Surprise (16 page)

Arriving at work, I made a right turn into the parking lot as my better half began warming up my penis.

With or without a dick, I'm a blessed man. My beloved wife is a woman with many talents. I felt lips and a tongue. It didn't take long. My eyes closed, toes curled, and my legs straightened mashing the accelerator to the floor. The front of my new Mercedes crumpled against a wall, rear tires spinning and smoking.

The police and medical personnel arrived, but Carolyn wasn't done, so neither was I. She'd moved from foreplay to the act itself. They found me, fists locked around the steering wheel. Face contorted, grunting like a caveman, I was humping the deflated airbag, tires still spinning.

It got worse. It got much worse.

Carolyn, dressed in her birthday suit, presented me with a thirty-six hundred dollar receipt for a Prada, extra large, alligator skin, diamond studded, penis tote. Turned out that was just her everyday carrier. Found that out when she showed me her Sunday-go-to-meetin' tote. Snakeskin, trimmed with sable, mink, diamonds and gemstones. She said, “befitting” a Sunday tote, it cost a little more.

Then I got the American Express bill for the second one…

She watched me open the envelope. When I saw what she'd spent: twenty-seven thousand, eight hundred ninety-four dollars and seventy-three cents, I was more than pissed. She smiled, whipped my penis from her pocket, and went to work. She has serious skills. I couldn't be mad at anyone or anything for at least a half-hour, forty-five minutes. Soon as the glow faded and I frowned-up, she'd produce my dick and start again. I'm not eighteen anymore. After a few of those, I tended to slip into an eight hour coma.

I slept through Memorial Day weekend before I figured out I wasn't going to win.

The next day, on my way back to work after a late lunch, she put my penis to work while I attempted to walk across a busy intersection. I found myself on my back in the crosswalk. Hips gyrating, ass bouncing like a basketball while cars swerved around me. All 'cept one.

On the edge of a grand mal orgasm, I latched onto a speeding MINI Cooper. Newspaper article says I got in two good humps and half a grind before the wheels rolled over me. They ran a picture that some guy took right before the MINI Cooper arrived. My pupils had rolled up. Milky-white eyes wide open, I had an expression like I smelled something really, really bad.

Helluva phuck-face. That explains why Carolyn never looks at me while we make love. I look like the Antichrist.

Broke my pelvis in two places, fractured two vertebrae.

Thank god it wasn't a bus or eighteen-wheeler.

I learned that pelvic thrusts while in traction, or a body cast aren't the smartest things to do. I pleaded with the li'l woman to put my penis away. Worse than a crack head, she'd become a dickhead. Hooked on dick, my dick, she shed real tears, apologizing profusely every time she used it.

In spite of the pain, I couldn't send my wife to rehab.

I wouldn't have survived without my morphine drip. I named the drip Camille.

Women began to do bad things to good men. The fellow in the bed next to me—run over by a “humper”—had been in a board meeting when the CEO leapt from his chair and dropped dead in the middle of a scream. His wife, battling PMS, had run his penis through a meat grinder.

Another guy died when his wife fed his penis to the family Pekinese. He'd forgotten to take the garbage out two days in a row. I'm not going into detail on that railroad track thing. I'll just say a large group of ladies lined up about a hundred yards of manhood an inch or two at a time and Southern Pacific runs according to schedule.

Divorce rates plummeted due to fear. Judge Lynn Toler terrorized American men. Angry after listening to lewd tales of infidelity, she ruled the penis family property and awarded it to the wife. Word is, the ex put her penis and scrotum on a window sill and never touched it again. Now it gets sunburnt and he takes pain medication several times each summer.

I did six months in the hospital, first three in traction. Flirting during sponge baths loses its appeal when you have a socket and no penis. Nothing to do 'cept watch the news.

Worldwide, economies tanked. Planes, commercial, private, and military flew themselves into the ground. Trucks, cars, even bicycles ran off the road. Trains barreled through stations without stopping. Employers with more than four employees had to designate a room that men in the
throes
could retire to. Then they hired women to make sure men didn't dodge work by faking orgasms.

