surveys. Well, he could if most didn’t automatically hang up on him, and those who didn’t were old and just wanted someone to talk to, so even after spending an hour on a 15-minute survey because they would rather talk about their grandchildren then answer the question with a number between 1 and 10 to describe how they felt about the Mayers cocaine addiction.
If Peter wanted to get paid, he needed a minimum amount of completed surveys every day, and this Wednesday, in particular, was proving to be incredibly stressful. He had only gotten two out of the twenty daily completes he needed, and he had already been working for eight hours straight.
He was tired, nervous sweat had pooled in his pits as the crevasses of his forehead were caked with oil. Taking a deep breath, he nudged the mouse plugged into his laptop, pushing down with the left side of his fleshy palm. Peter began the call.
He counted the virtual telephones rings as his breathing slowed, the tension escalating since most people would never pick up. It would have been best if this man didn’t either.
“What.”
“Hello sir, my name is Peter, and I am calling today on behalf of the FNGT, the frugal national German telemarketers. Today, we have a quick survey about winter sports, do you have a few minutes to take it?”
“Why the hell do you want to know about that?”
“At this time, I am unaware who has partitioned the survey and their reasoning, but if you have five minutes, I’m sure I can make it quick.”
“Fine, whatever.”
“Excellent, on a scale of one to ten, where would you rate these winter sports: tobogganing?”
“Yeah, that’s good.”
Peter needed a number, desperately. He was always threatened that if he didn’t get the client to answer the question properly, they would screen his calls and fire him.
“So, on a scale of one to ten, ten being the best sport ever…where would you put tobogganing?”
“I already answered that”
“Sir, I am very sorry, I need a number to continue.”
“Well fuck this then. I’m terrible at math.”
The click thundered into his ear as a steady familiar dial tone welled in his stomach. The pressure was too much, and he needed a release. Staring down at his mittens, he tried to push the thought from his mind. Being raised in his good Christian household, he knew his thoughts were sinful, he knew he shouldn’t, but he needed to.
Carefully, he bit the mitten off, and his floppy penis fingers soon perked — they knew what time it was. Pushing his chair back, he began sucking his thumb — the thickest of his dick fingers. Little did he know, this action would change Peter’s life, forever.
You see, not long after Peter had moved into his apartment, his neighbor next door had come to speak with him. This neighbor had an agreement with the last tenant that they would split the internet bill as the Wi-Fi could easily reach both apartments.
Giddy at the opportunity for some kind of connection with anyone who wasn’t his immediate family, Peter agreed and promised to E-transfer some funds in a moment, keeping his hands in the pocket of his sweater for the majority of the conversation. That was, until Peter made the terrible mistake of waving goodbye. The five floppy cocks in his red mitten jangled about before Peter shut the door, leaving his new neighbor Sandra disturbed — not only was Peter wearing mittens in the summer, but something about him in general just felt off.
Maybe he was just homeschooled and didn’t know how to operate in society, but she didn’t want to take any risks. Sandra worked for the government, in their communications division. If she wanted to know anything, from search history to what your apartment looked like through the laptop’s webcam, she could get it. Simply put, if you were on a shared network, you were in a way, sharing computers.
So casually, when she saw his laptop was open, she would watch through his webcam. For the first few days, it seemed her stakeout was in vain — he was a normal guy, doing normal things, and at most, she could only be sure something was medically wrong with his hands.
Weeks into the stakeout, she was beginning to feel guilty for thinking poorly of the guy who probably had to work so hard just to get by, but she had already popped her popcorn, and the connection was made, so she sat, and she watched. Nothing. On the brink of calling off her investigation, she took a bathroom break, and if he was still just sitting there she would end it.
But when she came back, she saw the most beautiful thing — the mysterious, mittened man with a mouth full of monstrous cock. Taking it like a champ, like he had done this for years, complete control with almost no gag reflex, and the man he was sucking off must have been hung like a horse and a half, as his body never entered the frame.
Quickly, recording her screen the moment she realized what she was watching would make her rich, she watched him finish the other man off in record time, as he swallowed the load like it was nothing. Casually, the cock left frame and Peter acted as if nothing had happened.
No one coming around for a hug or even a thank you, not even a passing fiver to the hard worker with a full belly and questionable breath. But Sondra didn’t care, she was about to be a millionaire. Quickly, without hesitation the clip found its way to Porn Hub titled Peter and the Python.
Now she waited, it was slow the first few hours, but then an overnight explosion happened, and with a direct deposit set up to her fake bank account that would eventually transfer into three others before it met hers in small quantities, so it wouldn’t stand out on any government records.
But, that was just the tip of the iceberg for the fame and wealth that was soon to flow into Peter’s life, much like the second and third load to flow into him later on that day, away from his laptop.
Hey, God, it’s me. I was really thankful that you helped me get this job, and I know you work in mysterious ways, but it doesn’t seem fair that no one will help me finish these surveys. Are you punishing me for blowing off steam? Please, don’t be angry with me, I wish you would send me a sign that I’m doing the right thing.
