I'm Just A Small Town Shifter Page 4

  “Fuck yeah I will. I’ll show everyone here that I can cut it,” I promised myself as I handed the phone back to Mac.

  The old man just raised an eyebrow at me. “You’ve got a job with me if you need it,” he stated.

  “Thanks,” I was touched that he cared.

  He shrugged and looked uncomfortable. “You nearly got killed in my alley. It’s the least I can do. Plus, I don’t want to have to teach some new city kid how to cook a decent burger.”

  I grinned, but it faded as my stomached rumbled. It sounded like a lion calling his pride to the hunt.

  “Speaking of burgers. Any chance you could bring two when you come back. Maybe three?” I asked.

  I’d just eaten a full two thousand calorie meal, and I was still starving.

  “But it means I’m alive,” I settled back into the bed and reached for the remote on the bedside table. “Maybe Cops is on?”

  ***

  The next week dragged by. I was confined to bed rest while Brianna’s mom came and checked in on me every day. Hell, I still had the catheter in. It wasn’t until my third day after awakening that they pulled another absurdly long plastic tube out of my penis. I didn’t watch. If it looked as bad as it felt, then no thank you.

  Mac came by twice a day to bring me good food, because like all stereotypical hospital food, the grub here sucked. Plus, I had to pay for it. My insurance was already going to shit a chicken over my severe injuries and lengthy hospital stay. At this rate, I needed to get selected just to avoid bankruptcy. All the free meals from Mac were a breath of fresh air, and I let the old man know that at every possible opportunity. The dude was literally saving my life.

  As it turned out, the bear hadn’t ripped apart my innards. Thankfully, the warf burgers I was downing like Jager bombs on St. Patrick’s Day weren’t going to rupture my freshly stapled intestines, and lead to me dying of sepsis during the night. Actually, by my third night in the hospital, I felt pretty good. Good enough that I didn’t need the pain meds anymore. I was super thankful for that.

  Growing up, I knew more than one person addicted to opioids. Some got that shit illegally, and others got hooked after an injury that needed pain medication. That I was able to get off the stuff with no symptoms of withdrawal was awesome.

  That was just one of the things the hospital required before they would discharge me. Some of the stuff was pretty typical; like me being able to walk under my own power. But there was other stuff I’d never thought about. For instance, I had to be able to take a piss.

  So, on that fateful third night, I awoke to the sudden need to go. After you’d been on a catheter; when you gotta go, you gotta go . . . or else. My legs were still a little wobbly, but I made it into the bathroom just fine.

  The light nearly blinded me, but by that time I was on autopilot. I’d been going to the bathroom by myself for over twenty years. I didn’t expect anything different this time around. Boy was I wrong.

  “What the hell!” I screamed, flailed, and accidentally yanked the cord on the wall. It was the I’ve-fallen-and-can’t-get-up cord.

  I heard the rushing footsteps before they arrived, but I was in a state of shock.

  “Mr. Jensen,” a nurse rushed in.

  I hadn’t seen her before, but she had to be new to the profession. She was young and had that bright-eyed, bushy-tailed demeanor that had been ground out of most older medical professionals.

  “What’s wrong?” she looked around the room, searching for what had caused me to pull the cord. Then she spotted it. “Oh my,” her mouth made an o-shape as her eyes zeroed in on my crotch.

  “I think . . .” I didn’t know what to say.

  I’d had my package since puberty, and it hadn’t changed much. I never felt bad about myself. I was probably a tad above average, and on the few instances when I’d used what god gave me, I hadn’t heard any complaints. But on this night, when I went to take my first piss without a catheter, I was greeted with something very different.

  “It has to be an allergic reaction,” I concluded. “Shit, they’re going to have to stick a needle in my dick to aspirate.”

  During the past couple days, and the week I’d been in a coma, my cock had gotten huge. When I went to take a piss, I didn’t grip the shaft of the dick I’d had for the last decade. No, my hand wrapped around a fucking python. I looked down to see I was fully flaccid, but nearly as big as when I’d been hard before. If that didn’t freak me out enough, I’d suddenly added more girth.

