The Tick Incident Ch. 07

"So one time I had bailed Roscoe out of jail for public drunkenness, and later that evening, he was drunk again, in the Rusty Nail, and you guessed it, he had it out. The thing about Roscoe's cock was that it was so long and floppy in its flaccid state that it was capable of some pretty acrobatic tricks. That particular evening, there was a crowd around Roscoe - both men and women alike, and Roscoe had taken out his cock. He proceeded to do what he called was his 'Ferris wheel trick.' Let me explain. What it involved was Roscoe gyrating his hips in a circular motion, causing his cock to follow suit. His cock swung around, over and over and over and over and over again, evoking a chorus of cheers and creating quite the ruckus at the Rusty Nail. His moose-sized penis looked like the mighty blades spinning about on a 10-story windmill. I had to laugh. At this point, I wasn't going to get upset over Roscoe's behavior, I would just let it happen and let the authorities deal with him. If this is the way he wanted to conduct himself, fine. So be it. I'm a free-spirited woman. I guess I can't keep preventing Roscoe from being a free-spirited man. Regardless of all of his cock-centered physical humor and how absurd some of his shenanigans may be."

When Carrie had finished reading that long exchange, she and Richard hooped and hollered and carried on for several minutes. They couldn't help it.

"Sweetie I can't get the image out of my mind. I'm picturing Florence writing with one of those giant plumes, by candlelight, recording these entries about Roscoe, his gigantic penis, his laundry list of run-ins with the law. It just seems so out of context for that time..."

"Goes to show ya exhibitionism was always around," Richard remarked.

"And so was CFNM," Carrie gushed. "Hon if there's one thing I wanna drive home, before we got off on such a tangent with Mr. Livingstone - "

"So what happened to him anyway?" Richard posed.

"To Roscoe?" Carrie laughed. "Oh, God, I think Florence mentioned he moved further west, maybe in 1900 or so. Maybe to turn over a new leaf, hon."

They both cracked up.

"I guess Roscoe is a good cautionary tale, hon," Carrie said. "With everything, there's rules and regulations to live by. For Heaven's sake, you have to keep it in your pants at least some of the time!"

They could hear the 11 o'clock news coming on and knew it was time to close up shop.

"But anyway, Dick, Florence St. Claire's photography, her artwork, the parties she had (wink-wink), all had a distinct and pretty refined CFNM theme. So we'll definitely get more into that tomorrow.

"I mean, how bout Temple, am I right? How about the history here?"

"Crazy," Dick offered.

"Jeeeez. Heavens to Murgatroyd," Carrie went on. "Who know this kind of stuff happened here. HERE. In Temple?!"

"Wouldn't totally hurt my feelings if there was the occasional boobie or boobies in those photos but, ya know..." Richard said, trailing off.

Carrie, not being rude but rather just so focused on the lessons at hand, paid no mind to Richard's remark.

"So there is one other thing, hon, and I'm kinda surprised you haven't asked me yet?"

Richard was puzzled. Carrie started the question for him.

"How did Florence's things wind up..."

"Oh, yeah, what were Florence's things doing in Ulysses' basement?"

"Good question, Dick," she smiled. "As you know...Ulysses had many relationships after his wife's passing."

"The stories about him are legendary," he replied.

"They are. They are. He and Florence were dear friends for a long time. And Ulysses became one of her models, even one of one of the five men Florence chose as a server for Temple Tea Time."

"Temple Tea Time?" Richard asked.

"Basically the ladies of Temple, ones personally invited by Florence, to come over, talk about clothing, dresses, all while sipping tea," Carrie teased with a smile. "And that tea just happened to be poured by, ya know, nude butlers."

"This is absolutely nuts," Richard said, his mind blown.

"Move over, Dawn McKenzie. Am I right?" Carrie said with gusto, speaking of the eccentric woman Deb Krendall had befriended out in San Francisco. "And, Dick, this is just the tip of the iceberg. If we do a bit of sleuthing, albeit once we get this class out of the way, I bet we can turn up even more about Temple's CFNM hijinx of the late 1800's and beyond. Especially Temple Tea Time, which still exists today, I might add."

That same Pontiac Firebird went motoring by again, this time much louder. But conversation ensued without delay.

"So speaking of setting the record straight...did you happen to come across photos of Ulysses?"

"I did," Carrie said easily.

"And you saw..."

"I did," she responded again, with a chuckle.

"Well? Inquiring minds wanna know, Carr. Let's face it, Ulysses isn't only famous for his heroics at the Alamo. There's a distinct anatomical trait, a Parker trait I may add..."

"He was a Parker, that's for sure," she said, being purposely coy.

"Carr, lemme tella ya, I have no interest in seeing my great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather - "

"That's a lotta greats, mm-mmm," Carrie laughed.

"I have no interest in seeing any candids of good ole Ulysses Parker," Richard understandebly explained, "so I gotta ask you, is it true? Plus it would shed some light on where I got THIS from."