During a bank robbery in New York, the thief started grunting like a baboon as his hips started twitching, mid-robbery. He was almost ready for a cigarette when the police arrived.

Online dating changed. Carolyn's brother sent this email to a woman he'd met online.

Sweetness, I never thought online dating would work for me, but your emails have touched my heart. I'm going to honor your request and send you my privates for the upcoming weekend.

I'll send them Fed Ex overnight, 8:00
AM
delivery.

Sweetheart, I'll need him back Tuesday morning or the producers of the reality show,
Dick of Love
, will not be happy.

Please dress him in formal attire before putting him anywhere near an unobstructed uterus. In the past, my trinity has been a prodigious producer of pregnancies. I can't handle another wage garnishment.

Baby, my penis likes Dick Soak Formula 44. Don't forget, he needs to be soaked twice a day for ten minutes so he'll get his nutrients and oxygen. My testicles like a warm Seven-Up and Hawaiian Punch combination.

 

Dr. Alvin Tavis detached a vagina. Believe me, that left one helluva hole. They don't screw back in very well either. I think he used Velcro. I doubt that's going to catch on.

Personally, I don't want a vagina snapping at my dick unless it comes with a woman attached. Without accessories, Ms. Kitty loses much of her charm. If I had to haul a pussy tote around, it would need side pockets for thighs, booty cheeks, hips, breasts, neck, and at least one ear and a mouth.

When my woman is reaching for her orgasm and I holla, “Who's yo daddy,” I want her to hear and answer.

Feminine hygiene is different. A man would take a vagina back four, five days after he laid hands on it. Making faces, whining, “It's starting to smell funny. It never smelled like this when you had it.”

“Did you wash it?”

“Wash it?”

Insurance benefits used up, strung out on my sweet Camille, the good people at the skilled care nursing facility sent me back to Carolyn. I'd been home a week when my penis, big screen television and laptop came up missing.

The loss made Carolyn sick. It made me sicker. I was so glad I had Camille.

Carolyn pored through catalogs searching for the perfect plastic replacement. She tried warming various toys in the microwave, but she still went into withdrawals. I had to share my Camille with her.

I found my dick several weeks and innumerable orgasms later.

My neighbor had it. A burly, hairy truck-driver.

I was watering my lawn. He'd left his blinds open. I saw him butt-ass naked in his living room, my dick in his hand. I'd recognize my penis with the stretched out, skinny in the middle, thousand-dollar bill tattoo anywhere. I was sick. He could have been putting my dick anywhere.

I lost my mind.

The next thing I knew his front door hung from one hinge and I had my penis back. His li'l weenie was squashed flat under my size thirteen boot. His eye, forehead, and bottom lip were swelling. Blood flowed from his nose, and he slept in a heap on the floor.

He didn't die. The doctors mumbled something about a misplaced pleasure center. They took skin from his thigh, some abdominal muscles, and stitched together a Frankenstein dick.

Carolyn couldn't have been happier. Ten minutes after she got her mitts on my penis, I was asleep and my dick was on its way to Gucci to be measured for a new tote and then to the doctor to have that new vibrating unit installed.

I was jailed for the assault. Carolyn made signs, “FREE MY DICK'S DADDY!” Luckily for me the judge was straight. He had empathy, sympathy, and the procedure.

He slapped me with two years of probation and an anger management class.

 

 

 

 

Connie thought that Dr. Jack's white lab coat and stethoscope suited him. There'd been a time when being subjected to a gynecological exam by a handsome medic had been one of her favorite masturbation fantasies. Connie gave Dr. Jack the full benefit of her friendliest smile. She gave him a wide-eyed gaze and let her fingertips linger when they shook hands.

“It's been a long time, Connie,” he said. “I was surprised to see your name in my appointment book. You're the last person I expected to need a consultation from a sexologist.”

She gave him a coy, “Why's that, Jack?”

