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- Herausgeber: Olympia Press
- Kategorie: Erotik
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
To cash in on the whirlwind success of Candy, somebody wrote a follow-up about young Peter, a remarkably endowed young innocent sent on a spiritual quest to undo the impacts of Western moires on his peculiar gift. Has its moments, not least his initiation by Lollipop.
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Peter Pecker
Anonymous
This page copyright © 2007 Olympia Press.
PART I
I
In the summer of his seventeenth year, Peter Pecker made a big decision. Instead of going home to Green Oaks, he would spend his vacation on his own in the quiet Jersey resort town of Oceanview. It was time for him to choose his own friends, his own sports, his own entertainment. He felt that he was ready to experience life first-hand.
His friends had already experienced LSD voyages and knew the pounding torments of a hangover. His own roommate Carl Edwards, had a ready source of reefers that he was forever supplying to other students.
Although Peter wasn't interested in girls, he couldn't help observe that his friends were, as evidenced by the girlie magazines that appeared out of nowheres and filled the dorm rooms every weekend. Juvenile, he thought.
Chancey Milton laughingly called Peter the Virgin Mary. That's all right reflected Peter. I'll be pure on my wedding night when it will really matter.
Peter never took part in the lights out sessions that the boys were continually staging in the gym. He guessed they played basketball, which he never really cared for, but he was never sure. He only knew that each boy went to the session in under shorts and carried a clean pressed handkerchief. When they returned to their rooms past midnight, the handkerchiefs were crumpled up in their hands. Carl's handkerchief was always wet and sticky and had that peculiar odor that his own pajama bottoms usually had every few weeks when he tossed and turned with fever in his sleep. They must really play hard to work up such a terrible sweat thought Peter.
Peter always blushed when his friends kidded him about the size of his penis. Which happened every time two or more fellows were in the shower with him.
“Peter Pecker picked a pound of pickled prick,” they would laughingly taunt at him.
Gosh, he thought. What a thing to say just because his penis was bigger than the other fellows. Lots of people weren't average. Some were taller. Some more intelligent. Some had larger ears. Some bigger noses. So what if his penis was bigger than the others. But its proper nomenclature was penis, not prick. Such juveniles.
Peter was sure his father, Doctor Christian Pecker, psychiatrist, from Gynmed on the Main Line, would much prefer to have Peter occupied elsewhere for the summer. Since Peter's mother died when he was fourteen, Doctor Pecker spent considerable time with the women guests he invited to Green Oaks every summer. Peter was embarrassed watching his father, seemingly always in his bathing suit, chasing his women guests in, under, and out of the water.
He was sure his father conducted psychiatric research with his guests though, and that the chasing was part of the experiment. He had happened upon his father with a single guest on more than one occasion. Each time the woman was on a bed, or a couch, or at least in the prone position while his father exercised some kind of body therapy over her. He could never understand why analysis had to be done lying down but he was sure there must be a scientific explanation. It did seem odd that his father and the patient were most always naked. Perhaps it had to do with better communication between doctor and patient.
I'll write father tomorrow and tell him of my plans for the summer thought Peter. I'll have to ask him for some money and permission to take my MG to the beach.
II
Peter wrote to his father on the eighth of June. He hoped his father would understand. He had carefully calculated an austere budget of fifteen dollars a day for room and board, and with two months vacation, he kept his fingers crossed that the seven hundred fifty dollars was not too much to be requesting. He did know that some of his classmates would only receive five hundred dollars summer spending money from their parents. But then, most of his classmates would be staying at family summer homes anyway.
On the eleventh of June, Peter was called out of his Latin class to the Dean's Office. Mr. Longstreet from the town bank was with Dean Maxwell.
“Well, Peter, how are you?” Mr. Longstreet said as he enthusiastically extended his hand. “Your father tells me your wild oats are about to be sown. That right, Peter?”
Both Mr. Longstreet and Dean Maxwell were smiling good-naturedly.
“No sir,” replied Peter, “I'm not taking any agricultural courses this year.”
“Ha. Ha. A chip off the old block, eh Peter,” said Mr. Longstreet.
“And just as tight-lipped, too,” added Dean Maxwell.
“I don't understand, sir,” said Peter to Dean Maxwell.
