Something jerked him to life, and Dale sat up in bed, ramrod-straight. "I'm a-comin'!" he hollared to no-one in particular, feeling just suddenly real ready to start his day, and threw his comfortor and sheets into the air and against the wall knocking many of his trophies to the ground at the opposite side of the bed closest to the window.

Ignoring them— he could always get more— he spun into action, picked up his stars-and-stripes boxer shorts from where they lay in a heap on the floor and pulled them up in a hurry. As he did, the waistband caught the undersides of his plump testicles and the momentum caused his gigantic member to whollop up onto his tummy with a SMACK!, like a giant tube of penis-meat hitting rock hard and hairy abs, which is what really happened. It hurt a bit, but it felt good.

He pulled on his blue jeans, buttoned up his button-up short sleeved shirt, buttoned his cuffs, sat down on the bed so he could pull on his boots and spurs with a grunt, and standing up he reached to the back of the door for where his belt hung. He pulled it through his belt loops and around his waist and cinched the giant belt buckle tight.

Leaving the room he turned back to look at his wife, who was completely invisible but incredibly beautiful and thin, with tousled hair and eyes of some color or another, with some nice hips and pregnant with his baby-- yet still thin.

"Bye darlin'" she said to him, and he turned back to her even more, took three steps across the room and kissed her full-on on the mouth.

"You bet."

In a flash he was down the hall and whooping "YA-HOO!" he spread-eagled onto the bannister, sliding down it on the back of his cowboy boots somehow, one spur on each rail and his butt well-below where it should have been possible for him to remain upright, yet he did so perfectly through sheer force of gumption. At the bottom he clomped upright like a cartoon, stopped to be pleased for just a second, then grabbed hold of his tweed coat with the suede shoulders and pulled it on. He made a little shrug to get it to fit just right, and twisted his neck a bit after.

He pulled an apple from the bowl by the door, bit into it to hold it in place, grabbed his car keys and wallet from the table that the bowl sat on and jammed them into his tight pants pocket of his tight blue jeans.

One last thing. He grabbed his bigger belt that went overtop his other belt, with an even bigger belt buckle, with even bigger cow horns on it, and he put it into the bigger belt loops that were outside the normal-sized ones that his normal-sized belt was threaded through. He had to lift up his tweed coat with the suede shoulders as he reached around behind himself to put it on. The bigger big belt buckle clipped perfectly overtop the normal big belt buckle with a satisfying CLICK. Magnets.

He opened the white door of his great big suburban house and clomped outside at a swift speed-walk, his spurs jangling. The door slammed behind him and shook the house a bit, but he didn't even do it, that's how automatic it was.

He walked down the walkway to his corvette and climbed cooly inside. Slamming the car door, he had to lift his butt up, rubbing his crotch to the steering wheel, so he could pull his keys out of his pocket, and once he did he settled back in, turned the key with a satisfying VROOOOM and one elbow on the steering wheel while he took a big juicy bite out of his apple, he shifted the shift stick into DRIVE. The wheels squealed as he peeled out of his driveway, the radio automatically coming on to his favorite music, that was really good rock and roll songs.

He ate the apple and tossed the core out the window, and sat back with his arm directly in front of him on the steering wheel, sitting as far back from it as he could, while he shifted his hips around a bit to get comfortable. Next he reached over and, tilting most of his body so that it hovered over the passenger seat, he spanked the glove compartment. It opened up and a packet of beef jerky came out, already torn open with a nice hunk of meat hanging out. Sitting back upright into the drivers seat, he ripped it with his teeth, turning his head to help pull the sinews apart so satisfyingly but all the while not even having to take his eyes of the road for one second. Delicious.

He loved his car. It was a corvette pickup truck, the only one ever made, and they made it just for him when he showed up at the dealership and told them what he wanted: "I want to buy a corvette, but it has to be a pickup truck. Can you do me that?"

They did him that.

He could see some cops or something up ahead, so he slowed down and stopped at the stopping sign. While he did he looked out his window, which was always rolled down, and there was a beautiful woman walking by looking straight ahead, but subconciously looking at him, he knew. He chewed his beef jerky at her-- women found that irrestible, in his considerable experience.

Raising an eyebrow and smiling to himself but only with the right side of his mouth while he shook his head and exhaled audibly through his nose-- poor thing, he already had a wife at home but how could she know that?-- he pulled into the intersection. He drove slow past the cops who couldn't help but stop from arresting the perp they had up against a car to admire him in his corvette truck a moment, hands on their hips looking out from their reflective sunglasses. He glanced their way and nodded, he was law-abiding that was for sure.

A half a block safely past the cops, he put the pedal to the medal and the four hundred horsepower turbocharged hemi roared to life while the music also got louder. A second later he was at the end of his quiet street, at a red light, and he slammed on the brakes in the middle of the crosswalk for the breifest second before immediately squealing out zero to sixty and onto the open road, his car leaning to the outside at the sudden ninety-degree turn and then fishtailing an S-curve through an improbable cloud of burned-rubber-smoke.

In a little while he'd be at the golf club, back-patting the guys in his foursome with pleasure. He couldn't wait. What was better than a Saturday afternoon with the boys, hitting some balls down the fairway, and after that some whiskey and coke and a burger at the clubhouse. Not to mention some laughs!

This was the life. He somehow didn't even know it, but he was sure glad to be a man.

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