Jallen
by Richard Jasper
Part 1
Jallen was found in a dumpster at a Houston mall, a few hours after his birth. His mother was long gone by the time he was found, screaming lustily. Despite having spent the first few hours of his life as a throwaway, Jallen was a big boy, easily 10 lbs., and remarkably healthy. As soon as the pediatric nurse stuck the bottle in his mouth, he sucked greedily and noisily and didn’t want to let go when the bottle was finished.
No one came forward to claim Jallen and as is the case with most unclaimed babies he was handed over to the Texas foster care system, an elephantine bureaucracy designed to make the mostly poor, mostly brown children in its care feel unwanted and unloved.
From the beginning, Jallen stood out. He was gorgeous, for one thing, and indecipherable, for another. Even as a baby it was apparent that he had the face of a Greek God perfectly regular features, strong nose, square jaw, bow shaped lips. On the other hand, his large, long-lashed luminous green eyes had the epicanthic fold of an East Asian. He had golden brown skin, perfectly even in shading and lacking any blemishes whatsoever. And thick, lustrous, wavy black hair.
Anglo? Hispanic? African? Asian? No one could tell.
There were other differences, too.
He grew faster than anyone in his age cohort. He wasn’t just at the top of the chart for his age, he was off the chart. At 12 months he had the size and motor skills of a three-year-old, the verbal and social skills of a two-year-old. And he kept growing at that pace.
It was TOO different for most foster families. They’d keep him for six months. Then something ODD would happen, or they’d notice that the child they’d brought home a few months previously seemed to have aged a year.
Jallen’s time in foster care ended when he was 12.
In the middle of his sixth grade school year, Jallen was sent to live with the Gilmore’s, Frank and Linda. Frank Gilmore was a rough and ready construction worker, 6 ft. tall and about 200 lbs. Of well-distributed muscle. He was quite vain about his 9 inch dick and didn’t mind telling his co-workers that his wife always complained that it was more than she could handle.
By that time Jallen was already 5’10” tall and weighed 180 lbs., all of if in the right places. He was outsized in other ways, as well. He’d always been “big down there” but as the year went by Jallen’s genitals became just as awesome as the rest of his body. When he went to live with the Gilmores Jallen’s dick was already as big as Frank’s; he was 11 ½ years old.
From the beginning Frank decided that Jallen was a troublemaker who needed to have “some sense knocked into him.” He never had a kind word to say to Jallen, made him spend twice as much time doing chores as the other two foster kids in the family, etc.
Frank was also got it into his head that Jallen was in danger of “turning into a faggot” if he spent anytime whacking off, which Jallen would have done all day every day if he could have figured out a way to do so. He was, after all, a newly adolescent boy, even if a very large one. His big dick throbbed with every random thought, with every gust of wind, with every tug of his always too tight jeans.
The Gilmores had only one upstairs bathroom and Frank made it a point of needing to go when Jallen was taking a bath. Morning, evening, afternoon, if Jallen was in the bathroom, Frank was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, reading a magazine, pretending to take a dump. And he stayed there while Jallen got out of the shower and toweled off, from to time glancing at Jallen’s huge dick.
Sometimes Jallen would spring a boner. He tried and tried and tried to think thoughts that wouldn’t let it happen but then he’d relax a minute and start looking at his big weenie or think about his hunky, well-hung foster dad sitting five feet away from him and SPROING! Whenever it happened, Frank would berate him mercilessly, calling him “weiner boy” and “stuck on yourself” and “sissy.”
As the year went by Jallen grew as he had never grown before. By the end of the sixth grade, Jallen stood six feet even and he weighed a good 230 lbs., all of it muscle. With a 50-inch chest, 30-inch waist, 28-inch quads and 19-inch biceps, Jallen had a body that would be the envy of most college football players and many a competitive bodybuilder. He was as tall as Frank and outweighed him by 30 lbs., all of it muscle. Jallen was smooth as whistle no body hair at all aside from him head but his dick had kept pace with the rest of him. He was a 12-year-old boy with a 12-inch dick.
The morning of his last day of school Jallen was taking his morning shower and Frank, as usual, was pretending to take a dump. Jallen was looking forward to his summer vacation; unlike some of his foster families, who had lived out in the boonies, the Gilmores lived in an intown neighborhood, walking distance to lots of cool stuff and easy access to the bus system. Jallen meant to do some exploring.
The warm water ran across his body and his thoughts ran toward summer Jallen ’s hands ran over his body. He came close to dozing. And then…
Rrrrrrip!
Frank savagely tore the shower curtain back, ripping it from the plastic shower rings.
“I knew it,” he bellowed.
“You goddamned wussy faggot. In here in MY shower using MY hot water to get yourself all horned up! Get the fuck out of there, you fuckin’ perv!”
Jallen’s draw dropped and he gave a little shudder as Frank yanked the faucet from pleasantly warm to shiveringly cold.
“What…?”
“I said get the fuck out of there…!” Frank snarled, grabbing Jallen’s wrist and pulling him toward the edge of the tub.
Jallen stepped out quickly.
“Look at that thing!”
Jallen looked down.
There it was in all its glory. The biggest cock either of them had ever seen. Twelve proud inches long, nine mindnumbing inches in circumference.
