Larry groaned and grunted in bed, trying to ignore the harsh morning light shining through the blinds. It had been almost three days, and Larry felt like he was experiencing the worst flu of his life. He clutched the bedsheets tight over his big, naked body, shivering from the chills. His body felt ice cold, yet he was sweating like a marathon runner. Larry let out a series of deep, bellowing coughs, hoping to God he didn’t have to throw up again and could try and get a few hours sleep. Of course, when he did sleep there were the fever dreams; Jason and countless other small-dicks standing in a circle, pointing and laughing. Only, they hadn’t been small-dicks. Each one of them, including Jason, had a hefty, massive cock like Larry’s hanging between their legs. The only small-dick in the circle had been Larry, on his knees, his hands held behind his back as he showed off a small, almost nipple sized nub nestled in a thick bush of graying pubic hair. Larry shook himself, trying to forget the dream. He was a real man, he told himself, a large-dick with a beautiful 15-inch cock. Larry would never be small-dicked fag like Jason, he reminded himself firmly. Larry didn’t want to think about the countless times he’d put off getting vaccinated about the small-dick flu, however. Most large-dicks didn’t get the vaccine; they thought it was some kind of defense of their own masculinity, but really they were just forestalling the inevitable.
After another hour of tossing and turning, Larry was finally able to fall into a dreamless sleep, for once. He slept all day and well into the night, not waking up until almost midnight. When his eyes opened, Larry realized that he was feeling a lot better. He sat up and took a deep breath, finding his sinuses free and clear. His stomach was gurgling as well, but for once in the last 72 Larry felt hunger instead of the urge to vomit. He decided he would bang on Jason’s door, and have the small-dick cook him up a big breakfast. Larry reached down to stroke himself to the thought of bacon, eggs, and under-the-breakfast-table blow jobs but was shocked when his fingers met nothing but a tangle of wiry pubic hair. Well, almost nothing.
Larry looked down and almost had a heart attack. Gone was his proud, thick 15-inch cock, gone were his hefty, soft-ball sized testicles. The only thing left in their place was a pink, sensitive little nub of flesh perched above a pair of wrinkled, grape-sized testicles. Larry groaned, almost crying as he regarded his pathetic little cocklet. It looked so tiny and useless that Larry couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad. He could only despair at the loss of his proud manhood, and his demotion to the status of a…a…small-dick. Larry shuddered at the word, not only because he could barely bring himself to even think it, but also because his internal feelings of shame and humiliation were making his tiny cocklet grow rock hard. Larry felt it swell to its full erect size; an appalling inch long and an inch wide, barely larger than one of his balls alone. Larry started to panic. Any man, and one of his friends or even his shit-bag tenants could now dominate him, order him around, force him to worship their big cocks, and Larry would only be able to obey. Just when Larry was wondering how long it would take for a new Falsie to arrive in the mail, there was a knock on his front door.
“Hello?” a familiar voice called. “Its Andrew! I got rent for the month. Open up man!” the voice shouted. Any other day, Larry would have shrugged off the barked command like any other man. But before he knew it, something about Andrew’s rich baritone compelled Larry out of his bedroom and quickly over to his front door. Larry didn’t realize he’d forgotten to put on clothes until he’d opened the door…