Page 101 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
We hung up, and surprisingly, I didn’t feel any better. Remembering I had to “pee,” I flushed the toilet and ran the water to make it seem like I was hitting all the marks of a bathroom visitor.
Dropping my phone off in my purse, I went back into the living room where Lance was still stroking himself but was harder than ever. I glanced down and couldn’t help notice that it looked like he was choking his poor dick and its head was trying to spring free from his grasp.
What happened to his penis?
“Come back here.”
It looked like a broken finger, a right-hand turn sign, an Allen wrench, a drunk pencil, a worm with a broken neck, a damn garden hoe.
It was not a penis. I didn’t have much experience with penises but this wasn’t right; it wasn’t real. It had to be a prosthetic . . . that had melted in the sun.
Call me a bitch, call me stuck up, but I couldn’t go through with this with him. I wanted to, damn did I want to finally rip off the Band-Aid, but I had zero experience touching a penis, so handling one that was proving the term “How you hanging” a little too seriously, was something I couldn’t tackle.
“I’m a virgin,” I blurted out, knowing that was a giant red flag when it came to guys. “I’m a stage-five clinger. If you poke me with that penis, I will want to marry you tomorrow. I actually already love you. I didn’t have to go to the bathroom, I was preparing my engagement speech to you, because I want to propose, and if we have sex, I will guarantee you I will get pregnant, condom or not. My vagina eats condoms actually, and my eggs are more than willing to pull your sperm into their sacs as hostages. We can make a baby today; just say the word. Marriage, babies, and I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Yup, pulled out all the stops.
Despite his broken wrist, Lance’s pants were pulled up and fastened as quickly as I could say deformed dick, and he was backing away from me.
“Rosie, I like you, but we just met.”
“Yes, but don’t you want a baby? I have triplets in the family.”
Not really, but anything to get out of this apartment.
“This just got weird,” he admitted.
No, buddy, shit got weird the minute your dick couldn’t look me square in the eyes without me leaning over your lap to wink at him.
“Yeah, too bad it won’t work out.” I shrugged while walking back down the hallway.
Without glancing back at Lance, I grabbed my purse and bolted.
It wasn’t until I was walking into the subway that I realized all the things I said.
Jesus.
I shook my head as I swiped my Metro Card and walked through the turnstile. Stage-five clinger? Really?
At least it got me far away the from candy-cane cock.
June 13, 2018
Note to self: when people say dicks come in all shapes and sizes, they are not kidding.
Dicks can be a grower, not a shower; they can be fat, skinny, long, short, brown, pink, white, black…purple. They have a mind of their own, and they are veiny with an eye on them that will stare you down, begging you to just lick them, taste them, satisfy them. They rest around in the dark, waiting to see the light, to be freed, only to be stuck, shoved, and caressed in the dark once again.
Dicks are masochists.
They like to be plucked, tugged, slapped, and swallowed.
They are nudists, they only like to be naked, they prefer to be sheathed by a canal of flesh and that’s all.
Dicks are sensitive and, if jostled too much, can spew in seconds. They prefer to do so on a woman, in a woman, anywhere near a woman, but even a sock will work.
The dick is a different species; it’s one of its own and with a slight lift of its shaft, it’s ready to party.
Virginia has been scarred. Any vagina would be startled after seeing such a bent cock coming after them. She’s not dumb; she knows how big she is and what can fit, and Mr. Dented Dick wasn’t going to fit properly.