Richard gestured to his startling endowment.

He then continued.

"I remember Bussett always carrying on about it, when he did that report on Ulysses, saying, 'dude, did you know you're related to a guy that had...'"

"He carried on about it in a manner in which only Bussett could carry on about something," Carrie laughed.

"There was even an old song about it, oh, God, how did it go, something like...drinkin' your whiskeys...tell me, have you ever seen one as long as Ulysses...," Richard tried to imitate.

"Oh, brother," Carrie laughed.

"I have no idea how it goes but...he had a legendary dick, that's all I know," Richard laughed.

Carrie smiled.

"The stories, legends, yarns, tall tales, folk songs - they are true, hon. Some of them exaggerated but...yeah, they're true."

She smiled. He smiled back. Both of them laughed.

"Ulysses had a 15-inch penis," Carrie stated, and with Carrie's credibility, that statement carried an awful lot of weight.

"Holy shit," Richard said. "Sorry - "

"No, no. You're fine. Imagine Phyllis Dorshten's reaction when she and I came across the pictures of U," Carrie said with a bawdy laugh. "She said much worse than you.

"I mean, in regards to the pictures, the ratio of penis to height..."

Richard started laughing, the look of bewilderment on Carrie's face the reason.

"I mean, Ulysses was a tall man but not, I would say six foot, maybe a little bit taller. And his penis - "

"It must be at his knees," Richard had to say.

"Sweetie, you took the words right out of my mouth. It was literally, there is a picture..."

Carrie even stood up to demonstrate.

"There is a picture of Ulysses with a full erection, where one of the women has Ulysses' penis pressed down along his leg and the head just about kisses his right knee."

"That's...that's bonkers," he replied.

Carrie chuckled.

"I mean it's absolutely remarkable is what it is. But I think also too that, he had a perfectly healthy sex life.

"Hon, lemme first say, whatever crazy number you grow into - maybe you're done growing, maybe not. It's a crazy world sometimes. But whatever the number, it's always compatible with someone," Carrie said gently. "Ulysses' first wife? Mothered nine of his children. So take that to the bank."

"But why are our penises so freakishly huge?!" Richard posed, almost in disgust.

"Sweetie, the universe is full of questions," was Carrie's playful retort, again with that wonderfully bawdy laugh, even giving Richard an endearing hug. "Be happy with what ya got."

"Fift-"

"Fifteen inches," Carrie insisted, cracking up again. "Honest to Pete, I think in the diary it mentions it was Rachel Von Stuben - and I know that name because I'm familiar with the Von Stubens family tree, it was Rachel Von Stuben who measured Ulysses. More than once actually (laugh). And Rachel was an avid church goer so you can't expect someone like that to lie about something like THIS. Can you?" Carrie joked along.

"Ulysses Parker. Man," Richard marveled.

"Phyllis joked that he could probably give himself one of those knee-jerk reflex exams without needing the little hammer," Carrie laughed.

"Ha!" Richard bellowed.

"He could just, hit it with his (making a clucking noise with her mouth), and be on his merry way," Carrie laughed.

Again, more bawdy laughter.

"Oh, brother..."

"That Ulysses was the bees' knees," Richard joked.

"Ha-ha! To his knees, ladies and gentlemen, to his knees. Yes, the stories are true. It was to his knees," Carrie announced, then clapping, getting a kick out of herself and the subject matter.

"You don't mess with Ulysses, Carr," Richard said jokingly.

"Better not. He'll knock ya over the head with his 15-inch penis," she fired back, the two playfully shoving each other.

Obviously Ulysses' endowment would be some inside info they would joke about for some time to come.

"I'm thinking he might have been able to joust with it? No?" Carrie laughed.

"Was he as much of an exhibitionist as Roscoe?" Richard asked.

"Roscoe? No, Ulysses, surprisingly, kept his endowment pretty much under wraps," Carrie informed, "only bringing it out when called upon."

"I'm thinking he must have had to go to a special taylor or a - "

"- haberdasher," Richard finished for her.

"Haberdasher," she laughed. "Word of the day - haberdasher. He must have had to go to a special taylor or haberdasher to accomodate something like that. But, no, he was not like Roscoe..."

"Although," Carrie continued. "As you know, Ulysses owned the Rusty Nail and it was said that there was, sort of a healthy rivalry between the two.

"That if the mood was right, if they were properly egged on...there would be a little side-by-side comparison."

"That's awesome," Richard marveled, at just how wild and cheeky the Old West could be.

"They would just drop their trousers, unfurl their respective schlongs and let the judges - always two or three willing ladies - do the (yawn), do the judging. Oh, hon, I am tired. I think it's time for bed."

"We got carried away talking about Ulysses," Richard laughed.

"Well that's easy to do," she chuckled. "But hon, we need to get rest for tomorrow. Enough talk."

