hung like a bull

“[...] I once had a fellow in Toledo—we met in this exclusive cocktail lounge—they wouldn’t even let you in if you weren’t dressed right—he worked in a bank over in Elyria, he said—he was so short he wore elevator shoes—a real little fellow—except he was hung like a bull down there. You never can tell. Some women think if a man’s got a long nose or long hands that means he’s got a big one—or if he has a deep speaking voice—but don’t you believe it. That’s all a lot of hooey. There’s only one way to find out for sure. But anyway, I was telling you, this was the biggest one of all time. It would of won a blue ribbon at the county fair—I kid you not. I could only just hold it in both my two hands. The first time he put it in, I thought the end of it would come out of the top of my head.”

1967, Patrick Skene Catling, chapter 24, in The Experiment, Anthony Blond, pages 154-155

Aarak grins at ’em and leans back against the wall, starting to play with himself, and I can see right away he’s gonna win. He’s got a rod on him like...well, I’m not small, but he’s hung like a fuckin’ bull. It doesn’t take him long, and he’s got a raging hard-on...must’a been a good inch more than me.

1995, Larry Townsend, chapter 3, in Beware the God Who Smiles, Badboy, pages 32-33

He was tall and brown, with long dark hair like an Indian that hung around his shoulders in thick wet strands. The hair on his chest was thick, slicked down over his hard flat belly, down to his groin. Even half hidden by the water she could see that he was hung like a bull and already half erect.

1997, A.J. Holt, chapter 2, in Unforgiven, Headline Publishing Group, page 14

‘[...] He came with his men, drinking whisky and smoking big cigars. He was hung like a bull! He was standing in his army fatigues with a girlfriend — a secretary or something, a scrawny woman — and my friend said, “Do you see that? He has a penis like a missile!” ’

1997, Alexander Stuart, chapter 9, in Life on Mars, Black Swan, page 102

Unspeakable things were done to her while the lights blazed down and the crew looked on and the man on the bed, who was hung like a bull, invaded her body with such extreme force that she thought he might split her in half. It was violent and painful yet also exciting and Cristina, panting and slicked with sweat, was disappointed when the director at last called out: ‘Cut!’

2006, Carol Smith, chapter 18, in Vanishing Point, Charnwood Leicester, page 128