“Why, I oughta…” Frank growled and lifted his meaty right hand in a fist.
Suddenly, something inside Jallen clicked. As the blow headed for his face, Jallen’s left hand faster than either of them could really see flew out and wrapped itself around Frank’s big fist.
“You oughta what?” Jallen asked.
His right hand immobilized, Frank cursed and swung again, this time with his left. Jallen grabbed it, too.
Jallen was standing nose to nose with Frank who was suddenly aware that Jallen wasn’t just bigger “down there.” He was bigger everywhere! Shoulders, chest, arms, legs. And stronger, too.
“Let’s get something straight, Pops,” said Jallen.
Slowly but very easily Jallen lifted Frank up and up, so that he’s feet were dangling from the floor and his head was grazing the ceiling.
“YOU don’t hit ME,” Jallen said, “unless you want ME to hit YOU.”
With that, Jallen dropped Frank to the floor, then turned and punched a hole through the bathroom’s two-inch thick solid oak door.
Jallen strode from the bathroom, stopped long enough to put on a change of clothes, then walked out the Gilmore’s front door.
They never saw him again.
Part 2
After school Jallen did what he always did he headed to the neighborhood park near the Gilmore’s house, the place where the hunky neighborhood guys went to play pick up basketball. Jallen was popular at these events and not just because he was drop dead gorgeous; he was also an excellent athlete and a great team player. The guys, all of whom seemed to be in their 20s and older, seemed to like his polite, soft-spoken manner. They treated him like one of THEM, which was a nice change. It was also more than a little bit ironic none them seemed to have a clue he was only 12 years old and he was intent on keeping it that way.
Today, though, Jallen wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He certainly wasn ’t going back to Frank and Linda Gilmore’s house. There wasn’t much point in calling his social worker, either; Jallen long ago learned that he had two choices, go with the flow, or go to juvenile hall for a couple of days worth of detention.
So he played round ball. And then he played some more. And then more again, and on and on, well into the night. By the time midnight rolled around, Jallen was the only one left, the last of the consecutive groups of hoopsters having called it a night. None of them quite caught onto the fact that he’d been playing full out for something like eight or nine hours. He wasn’t quite aware of it himself.
Jallen sat on the bench next to the basketball court, crossed his massive, sculpted arms across his powerful chest, and stretched out his spectacular legs, one of his size 14 Reeboks idly scraping sand across the concrete.
He let out a heavy sigh.
“What am I gonna do?” he asked himself.
Suddenly a light flared in his face.
“Son, ain’t about time for you to be headin’ home?” a deep, quiet voice rumbled at him.
Jallen looked up and then kept on looking! About where he’d usually expect to see a person’s head was a very wide, very thick chest covered in blue / black cotton polyester.
“Police,” he thought. “Oh, shit.”
He cocked his head further back to see the cop’s face and sucked in his breath.
Jallen didn’t have much on Officer Brian Molloy in the looks department. At 40, Molloy was all man. Majorly receding hairline, which suited him just fine because he liked to keep it buzzed short. As furry in back as he was in front, which was VERY. A mustache and goatee so thick and dark they looked like the pelt of some wild animal. A perpetual five o’clock shadow. Plus startling blue eyes, a strong nose, high forehead and cheekbones, dimples and a small cleft in his chin. Tom Selleck looked a bit on the nelly side compared to Officer Molloy.
His face wasn’t what people usually noticed first, however. What they noticed was his size -- and not just his height. Brian Molloy had always been tall, even as a child, and he reached his full height 6 feet 8 inches when he was only 16 years old. At that point he’d been rail thin and not at all happy about it. He started lifting and as soon as he started lifting he started growing and he never stopped.
At 16 he was 150 lbs., all knees and elbows and wrists and ankles.
At 20 he was 250 lbs., not that huge for one so tall but a big man even so.
Still, that wasn’t enough.
At 30 Brian was 325 lbs.
He was bigger than any other man on the force and stronger, too. His supervisors told him that that was enough, that any more than that would cost him promotions.
“You intimidate people, Brian,” his supervisor told him. “That’s OK on the street but it’s not a good thing when it’s the chief or, God forbid, the mayor!”
Still Brian kept growing.
At 40 he weighed 400 lbs. Of solid muscle.
“Well, it IS Texas,” he’d point out when people gawked. “Everything’s bigger. Even the cops.”
There wasn’t one bigger than Brian Molloy, however, even that guy on the Arlington P.D., Ronnie What’s His Face, the Mr. Olympia titleist. He’d visibly blanched the first time he met Brian who stood 8 inches taller and outweighed him by a hundred pounds.
Like Jallen, Brian’s muscles weren’t the only thing huge about him. More than one of Houston’s Montrose residents the predominantly gay neighborhood Brian frequently patrolled had remarked that Brian seemed to have forgotten that he was supposed to wear his nightstick on the outside of his pants, not inside. Brian never wanted to tell anyone how big it was but from time to time he’d let himself be maneuvered into revealing that it was, indeed, a bit longer than his nightstick regulation 12 inches and quite bit thicker.
“Jeez,” Jallen finally said. “You are SOOO fucking huge!”
To be continued?