  “I’m dreaming,” I concluded. “This is a nightmare.”

  Then, I saw my balls. I’m not going to say they were twice as big as they’d been before; but they were damn near close. That’s why I thought this must be an allergic reaction. A drug they’d given me, or the process of removing the catheter had gone terribly wrong.

  “Oh god. Are they going to have to chop off my dick?” A dick infection was literally a man’s worst nightmare.

  “Wow . . . um,” the nurse broke me out of my own thoughts.

  Her eyes were a little wide, but she’d managed to shut her mouth. Her cheeks were still a faint shade of red. That was about the time she noticed me watching her watch me, and hurriedly put on her mask. They might be a pain in the ass, but they were a useful excuse to cover up your facial expressions at an opportune time.

  “Sorry, but . . . um . . . how can I help you?” she tried to recover a hint of her professionalism.

  “I’m . . . I don’t . . .” I was trying to take a self-assessment while angling away from the nurse ogling my junk.

  If this was an infection, I’d be feeling pain. Every dude knew the twig and berries were a sensitive area. Although, for me, it was now the trunk and coconuts. I’d always been a grower, not a shower, and if that still held true, I was packing a Subway footlong under my hospital gown.

  If it was some sort of allergic reaction, and my dick had just swelled up, I’d be feeling strain and tension along my flesh. As discretely as possible, I gave myself a quick feel. Nothing. There didn’t seem to be swelling of some type.

  “What the hell is going on?” I was back to square one.

  “Sorry, I accidentally pulled the chord,” I managed to get out when the uncomfortable silence between me and the nurse had stretched for too long. “I’m a little embarrassed. This is my first time,” I pantomimed peeing into the toilet. I didn’t need any prompting for the blood to rush to my cheeks.

  “You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about,” there was some heat in the nurse’s voice, which only made me blush harder.

  “Yeah. Okay,” I didn’t know how to respond to that.

  “In fact,” she reached into the chest pocket of her scrubs and pulled out a card. “At-home care after a traumatic injury like yours is sometimes needed. I do some of that in addition to working nights here. Give me a call if I can give you a hand.”

  My history with the fairer sex was average at best. I’d had a couple girlfriends. I wasn’t a virgin, but I hadn’t really been around the block much. After my parents died, and I knew I needed to get out of that town, I didn’t have much of a sow-my-wild-oats mentality. Needless to say, I’d always had to ask a girl out.

  “Is she asking me out? Flirting with me? What is happening?” this was foreign territory, so I kept it simple.

  I smiled and pocketed the card. She lingered for a moment, her eyes still scanning me, before she left. I quickly returned the cord to its magnetic holder and pulled my dick back out. It was still the type of massive thing you’d see featured in its own private channel on Pornhub.

  Whatever the current size of my dick, I still had to take a piss and check that box to get out of here. Thankfully, that came easy, but the look on the nurse’s face when she saw what I was packing was hard to get out of my mind.

  Honestly, I didn’t want it out. After the rumor mill churned and spit out the story of me getting my ass kicked by a homeless bum, it was nice to have someone look at me as something other than a victim. It was even better when a girl eye-fucked my junk.

  Chapter 4

  “Order up!” I yelled, as I hit the bell and looked out the window from my little corner of the world.

  Like a well-oiled machine, Charlene walked up, took the chicken sandwich, and disappeared back into the lunch crowd. For the most part, after a month, things were back to normal.

  I’d been in the hospital for a total of six days before they discharged me on Friday. They made sure I could walk, feed myself, piss, and shit; you know, all those essential life functions. Mac told me to come in on Monday if I was feeling up to it. I was in on Saturday. Most people would take the time off to recuperate, but not me. I wasn’t going to sit in my studio apartment, watch Netflix, and steadily go crazy. That wasn’t how I was made. I had a goal, and I needed to be moving toward it. Not sitting around on my ass all day. Plus, I considered work the best kind of rehab.

