Giant Gerald was born Gerald Robert
Letrowski to the Flying Letrowskis out of Hoboken, New Jersey. While they did
work for a circus at one point, cultivating a husband and wife trapeze duo was
the mere aspiration of a couple who made their living on the side show of a Atlantic
Coast traveling carnival. They were Jenna, the bearded lady, and Jerome, the
half-man, half-horse. While Jerome’s penis did not take up half of his body, it
was rumored to have been transplanted from a Kentucky derby stud. Jenna, on the
other hand, was highly attractive, and did little more for her part of the show
than sit idly next to her husband while donning a cosmetic beard fashioned from
dyed sheep’s wool. Where they wound up is where our story takes place.
Being
born at the healthy weight of nine pounds and three ounces was not the reason
behind Gerald’s nickname. Nor did he grow to be very large in stature. Giant
Gerald did not, in fact, know about his ridiculously large penis until he had
reached his mid-twenties, when the rumor caught up with him. However let’s not
get ahead of ourselves.
The
name actually spawned from an incident during a home-coming party at the start of
Gerald’s junior year in high school. Late that night, when many of the guess
had departed, young Gerry found himself stumbling drunk into a vacant bedroom
and ready to be deflowered by a lovely, young, popular cheerleader by the name
of Melinka. Within a few clumsy minutes they were disrobed and ready to party.
Melinka let out a mighty shriek and began to bleed, allowing her to confirm the
lie she had told earlier – saying that she was a virgin.
She
spoon-fed this story to every new romantic encounter, and nothing could have
been further from the truth. As a matter of fact, Gerald was the second gentleman
to penetrate her that evening. He went on, oblivious and somewhat traumatized,
thinking that sex was not really something for women to enjoy.
The
story spread throughout poor Gerry’s high school with a sonic boom, without
every reaching his ears, in the way etiquette dictates that nobody is to tell a
morbidly obese woman that she has a weight problem, even if that woman keeps a
spandex-based wardrobe. Young Gerald thought thought it normal to struggle
daily whit the cumbersome chore of hiding his bulge. After all, does not every
man keep his penis folded beneath his ass if not propped to one side over his
pelvis?
His
friends called him G.G. for short without ever explaining why. Nor did he
inquire. He took the nickname as a satire regarding his relatively small
stature, though he was not particularly tiny in comparison with the rest of the
students in his graduating class. At 5’ 9” and 144 lbs., he was neither here
nor there. All the while, his friends refused to let him in on the joke, mainly
for the sake of their own insecurities.
What
a splendid homage, he thought, to be tagged with such a wonderfully satirical
nickname. This attitude he kept of noticing only the shiny side of life did him
well all through high school and up to adulthood. Bright-eyed, young Gerry had
no formal skills, experience, or higher education to speak of. Only a hearty
smile, and a willingness to take on the world with it.
This,
coupled with other preceding events, landed him a comfortable job as a
bartender when he turned twenty-five. Gerald made more money behind that bar
than many of his former fellow students who went on to college and subsequent
professional careers. His nights were high-paced and his regulars were absolutely
head-over heels in love with his dopey, happy-go-lucky attitude. They called
him Woody sometimes in reference to the barkeep on an old 1980’s hit sitcom
series. Having never achieved success in concealing his bulge, the surrounding
staff had a good chuckle at this. It embarrassed
him, actually, his bulge, and he cared not to speak about it.
At
night’s end, he was permitted by management to pour a few cocktails for the closing
staff. He did this liberally but with a sense of caution. Sometimes he would
simply bring in a bottle of his own to avoid confusion altogether with revenue
coming in from clientele. Nobody would have ever accused Gerald of stealing and
that was one reason why.
So
beloved was our young bartending protagonist, and he would have been popular
regardless of the following incident. Nonetheless, it did not hurt him any.
One
night, while chatting away with the closing staff, Gerald was asked out
rightly.
“Why
do you think you need to stuff your pants?”
The
closing staff on this night consisted of three young and slender cocktail
waitresses. Most of the staff were female on the front side of the
establishment. The cooks in the back of the house, as is the norm, were mostly
male and of Hispanic origin. The doors were closed, and they, along with any
remaining clientele, had long since gone home. The waitresses, nowadays called
servers, were Daisy, Fay, and Sue. They all sat, anxiously, and awaited a
response.
He
took this at first as though someone had pointed out an obvious handicap: with
abashment, and to a lesser extent, offense. Utterly speechless, his face began
to warm up, particularly at the ears and forehead, causing them to turn a
cherry shade of red. He wished he could have died right then and there.
“I
just…” Gerald started, after an intensely long pause. Sue was the girl bold and
tipsy enough to ask. She was relatively new on the staff. Daisy and Fay dared
not to break the silence and risk taking momentum out of the situation. It had
been a question on all their minds ever since the day they met him and the only
discernible fault Gerry had.
“Wasn’t
that something guys did in the seventies?” Sue continued, as though they were
discussing hair styles. Her valley girl, bubble gum way of talking was
beginning to sound like fingernails scratching on chalkboard to him.
“You’d
probably get more girls if you didn’t try to go all porn star all the time, you
know?”
Sue was a nice enough girl. Only
honest to a flaw. She didn't know any better. Nobody did. Gerald was chaste and
had been ever since his episode in high school. As a result, he had become a
compulsive masturbator and housed a veritable library of pornography in his
apartment. Some of the men in the films had equipment comparable to his. Lesser
sizes he attributed to the porn industry’s commitment to boosting the male ego.
Another reinforcement on the idea that sex was not for women to enjoy.
“It’s
tough,” he went on. “I don’t know what else to do with it.”
The
women glanced at one another in perplexity.
“Do
me a favor,” said Daisy. “Open your pants.”
Gerald,
modest as he was, refused at first. Two shots of Irish whiskey and one Irish
car bomb later, he unleashed what later became known as ‘the fury’. With this
unveiling and the consequent reaction came a sudden pondering in retrospect to
his old nickname. The order of events replayed over and over in his head, and
caused him to feel extremely foolish.
This
feeling of being left out of his own cosmic joke was short-lived, however.
Throughout the ensuing weeks, one by one, the female servers would report for a
shift with a bit of a limp in their step. Another sonic boom radiated from the
now legendary grin of Mr. Giant Gerald Letrowski. Incidentally, he began
purchasing his trousers two sizes larger, and it made a world of difference for
his general appearance.
