The Fifty-Eighth Day

(Chapter 1)

-A grrside story-

It was hard to believe it had been nearly two months since then. The media frenzy was starting to die down day after day, the all-day-long news reports covering the event becoming a short “And in other news, no further developments regarding this…” afterthought. Most people had nearly forgotten about it anyway. Nobody feared the virus anymore, not since it was discovered that only a small percentage of humans carrying the “Y” chromosome, in other words, males, were capable of ever being infected. And if fifty-eight days after the virus was unleashed you still haven’t manifested any of the symptoms until now, you most probably are on the safe side. And no human being would ever fear a disease that he, she, or any of their dearest friends and family are immune to.
I wasn’t one of the lucky ones.


The alarm clock on my bedside table was making the most horrible sound the human ear was capable of hearing…And I guess that, by design, that’s precisely what they are built for. I struggled to lift my still sleepy head from my pillow, but the alarm clock was out of my reach. I grunted in annoyance: if I wanted that horrible noise to end I had to actually get up from the bed. It’s not that the bedside table was that far from my bed actually, but since that fateful day…Let’s just say that I have to measure my height by inches every morning. No, the virus hadn’t made me permanently shrink in size…And I thank the heavens for that. I usually recover my normal size shortly after waking up and getting rid of my morning wood…Oops, sorry, was I too graphic? But in any case, that was the truth. The virus did that sort of stuff to you. I’d better keep my blood flow inside my body and not just inside my sexual organ if I wanted to live as full-sized man. I always woke up with raging erections, and today was no exception, but the damn alarm clock didn’t let me…uh…”concentrate”. I pushed the covers away from my naked body. Ah, I better give you a quick description of myself, although if I’m honest my looks aren’t that appealing…A rounded, chubby head with messy light-coloured hair…Uh, not blond, I’m more like a redhead, but not quite full “ginger”, if that makes any sense. I don’t really shave that frequently, and I’ve got quite a big bottom, so…Yeah, maybe I don’t take that much care of my body, so what? My life was already shitty enough to have to bother with exercise and proper hygiene. The summer heat already made me sweat a lot. Besides, I’ve just taken a part-time job as a clerk at a small supermarket. It’s not much, but I’m saving up to buy a Wiistation One™…Whoops, I meant to say…To be able to go to an university…Yeah, that’s it…
Thankfully, the alarm clock turned off by itself. Ah, blissful silence. Maybe I can sleep a little bit more, or maybe just quick je-
*KNOCK* *KNOCK*
“Hey, Jacob! It’s your first day of work, so get your ass up and go take a shower!”, said my father behind my door.
“I know! Just a moment!” I said through my toothless mouth.
Unfortunately my father noticed my voice was different, and he instantly knew I was having problems dealing with the virus again. He opened the door with an expression of worry on his face, but when he saw I was completely safe and in one piece, he calmed down.
“You should have told me you had transformed again, Jacob. I can carry you to the bathroom and clean you up a little…”
“Oh, heavens no, dad! That would be so…awkward…”
“It wouldn’t be awkward. I cleaned my twenty-one year old penis regularly, and you don’t look that much different from it. Looking at you, it’s like seeing my old prick on its prime. You sure make me proud, son!”
“D-don’t compare me to your prick, dad!” I blurted out, my undignified body shriveling with shame. He just laughed. “Hey, I’m only teasing!”
“Then don’t ever do that again! I’m teased on the streets enough to have to deal with my own family’s jokes!”
“If you don’t get a good sense of humor, you’ll just make it worse for yourself, Jacob. You have to face the facts.”
That’s easy for him to say when I’m the only family member that got infected…You see, I can’t just accept the fact that all of my flesh, bones and organs compress themselves inside a single body part whenever there’s a blood rush surging through it. That body part being my genitalia.
So…That’s right. My father was conversing with the talking, living, breathing human penis that was now his son.
“If you just give me a few more minutes, I’m sure I can turn back…” I said, doubting my own words. My father doesn’t know this, but I wake up as a cock every single day. But I usually have a quick morning jerk and that’s why I’m a human most mornings. But somedays a jerk is not enough…Every time I turn into a cock, I fear that I might never be able to turn back.
“In any case you reek, son. I’ll be preparing the “shower” for you.”
Oh god. I hate taking showers as a cock! But it was getting late, and with such a small form, it would take less time than showering as a human. My father went into the bathroom and I used a makeshift cardboard “sledge” that I had placed at the bottom of my bed for these type of “emergencies” because my bed was quite tall, and believe me: cocks always land on their testicles.

I inched towards the bathroom following my dad around like a small puppy following its master. My father had turned the sink’s knob in advance so the water would be already hot when I finished escalating the ladder of shoeboxes that my family had placed so I could maniobrate around the house without the need of anyone carrying around and…touching me. It’s true that my penis was my entire body right now, but it was still my penis. It would be very awkward if a family member touched my private parts. So anyway…I was now at the top of the sink, getting ready for my “shower”.
“You sure you don’t want any help, son?”
“O-of course! I’m not a baby!”
“I’ll leave the bathroom door open so at least you can cry for help if something happens, okay?”
“Fine…But no peeking!”
Well, it’s true that he was already seeing me completely naked…but still, old habits die hard.