  I was back in the kitchen, but I knew to pace myself. My chest was still sore and tender. The dexterity in my right hand wasn’t as good as it used to be, and I had a bit of a limp if I was on my feet too long. Mac gave me extra breaks, and picked up more duties on the grill; but things were still infinitely easier for my sourpuss guardian angel if I was there rather than sitting at home. Most importantly, if I was at work, I got quality food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Not whatever expired Ramen I had in my cupboard.

  It was good that Mac gave me meals as part of my employment perks, because I was fucking starving.

  “Is this how pregnant women feel?” I wondered, as I devoured a heaping helping of meatloaf.

  It was like I was addicted to meat now. I’d never been a vegetarian by any means, but with my genetic makeup, I couldn’t just devour red meat like it was my job. I ate a lot of leaner meats, like chicken and turkey; but now, if I didn’t have at least a pound of the good stuff every day, I could feel my body revolting.

  “I was able to kick the painkillers, but not the burgers,” I laughed to myself. I could be the poster boy for Atkins.

  If I’d been putting on the lbs, I would have fought back harder against my new diet; but the exact opposite was happening. I didn’t know if the near-death experience finally shocked my body into some changes, but I felt like every calorie I put in me was being put to good use. My waist had started to shrink, to the point I needed to sinch my belt to its limits. There was no way I could afford new pants right now.

  I could also feel my muscles getting stronger, and hardening under my flesh. I still wasn’t a bodybuilder, NFL linebacker-looking guy; but it felt like any excess chub I’d been carrying around since puberty was finally falling off. I thanked my hard work for that. About a week out from the hospital, I started to gradually work back up to my previous fitness regimen.

  It was like my body needed to get back into action. Before the weather turned truly frigid, I went out for runs before or after my shift. That presented its own set of problems. First off was the bear I knew was still out there. Thankfully, Alaskan gun laws were pretty lax, and I was able to get some protection. I’m not talking about a condom. I’m talking about an old-school revolver. A six shooter, that looked like it could have been used by the cops in the forties. It might be old, but it was reliable. Those weapons didn’t jam. They were simple, without any of the flash of modern firearms – or ammo capacity – but it was good enough for me. A few of the heavy, forty-five bullets in the bear’s face would make it think twice about using me as a chew toy a second time around. I stuck it in the pocket of my running jacket, but prayed I never had to use it.

  The next issue was the new sword I was packing. I’m not going to lie; it bolstered my confidence. Apparently, the term big-dick confidence was a literal thing. But that sword was double edged. Over my entire life, my body had done things a certain way. Now, my new package was starting to throw everything off.

  Have you ever tried to run with your dick’s tip threatening to peak out of the bottom of your boxers? I have. It’s annoying. Everything about my gait and stride had to be adjusted. It played hell on my cardio. Even worse, I found myself having to adjust it several times a day. The last thing a customer wanted to see when they looked in the kitchen was a dude playing with his dick. Not playing playing, but getting things comfortable. Not that it would matter to whoever’s food I was making.

  It looked like I’d need to go shopping after all. I might have to go from boxers to briefs to keep myself comfortable and contained.

  “I’m gonna take my break. Will you deliver to table six?” Charlene stated with a glimmer in her eye.

  I looked down at the order sheet, and couldn’t stop the grin from splitting my face. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” I wanted to yell.

  “Sure thing,” I said instead, trying to play it cool. From her look, I failed miserably.

  I abandoned all my other orders to get this one out as quickly as possible. Then, I took a clean towel and quickly patted the sweat off my brow, face, and arms. I washed my hands quickly, and looked myself over in the mirror. Despite all I’d been through, I looked better than I had a month ago.

  “Don’t take too long,” Mac grunted, as he took over at the grill.

  “Thanks,” I took a deep breath, grabbed the order, and exited through the swinging saloon doors.

  I nodded to our regulars as I passed, and made a beeline for table six.

  “Four meatloaves,” I announced as I stepped up to the table and was greeted by Brianna’s beaming smile.