"So wait," he begged, with one more question.

"Go, head, hon. Fire away," Carrie urged.

"No, I was just wondering if Temple Tea Time, the five guys she had, did they all have big dicks?"

"No, I don't think so," she said, giving the question serious thought. "It's a good question. But no, even though two of the five happen to be Roscoe Livingstone and Ulysses Parker (laugh), I don't think penis size was the overriding factor. I think a fun personality, how well they took care of themselves and their bodies - all of those were factors too.

"Judging from the pictures and the wide variety, I would venture to guess the other three men were of average size, maybe smaller. It takes all kinds, hon."

"There's so much about Ulysses I didn't know, about his life...," Richard pondered.

"Ya know, Dick, at one point or another, Ulysses was - I mean he was a fascinating man, really - he was a blacksmith, a sailor, a cooper, a blacksmith again, a stone cutter. And then of course he owned the Rusty Nail, which we alluded to earlier.

"And the only thing that ever gets mentioned or celebrated," Carrie began, having to laugh, "is the fact he had a 15-inch penis. I mean, that's interesting, that's fascinating even, but there were a lot more layers to Ulysses than his unique endowment."

"I can't wait to find out more about Texas Tea Time," Dick said excitedly. "Maybe Bussett, Craigers and I could join?"

"The Three Musketeers, huh? Maybe," Carrie suggested. "But Dick, we both gotta get to bed."

One problem, though. Richard's penis began to come to life, up from its long, flaccid state and out and up, the CFNM talk - and all things Florence St. Claire - began to be too much to handle.

"Sorry, Carr," Richard said of his erection, rising up strong and tall from the soft fabric of the swivel chair.

"Don't be," Carrie said, crossing her legs, unknowingly making things worse for poor Richard.

"Hon, I'm sure...I'm sure Florence is smiling somewhere, knowing her photography and her steamy diary entries had this kind of effect on you..."

"Yeah but I should have more control - tomorrow's the class!" Richard belted out.

"Sweetie, this is gonna happen from time to time," Carrie said soothingly, gesturing to his skyscraper-sized erection.

"You can't be perfect. It'll probably happen tomorrow, in fact. Don't be ashamed, Just that you make it through the 45 minutes, and believe me, your stamina has proven to be amazing.

"Plus today you were outstanding. That was a long afternoon, hon, and you, you were hangin' in there."

'Hangin' no doubt a cute reference to his size.

"It did feel good to be in such command," he said. "But hopefully this doesn't happen right off the bat tomorrow..."

He and Carrie both marveled at his erection.

"Well we have to be able to fit you through the doorway, hon, so please keep that in mind," she laughed, playfully jostling his hair.

She looked back down at his penis in a caring way.

Just then it happened, an unbroken rope of semen bursting from Richard's long tool and extending all the way out into the open air of the computer room, gently splashing down on the carpet no less than nine or 10 feet from where it first erupted.

"I'm so sorry, Carr," Richard said, embarrassed.

"Hon, just let it go. Let it go, hon. It's only natural," she encouraged him.

One rope after another. After another. After another. After another.

"For goodness sake, hon," Carrie laughed, again crossing those lovely limbs of hers and watching in disbelief.

"Un-believable...nine, 10, 11, 12 (laugh)..."

"Aaarrrrrggghhhh," was all Richard could say at this point, a mixture of arousal, frustration, and ultimate release.

His loads started to lessen in quantity and distance, and Carrie quickly made a save.

"Ooo, the photos, hon, don't get any of Florence' photos," she said as she went reaching for the manila folder.

"Needless to say, hon, I need you to clean up all this," Carrie gestured to the carpet with a smile.

"No problem," he mustered. "Again, I'm..."

"Don't be," she persisted, rising from her chair. Dick had risen from his chair a while ago, in more ways than one.

"But sweetie, that's all I got. I think we're ready for tomorrow. We'll get breakfast on the way, and oh I do wanna stop at the plaza after the class. I have to pick up some things."

It was as if this was by design, Carrie mentioning this. She wanted Richard to think beyond the class, that, yes, life goes on. That the class and the day ahead were not some insurmountable challenge.

"Oh, and hon, before I forget. Your Playgirls. BRING THEM," Carrie instructed.

"Yes, mam. Any particular ones?" he asked.

"All of them, I suppose," she shrugged. "Do you have every issue, Dick?"

"Close to it," he answered.

She giggled.

"Well, Dick, how bout this. Try to organize them chronologically. We'll do sort of a Playgirl through the years if you will," she laughed.

"Yes, mam."

Carrie gracefully left the room, Richard went about cleaning up, and the night drifted into its late hours. Carrie, on the way to her bedroom, informed Dick that the Cowboys had lost, 20-13, much to his chagrin. They both chuckled.

Carrie went to her room, Richard to his, getting ready for the big day ahead.

TO BE CONTINUED