I tentatively lifted a testicle and tested the water’s temperature. It was still cold and I shivered a little. The water got warmer after a while, and when I placed my shaft below the tap it felt very comforting. For a small cock like me, it was like taking a full-sized shower. It was a bit embarrassing how some of my stray light-colored pubic hairs fell into the sink though, knowing my father would have to clean it afterwards. After my shaft was sprinkling clean I made sure to thoroughly wash the underside of my testicles, as those were what I used when I wanted to walk straight-up like a regular person with pride.

“Don’t forget retract your foreskin, son! That’s where all the crap hides!” My father’s voice said from downstairs. He used to tell me that even before I got infected, but now it had a whole new meaning. I did as he told me regardless. Then I climbed up the slippery sink and brushed my whole body against the soap bar. The brushing eventually became humping…

“Jacob, don’t get too excited while rubbing yourself against the soap!”

My father was downstairs, how the hell did he know I was doing precisely that? Anyway, when my whole body was soapy enough, I slided gracefully down the sink into the flow of water once more and began to rinse.

“Son, here’s a towel…”

“Wha-?…Dad! I told you not to enter! I’m having a shower here!”

He ignored my protests and left the towel on the side of the sink. I reluctantly left my “shower head” and let my still-dripping phallic body drop on top of the towel. I began drying myself by hastily rubbing the front part of my shaft against the towel like a wet dog, then repeated the process, this time rubbing my backside. I then proceeded the quite difficult process of drying off my balls and pubic hair. My father closed the tap as he looked at me standing on my urethra, my testicles comically “kicking” the air as I tried shake the last drops of water off my pubic hair.

“You look adorable, son. I should bring the camera…”

“For the love of god, dad…No!”

“Just teasing! Just teasing!…” My dad said with a smile, yet I could sense that he was quite disappointed at my reaction. Sorry, but there are enough cockmen photoblogs on the internet already…Talking about those kind of photo blogs, I always wondered if the cockmen featured on them were simple exhibitionists or they were just desperate to make money in spite of their disease, as nobody in their right state of mind would consider hiring a man who could turn into a penis at anytime…and unfortunately I know that by my own experience. Thankfully the government took care of this by announcing a program that granted economical compensations to any business who hired phallic-faced people like me, or else I would’ve never been accepted at that supermarket. I even got issued a new special ID! It’s quite similar to the ones who are issued to handicapped people, although this one has two photos, a shoot of my face and a another one of my dickhead. That way I can be easily recognized in whichever form I am in at any moment. My hair was quite messy in the photo, but everyone said that my innocent, glaring smile was quite cute. It was quite hard to smile with your urethra, though.

So anyway, now that I was completely dried off my father opened a cabinet and pulled out a single contact lens from a small package for me. Yes, it’s true, I’m quite short-sighted and in my human form you’d always see me wearing glasses. But whenever I’m a penis I’d rather wear lenses, monocles just don’t do it for me. I put the lens over my dickhead, covering my urethra. Thank god it wasn’t noticeable or else everyone would have joked about me going around everywhere wearing a “preservative”, although it was quite a pain to remember to put it off everytime I wanted to take a piss.

My father and I went downstairs, my dad arriving after me as he had walked down the steps while I used the small sledge we had installed to the side. It was quite fun for a few seconds, but knowing that later on I would have to climb the giant steps back up was quite despairing. Hopefully I’ll have my legs back before the end of the day, it usually doesn’t take that long to recover my human form. We went to the living room where something smelt delicious.
“Oh, no….” My mother said. “If I’d have know you were going to be in your “other form”, I wouldn’t have made pancakes for breakfast, Jacob…!”
“It’s no big deal, mom. Dad can have mine”, I said.
“But now you’ll be sad that you’ll be the only one of the family not having pancakes, you’ll feel isolated from us, you’ll get a trauma, and it’ll all be my fault! According to today’s issue of the “Genital Moms Of Today” magazine, I’m a horrible mother…! I’m so sorry, son…!” My mother was in the verge of tears.
“I told you getting your mother a subscription to that magazine was a bad idea…” My dad chimed in.
“Don’t worry, mum! I don’t mind! Besides, when I’m a cock-…I mean…when I am in my “other form” I don’t need to eat anything solid at all! Besides, we have plenty of milk, so it’s not like I’m going to die of starvation or anything!”
When my mom calmed down she brought me a small plate filled with cow milk which we used to feed our cat with, may his spirit rest in peace, and placed it on the floor. I removed the lens from my dickhead and arched my body, my shaft looming over the milk,and proceeded to sip it all up with my urethra.
My parents, sitting on the table eating pancakes, while I was in the floor sipping up milk from a plate like a small pet…That thought would have terrorized me two months ago, but now I was begin to accept it as an everyday occurrence.
“Is the milk alright, son? Is it too hot? Or is it too cold?” Asked my mother, paranoid about her sick son’s well being as always.
I lifted my shaft and said “It’s perfect! It tastes great!”
My father laughed and I asked him what was so funny.
“Nothin’. It’s just that your dickhead is dripping with milk and it reminded me of something.”
I didn’t quite get it but whatever, I just submerged my shaft once again inside the lactose-filled bowl as my parents ate the pancakes and watched TV, one of those morning talk shows. Morning talk shows tend to contain a slightly lesser amount of sensationalism than their afternoon counterparts. Slightly. So slightly that, in fact, I didn’t even bother to turn my dickhead around to look at the screen, I just kept on drinking my balls off.
“…And so, we reached the conclusion that the eight-year-old girl who created a crowdfunding donation drive most definitely should wait until she enters puberty BEFORE spending the three million dollars she collected to pay for her breast enlargement operation…” Said the female presenter of the show.
“I wanth to giveth my mosth sincereth “thank you” to all of my backers thou’!” Said an ugly small girl wearing braces. “Of courseth, I’m not returningth a singleth penny of the money back.”
“…Thank you, Betty. It was a pleasure having you with us.”