  I didn’t care if it was for me, or the hunk of meat, I’d take what I could get.

  “Thank you so much. I’m starving,” she gushed, and I thanked god for following my instinct to get this done fast.

  “I put some bacon in yours,” I selected the loaf I’d made especially for her. “It’s something new, but trust me, you’ll love it,” I meant that in more ways than one, but despite my new outlook on life, I still didn’t have the guts to go any farther then mild flirting with her; if this even qualified as flirting.

  “Really?” she raised an interested eyebrow.

  I ignored all the pointed looks her friends gave me. It was the same four people she was always with; two guys and another girl. Honestly, I didn’t even know their names. Brianna was the shining star of the group.

  They clearly thought I should get back to cooking, but I continued ignoring them. I wanted to see what happened. Slowly, she cut off a healthy chunk of loaf, slathered it in barbeque sauce, and stuck it in her mouth. I’m not going to lie, I fantasized about her sticking something else in her mouth.

  “Oh. My. God,” she moaned, as she shut her eyes and savored the flavor. There was more than a little extra bacon in there. “I think I have a new favorite order,” she opened her eyes and beamed up at me.

  I felt like I’d just won the lottery.

  “I’ll put it on the menu,” I smiled back. “I’ll call it the Brianna.”

  She chuckled around her mouthful of meat, and took a sip of the coke she’d ordered along with it.

  “Hey,” I began. “I just wanted to give an extra thanks to your mom. She literally saved my life, and if she ever needs anything, all she has to do is ask,” I didn’t even think. The words just poured out of me. “I’m not sure what a cook can do to help a doctor, but I’m hoping not to be a cook too much longer. I got into police selection.”

  Part of me screamed that I was oversharing, and I should go back to the kitchen. But another part of me was puffing my chest out in pride at my accomplishments, and I wanted her to see that.

  “Congratulations!” she beamed. “Mom always does her best with her patients, and I’m sure she’d appreciate your kind words,” Brianna said, still smiling. “As far as what you can do. Make one of these to go. She’s gonna die when she tastes this,” she put another forkful of meat between her lips.

  “That’s not the only thing we’ve heard is appreciable,” the other girl mumbled as she took a bite of her own, lesser meatloaf. Her eyes were focused in on my crotch.

  “Um . . . sure. Yeah . . . I’ll . . .” her statement through me off, and I was back to my stuttering, bumbling self. “Another Brianna, coming right up,” I did my best to recover.

  I was about to turn and head back to the kitchen when the door chimed. There was a small bell attached to the frame that jingled whenever someone new came in. After seven months on the job, I didn’t even register when it rang. This time, I did.

  At the same moment, everyone in Brianna’s booth stiffened and shifted position to get a good look at the door.

  “Serena,” I gulped, as the woman stepped through the door, and threw her fiery mane over her shoulder.

  It said a lot about a women when she could make bulky, thermal layers look tight against her curves. She surveyed the diner like a queen in her court. For a heartbeat, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at her; caught under her spell. Then, reality settled back in, and everyone returned to their meal. Maybe it was because of the guy who walked in behind her.

  “Fucking Trevor,” I was surprised at the animosity in my gut.

  Sure, the guy was an asshat of epic proportions, but I tried to at least be kind and courteous to everyone I met. It was a good pattern to fall into. As a police officer, I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot when responding to a call; whether it was a routine traffic stop or a domestic violence call to someone’s house. How I approached a situation and interacted with people could dictate good or bad things to come. I only wanted good things.

  A pair filed in behind Serena and Trevor, but they seemed to fade into the background. More like bodyguards than friends. Serena slipped her arm around Trevor’s back, while the man stuck his hand in the back pocket of her jeans. I could tell he was giving her ass a squeeze. Right there. In the middle of the diner. In front of everyone.

  “Pig.” I wanted to apologize to her on behalf of all men.

  It looked like I might get my chance. They started walking right toward me.

  “Kirk. How about that meatloaf?” Brianna tried to reacquire my attention.