“Well, no matter, Peter. I'm going but Mr. Longstreet can express the best wishes that your father sends you. And Peter, remember, too much is just as bad as too little.”
Dean Maxwell went to the door, turned to Mr. Longstreet and said, “I wish I was seventeen and about to find out how much sharpening my pencil will take.”
When the dean had left, Mr. Longstreet began.
“Peter, your father has sent you five thousand dollars which I've converted to express checks for safety sake. All except five hundred which I'll give you in cash. He also sent an air travel card and keys to all the exclusive men's clubs in and around Oceanview — the Cozy Cat, the Purring Pussy, the Furry Feline, and a new one called the Playgirl. Your father tells me the Playgirl is opposite to the other one in case you want to try something offbeat, hey Peter.”
Peter seemed puzzled.
“Gosh, I never realized father was interested in cats. We never had any around the house that I can recall.”
“Just pussy, hey boy? Well back to business. One stipulation your father made, Peter. No Artie or Antarctic women. Everything in between is fair game. Heh, heh.”
“Gosh, Mr. Longstreet. I'm going to Ocean-view to learn about life. I won't have much time to meet many women,” said Peter.
“Holy come! I'll bet your a regular battering ram. Well, here's everything in this envelope. Back to the bank for me. I'll bank you're up a back before summer ends. Just grease it good, Peter boy. Grease that peter good. Heh, heh.”
With Peter more puzzled than ever, Mr. Longstreet waved and left Dean Maxwell's office.
Gosh, thought Peter, I hope I'm doing the right thing leaving father alone for the summer. He probably won't ever relax with all his women patients to analyze. Sometimes five or six a day. Gee, I hope he doesn't get lonely.
III
On his last night at school, Peter woke with a start to find Billy Watson bending over him with a ruler in his hand.
He felt the cold ruler being pressed against his penis and twisted just as Billy yelled.
“Raping rods! Eleven inches soft.”
Peter sat up with a jolt. The room was filled with his classmates standing around his bed, their penises sticking stiff out of their shorts.
“Good gosh,” Peter yelled as he attempted to push his soft penis back into his shorts, “what are you guys up to at this hour?”
“Measuring cock, Pete. So far you beat Moose Hawkins by a good three inches and he's stiff as a telephone pole. Sweet cunt, how big is it when it's hard?” asked Billy Watson.
Peter rubbed the remnants of the little sleep he had experienced from his eyes. He felt uncomfortable sitting on the edge of his bed circled by his classmates with their erect penises looking like unblinking monsters staring directly at him.
“I've never measured my penis, soft or hard, so I can't tell you,” Peter said.
“Let Billy get it hard for you and we can measure it,” said his roommate Carl.
Peter blushed. “I've never let anyone touch my penis.”
With that admission, three fellows pushed Peter roughly back on the bed and pinned his shoulders down. Two more held his feet firm on the bed while Billy reached into Peter's shorts and pulled his soft penis out.
Peter twisted and turned but no amount of effort could free him from his determined tormentors.
“Use the two finger jerk, Billy,” someone yelled.
With his left hand underneath Peter's long penis for support, Billy carefully placed his right thumb and forefinger around the penile shaft and began stroking the foreskin rhythmically back and forth.
“Not too much or you'll get a face full!”
“If Billy opens his mouth that proves something.”
“Come on Billy, make that prick stiff.”
Billy energetically applied himself to the work in hand and began stroking faster and faster. Peter continued to twist but his efforts were in vain as his fellow classmates held him tightly to the bed. Billy worked feverishly for six minutes, seven minutes, then eight minutes. Sweat was pouring off his forehead.
“Switch with me, Carl,” Billy gasped to Peter's roommate.
Carl slipped in next to Billy and took over the task without missing a stroke.
Maybe it was because Carl was his roommate, or maybe it was because of the complete encirclement of his penis, but try as he might, Peter couldn't stop his penis from rising and stiffening back at a sharp angle towards his stomach.
Ooohs and aahs filled the room as Peter reached full erection.
“Ease off Carl while I measure it,” said Billy.
Billy placed the ruler down on the erect penis and snapped, “Quick, get a yardstick. It's close to sixteen inches!”