The little brat left the set between the boos of the audience. Well, that’s what you get for donating money to little kids without even reading what they are going to do with the money. I sipped the last drops of milk from the bowl.
“Jacob! Don’t put your testicles inside your bowl! Where are your manners?”
“Oops, sorry mom…”
“Our next guest is Dr. Jackson, a well-known researcher of Dick’s Syndrome, the disease named after the doctor who first identified the virus, Paul Dickson…”
I cocked my dickhead toward my parents, panicked. “Dad, can you change the channel?…”
“Why? Maybe they have finally made some new discoveries regarding your sickness.” He calmly said without keeping his eyes off the screen. Why the hell was he so optimistic? If someone had seriously found the cure for a fatal illness, they wouldn’t go to a talk show the first chance they get. He’s so freaking gullible!
This “Dr. Jackson” entered the set. He looked very young and had long hair. In other words, he didn’t look like a real doctor at all. And as expected, he didn’t prove me wrong. The first thing he did after introducing himself was to promote a fucking book that probably wasn’t even written by him.
“…We found out there were a few characteristic in common between all the affected subjects we interviewed. As we already knew, no infected females were found. But what fascinated us was the fact that only a small percentage of males is actually capable of carrying the virus. In one of our experiments, we took samples of the virus from an infected test subject…”
My testicles retracted when the image of a scary-looking doctor inserting a syringe on a penis was pictured in my mind.
“…And when we injected them on our healthy test subjects, only 3 out of 78 subjects contracted the virus. Which meant that only a small percentage of men is not immune to the virus. And as the virus has been nearly two months on the wild, if you haven’t been infected with Dick’s Syndrome you’re probably on the safe side…”
“That’s good to hear. But what is the reason most people are immune but some people are not?” Asked one of the hosts.
“That’s when I made my discovery. I psychoanalyzed multiple Dick’s Syndrome sufferers and they all showed the same symptoms. You can read all about it on my book, on store shelves this same afternoon. But basically, all of the sufferers were, despite their now grotesquely sexualized appearance, virgins. Not just any type of virgins either. They were desperate for sexual contact, so much that their appearance may as well represent their desire to be touched, their urges to be seen as a sexual symbol, their need to be an object just made to release its seed…”
“Wait, so you’re telling us they were…perverts?”
“Exactly. Most of them had been previously registered as sex offenders as humans. In fact, some of them even confessed that they only turn back into a more humane form until after they’ve eyaculated and–”

The TV screen suddenly went black. When I turned around, I saw my mother had got hold of the remote.
“Don’t believe that crap, Jacob. He’s probably just a poser and not even a real doctor. I know you’re not a pervert.”
“Thanks, mom…” Although he did hit the nail when he mentioned the ejaculation thingy…
“Son, it’s getting quite late.” Said my father getting up from his chair. “You’d better get on the cockmobile if you don’t want to be late for your first day of work!”
“D-don’t call it a “cockmobile”, dad!”
We went to the garage, my father got up on his car, while I got up on a red mini scooter issued for free by the government to all Dick’s Syndrome sufferers. It wasn’t very fast, but its battery lasted long and most importantly, I could drive it even as a cock. It sported a capacitive touch panel, I just had to touch it, and a small belt fastened my testicles to the seat. Then it was just a matter of letting my dickhead lead the way.
“Be careful, son. It’s a big world out there.” Said my mother, worried as usual.
“Of course I’ll be careful mom. And I already put my ID card and my wallet in the mini scooter trunk, so there’s no need to worry about me getting lost. I’m an adult now, mom.”
My father, who was already heading out in the car, added quite loudly: “I’m proud of you son. And don’t worry, I’m sure one day you’ll be as big as your father’s!”
I didn’t understand what he meant this time either, but whatever. I would kiss my mom goodbye in these type of occasions, but…That would be weird. So I just wagged my shaft at her and ignited the mini scooter. The small vehicle left the garage, a small penis on top of it. Sometimes I would still get awkward looks from the neighbours, but screw them. I was a cock ready the rock the world at my first day of work. Nothing could stop me.