“Hey Pete, how about coming over for a few minutes?”

“What do you want?” Pete asked as if he had something better to do. I had known Pete all my life. We used to be closer than we are now, but I still figured I could wheedle him out of a favor.

“I’ll tell you when you get here,” I said, ending the call.

“You want me to WHAT?” Pete said incredulously a few minutes later.

“Like I said. Tickle my balls with a feather. Here, read this,” I said passing him information on the kit that I’d ordered.

“Men!” He read aloud from the flyer that I’d printed out, “Do you have trouble buying condoms that fit? We have the answer. Order custom made condoms sized just for you!”

“What do you need something like this for,” Pete asked, ”They keep slipping off and getting lost because your dick’s so small?”

“All I have to do is take an impression.” I said, ignoring the insult and passing him the instruction manual that came with the kit. “I just mix up the goop, pour it in the special container they sent me, get my dick hard and stick it in. It sets up in just a few minutes and then I send the thing in. They make a reverse mould from the impression and use it to make rubbers that fit. It says to have someone stimulate my asshole and balls with a feather to keep make sure I stay hard while the goop sets up. They even sent a feather with the kit.”

“I don’t know about this kind of shit, you know?” Pete asked. “Why don’t you get a girl to do it? Or maybe Donny. He’d love to tickle your balls.”

“I’d probably scatter my cookies if a girl tried to help,” I answered, and he knew as well as I did that Donny Wyatt had came out of the closet just before graduation and has been openly aflame ever since then. No way in hell would I ever get naked in the same room let alone bend over and spread my legs in front of him. “ I trust you, man,” I said, summing it up.

`”Okay,” Pete said reluctantly, “But there’s no way that I’m going to stroke it for you or even touch it.” I stripped down, leaving my skivvies on until the last minute, and set up the material for making the mold. The kit came with a four-inch square cardboard box a foot long that was to be placed between cushions or mattress pads. A plastic liner was inserted into the box, the two-part product was mixed, and then it was show time.

I stripped off my skivvies and stroked myself erect as Pete mixed the stuff up and poured it in the box we’d placed on the floor.

“Jesus!” Pete said. He had never seen me sporting wood, and hadn’t seen me naked since we were both sophomores in PE class. That was three years ago and I’ve grown a lot since then. I’m not bragging-okay I am bragging but not exaggerating- when I say I’m well hung. I’m not really long, just shy of seven inches, but it’s all of two and a half inches thick, which is about the same as a pop can. I knew how big I was but I’d never seen another guy with a hard-on, so I figured I was normal. I finally got around the parent lock on my Internet and looked at some supposedly normal guys and figured out I was different. Not only in thickness, but also shape. My dick was about the same as everyone else’s down at the base, next to my balls, but was twice as big next to the end. The first time I got laid it was with an older women who could easily take it, but the next time I tried it was with a younger girl and I think I hurt her. She wouldn’t go out with me again but a couple of her friends, you know, gals with reputations, kept calling me up. The thing was that I had to use a rubber and I just couldn’t find any that were comfortable. Ultra sensitive rubbers are impossible, regulars seem like they cut off the circulation, and even Magnums and XXLs are, or I guess I should say were, just too tight.

Pete poured the goop into the box and I got down on the cushions and stuck my dick into the opening. It was warm and felt good and I wanted to hump it but the instructions said that movement would ruin the impression. I kept still and felt my boner start to soften. “Okay, Pete, use the feather,” I said, spreading my legs a little more so he could access my balls and asshole.

“How’s that?” He asked after a couple of minutes.

“Ease up a little,” I answered. The instructions contained a warning not to ejaculate, and I didn’t want him to get me too excited.

“Okay,” he replied, “Up it is.” He misunderstood ‘ease up’ with ‘go up’ and raised the feather to the sensitive area around my asshole. I felt the tickle of the feather and the pressure start to rise in my balls.

“Stop!” I hollered, but it was too late. I was already over the edge and the orgasm came in a huge, liquid gush. I laid there a few seconds, light in the head and totally spent, wondering if there was enough of the goop left over to make another impression. The warmth of the box and its contents felt good on my dick and I wondered how long it would take to set up, or if it had already and if I should pull out or wait, like maybe it had set up enough before I popped to make the mould usable.

The heat in the box became uncomfortable, and I elected to withdraw from the situation, so as to speak. I stood up and the box came with me, firmly adhered to my dick. I tried to pull it off but it was stuck! It seemed almost like it was clamping down or something like that, and it was also growing even hotter.

“Pete!” I cried out. “I’m stuck! And it’s getting hotter!” Pete’s reaction was to grab the box and try to pull it off my dick.

“Ouch!” We both hollered simultaneously. He had burned his fingers on the outside of the box, which was just beginning to char, and the sudden yank had hurt my dick.

“The kitchen!” I practically screamed. “The sink had a sprayer!” He grabbed my discarded tee shirt to protect his hands from the heat of the box and we hurried, best we could to the kitchen. Clouds of steam rose as the cool water hit the smoldering cardboard box, but inside seemed to get even hotter. “Hospital!” Was all I could manage to blurt out.

He helped me to his car and we sped to the emergency room. The outside of the box had cooled slightly, but the inside felt like it was still afire and was still tightly adhered to my dick. I was still butt naked as he helped me inside, but the pain was so intense that I didn’t really care. The attending nurse took one look at me and immediately summoned a doctor.

“It’s another one of those do-it-yourself rubber kits,” she announced as he strode into the treatment room. The doctor immediately started an IV and finally gave me some kind of painkiller. The doctor and the nurse chatted confidently as they worked, but their faces bore a look that conveyed little cheer.

I had suffered deep third degree burns and most of my once-formidable dick had to be amputated. I spent a week in the hospital and then was sent home to heal up before the next round of reconstructive surgery. Dad didn’t have enough insurance to cover a first-class job, so I ended up with a four-inch long stub of meat that looks like a hot dog that got dropped in the campfire. I can piss out of it, but they say I’ll have to wait for a year before they can implant some pump or something so I can get it hard, and even that might not work.

Dad got a lawyer and tried to sue Custom Condoms Incorporated, but they had already gone out of business. It seems that they knew the compound that they sent could react with semen to form a compressive and self combusting mixture, but they felt the warning on the instruction sheet was all they needed to cover their asses. The only good thing is now I shouldn’t have any trouble finding rubbers that fit.