“I know you’re awake,” said a voice. “I can see it in your vital signs. Can you open your eyes, please?”
Tom pried his eyes open. Damn. That was too easy. It must have been a failure. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he absent-mindedly brushed them away. The hair on his arms made his eyes sting. Wait… hair on his arms??
He looked at the hand he had just used to wipe his eyes. A huge, olive brown bear paw of a hand with dark, wiry black hairs extending onto the back of the palm.
“Holy chit!” he exclaimed, then stopped. His voice! His beautiful, choirboy tenor voice had come out as a bass grunt! He tried to bolt out of bed.
“Easy, easy,” said the voice. “You’ve been in bed for months, and you have to go slow.”
“Who are you?” Tom asked confusedly.
“I’m Raymond. Ray. I’m a night orderly and I’m assigned to you because I’m the biggest motherfucker here and you could do some serious damage to the equipment if you get crazy.”
Tom turned his head to see an absolutely enormous Black man standing off to one side of the bed.
“I’ll help you get up. But slowly, my man, slowly. We just got you back, we ain’t about to lose you to a bump on the head from falling, know what I’m sayin?”
Ray extended a huge hand. “Grab my hand and I’ll steady your elbow. Swing them feet over the side and then let your blood go back in.”
Tom clasped Ray’s hand and pressed his feet into the ground.
“Now… I’m gonna support you, but you weigh almost 300 pounds so you gotta do the work. If you get too weak, just sit back down on the bed.”
Tom stood up easily, then sat down as the room shifted.
“Why’s da ceiling so low?”
“The ceiling ain’t low, my man, you just a huge motherfucker. Try again.”
Tom stood up again.
“Can you walk?”
“I tink so, mang.” Mang? Where did that come from? And why couldn’t he get his thoughts running right?
Ray led Tom over to a full-length mirror. Tom gasped. He had seen the size of Nicolás on the bed but upright, it was even more insane.
“How… how big’m I?” he asked.
Ray rustled some papers. “You six foot six and 294 pounds, my man. And it don’t look like you any stranger to a weight room. Or a buffet,” he chuckled.
Tom stared at his reflection. A huge bear of a boy… man… stared back. An enormous shelf of pectoral muscle, dusted with hair, jutted out from a thick neck and crowned a definite beer pudge; long arms with huge biceps ended in round, muscular, hugely broad shoulders; tree trunk legs with visible quads gave way to football-sized calves atop huge feet. A brown face with a slightly small nose, somewhat closely set eyes, slightly jutting ears, the beginnings of a beard, and a thatch of black hair atop stared back at him.
“How old’m I?” the deep voice rumbled. “And why’m I thinkin so slow?”
“You are still 35, but your body just turned 18,” came Ray’s reply. “You’re still working off your anesthesia, you’re gonna have some brain fog for a while. Come on, big guy, let’s get you showered and dressed.”
Tom nodded, took the proffered towel, and headed for the bathroom.
“OW!” he bellowed.
“Watch out for the doorway, my man, you a lot bigger than you useta be. You gotta duck AND turn.”
Tom started the blessedly hot water, lathered up the shower puff, and started cleaning himself. As he moved down, he thought about Alice, waiting for him outside in the visitors’ area. Wouldn’t she be in for a shock!
Unbidden, his cock rocketed to attention, causing a sensation so shocking that Tom dropped the shower puff. What was… oh my God, he was uncut! Tom, like most Caucasian American males, had been circumcised as a baby. But the enormous, dark brown tool dangling between his legs had a sheath around it.
Experimentally, Tom touched it as waves of pleasure made their way up his spine. Encouraged, he started jacking it, picturing Alice in the black baby doll he’d bought her a couple of years ago for Valentine’s Day. His mind wandered to Ray, the huge Black man who’d been helping him, and he moaned in ecstasy. Wait, what? He was married! To a beautiful woman! With huge tits… and with that, Tom came explosively, for what seemed like an eternity. Was this what it felt like for every uncut guy?? No wonder there was a stereotype about Latin libidos!
After he cleaned off his spill, he finished washing and grabbed the towel, only to find that it didn’t come close to wrapping around his waist. “Chit,” he said.