"Hey man, are you OK? You look kind of sick."
"Uh, yeah," you mumble, not looking directly at him. "Feel sick today. Gonna go back to bed."
"OK, take it easy, all right? I'll pick up some O.J." He pauses for a moment, his hand still on your shoulder. "Uh, are those my sweatpants?"
You both stare down at them. They look pretty ridiculous. You start to think up an excuse -- but before you can say anything, you become aware that you have a more pressing problem. Your penis starts to tingle and shifts a bit. You can feel your pulse throbbing along it, the fabric of the pants shifting against it as it twitches again.
You have to get away now. You twist away from him and hobble towards the elevator, mumbling that you're about to throw up, not really caring if he heard you. He doesn't follow. You lurch into the empty elevator, choose your floor, and then pound on the close door button until, to your relief, it slides shut. You're shaking with nerves. Your cock is still swelling up, now making a huge bulge at the middle of your thigh. You've got to hide it. As the elevator hums upward, you slide your hand down into your pants and grab it. It feels good, intensely good, but this time you have enough self-control. You pull it upright, against your stomach and your chest. It'll be obvious something isn't right, but maybe if you hunch over people won't be able to tell what it is.
You lean back against the wall, folding your arms across your chest to restrain it. You feel edgy, frightened, and horribly turned on. Your cock nudges up another half-inch. How the hell big is it going to get? It wasn't this bad before.
The elevator chimes. As soon as the doors open you rush out and make for your room, not caring about the discomfort. You pass a couple of girls from down the hall and you're pretty sure they're staring at you, but you don't break your stride. You reach for your keys, feel a brief chill of panic until you remember you put them in your back pocket, then unlock the door after what feels like minutes of fumbling.
Inside. Safe.
You lean back against the door, breathing hard, reaching back with one hand to lock it. You relax, let out a deep breath, close your eyes, and unlace the tight drawstring of the pants. You rest the back of your head against the door as they fall down around your feet. It feels so good to take them off after nearly an hour of constriction.
Your cock twitches, sliding up against your nipple.
This is not right. You pull off the T-shirt and stare at the thing. It's dark and fat, flat-headed, inhuman, and certaintly longer than it was before. Could it be two feet? You're not sure, and you don't particularly feel like measuring it right now. Did the acetone do something to it, something that wasn't supposed to happen? Maybe you shouldn't have done that? But no, it wasn't even a real dick before. At least this way you can still use the bathroom, not to mention cum.
You rest one hand half-way up your cock. It's so warm...
You shake your head groggily. You should do something about it. But what can you do? You lower your head, staring directly down at it. Your nose is less than an inch away from it; you can feel it tickle as you exhale.