Out of the sea of admiring faces and above the level of staring stiff penises, a yardstick suddenly appeared.
“Fifteen and three quarters,” Billy triumphantly shouted.
“That's probably the biggest prick in the world,” said Carl.
Having accomplished their objective, the fellows relaxed their hold on Peter who, blushingly, attempted to put his penis back inside his shorts. With full erection this was impossible. Peter contented himself with sitting up and covering himself with one leg and his crossed arms.
“I don't see why you are all so excited about the size of one's penis, “Peter squeaked angrily.
“If I had one that big I'd stud out twenty-four hours a day to any man, woman, or beast that wanted it!” said Whitey Mellon.
“Let's go to the gym and shoot for distance!” someone yelled.
With that invitation, the students eagerly filed out of Peter's room.
You'd think they'd all be too tired to play basketball at this hour thought Peter.
Only Chauncey Milton stayed behind in Peter's room, and he closed the door and locked it when the last boy walked out.
IV
“Gee, Peter, that sure is some prick,” said Chauncey admiringly as he sat next to Peter on the bed.
“Chauncey,” Peter snapped, “it is not very mature to call it a prick. The correct term is penis. I wish you boys would stop being juvenile and would learn to call things by their proper names.”
Chauncey moved closer to Peter and bent down to look at Peter's penis.
Peter noticed that Chauncey's eyes were rolling slightly, and he looked like he was about to faint.
He was sure of this condition when Chauncey suddenly reached down with both hands and grabbed Peter's penis for support.
“Oh, Peter,” Chauncey cried pleadingly, “let me gorge myself till I pass out... glub...glubo...”
“Chauncey, for gosh sakes!” yelled Peter as he pushed his crazy-eyed classmate unceremoniously off the bed onto the floor.
“Peter, I just want to suck your prick,” squealed Chauncey.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Peter cried to the slobbering student sitting before him.
“How often have you heard me say to use the correct noun for what ever you're talking about. I'm sure you mean that you want to perform fellatio, which means the oral stimulation of the penis. And if I have said it once, I've said it a hundred times! It's a penis, not a prick.”
Chauncey looked disbelievingly up at Peter. “If I use the right words, will you let me? Please?” he asked.
Peter could not let the opportunity to make him use right words slip away.
“Perhaps next fall after school vacation. Provided of course you practice all summer and can show me then that you've learned your lesson well.”
Chauncey's eyes sparkled at the thought of Peter's huge organ.
“Peter, I'll practice all summer long. You'll see. By fall I'll be ready for you.”
V
Peter woke at five o'clock the next morning and loaded his suitcases in his MG.
They must have had quite a basketball session last night thought Peter as he observed the crumbled handkerchiefs strewn up and down the passageway.
There was even a handkerchief stuck in the mouth of the school statute, Boy Athlete, in the dormitory hall.
Yes sir. They certainly must have worked up quite a sweat Peter mused.
PART II
I
Peter had crossed the city bridges early enough to miss the heavy morning traffic. Now he was speeding along the expressway at seventy across New Jersey. Traffic was light with the sun shining clear and a gentle early morning breeze blowing.
My classmates are really such juveniles he thought. Imagine calling things names that weren't correct. Or being so intensely interested in the size of a fellow's penis. Or basketball sessions at midnight using handkerchiefs for towels.
Gosh they certainly were juvenile. As if the size of a penis had anything to do with intelligence, or a sense of humor, or one's personality.
Chauncey Milton was probably the worst of all.
Imagine him almost fainting on top of me in my bed and then using all incorrect nouns in some silly speech.
Well, Chauncey did promise to practice better word usage this summer before he tries such a speech with me in the fall.
Gosh, if they only had the desire to experience life first-hand like he did, Peter thought.
The MG responded easily to Peter's driving and shortly he was on a long stretch of roadway practically all to himself in the east-bound lane. The few cars that he did see were moving along leisurely at the sixty mile limit and he easily overtook them.
Presently he noticed the silhouette of another MG pulled off the road up ahead. As he came closer, he could plainly see a handkerchief tied to the antenna and he recognized at once the universal signal for assistance. He gently braked and pulled off the road to a stop behind the stranded MG.
“Gee, thanks,” said a pert young blue-eyed blonde who appeared outsi [...]