“Well, I've known you socially for what—four, five years? You always seemed popular with men and happy to be so. I know that you're physically fit from the odd time I've seen you at the gym. I'd say that you're in great shape.”

“Thanks for noticing, but my problem isn't one that shows.”

“That's usually the case with my patients. So, tell me all about it, please, and don't be shy.”

“It's about my addiction, Jack.”

He raised a brow. “Addiction? That's not my line, I'm afraid. My practice is strictly about sexual problems, physical and psychological ones. If you'd like, I could refer you to a specialist in substance abuse.”

Connie looked down at his patterned carpet and toed it. “My problem is, and it isn't, about substance abuse—well, not abuse actually, but…”

“Please don't be embarrassed, Connie. Just blurt it out.”

She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Doctor, I'm addicted to semen.”

Dr. Jack took a step backwards. A flush mounted from the pale pink collar of his buttoned-down, oxford shirt to his expertly coiffed hairline. “You're addicted to...?”

“Semen.”

“Do you mean…?”

“Ejaculate. Jism. Cum. Man-cream.”

Dr. Jack cleared his throat. “Perhaps you'd better explain exactly what you mean by addicted, then.”

Connie hitched herself up to perch on the little, round vinyl top of a chrome-legged stool. Jack's eyes dropped to the pretty knees her movement had exposed and quickly back up to her face. His face was still red. Connie had a theory that a long slow tease had a beneficial effect on the flavor of a man's semen. That supposition had turned her into a habitual flirt.

“It began,” she told him, “the very first time I did it.”

“Did it?”

“Went down on a guy, silly.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry I interrupted.”

“It was in the back row of the Roxy, back when there still was a Roxy. By then it'd become an art house showing foreign movies with subtitles. We thought it was very intellectual of us to go to shows there, but I think the main attraction was that European movies had more nudity and sex in them than Hollywood ones. The other thing, of course, was that if a guy took you to an afternoon show, chances were you'd be the only two in there. That's the way it was that day. By the time the opening credits had rolled, I had my date's tongue in my mouth and it didn't matter what was being shown on the screen. I
really
liked Dan, so I didn't object, not when his hand went up under my sweater, nor when it went up my skirt. He had clever fingers, if you know what I mean, Jack. Dan gave me my very first climax that I hadn't given myself, so I felt like I owed him. Anyway, I was curious about cocks the way a virgin is. That's only natural, right?”

Dr. Jack coughed and nodded.

“So I got his cock out and stroked it the way other girls had told me guys liked. I guess I did it right because pretty soon his legs were stiff out in front of him and he was panting. I knew what that meant and was intrigued by it, but I didn't have a hanky or a tissue or anything, so to save making a mess, when he started to grunt real deep in his chest, I bent over and took the head of his cock into my mouth.”

Dr. Jack managed a squeaky, “I see.”

“I didn't know what to expect, exactly. Some girls told me they wouldn't let a guy cum that way 'cause it was yucky. Others had said it was okay once you got used to the taste. Jack, it was
delicious
—ambrosia, nectar, the liqueur of the gods—or goddesses maybe, though a lot of those old gods swung both ways. I liked the taste so much, I spent the entire second feature with my head in Dan's lap. I got him off twice more before the end of the show and I
still
hadn't had enough, though the third time I didn't get much out of him, even sucking really hard.”

“And you…ever since then?” Dr. Jack asked.

“Not exactly. I did really like it, and it made me
very
popular with guys.”

“I bet.”

“But I tried to control it, because I was losing girlfriends and they're very important when you're young. Once I went a whole six months without any, but it got so bad that I couldn't think of anything else. I'd meet a guy and the first thing I thought about was how big his balls might be and what they were full of. Somehow, the guys seemed to sense what it was I wanted, which made it harder.” She grinned. “Harder for me to resist, and it made
them
harder at the same time.”

Connie uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Dr. Jack's eyes followed. So, what she'd heard about him was right.

She preened a little. “I tried making a deal with myself. I promised myself I wouldn't suck a guy off until after I'd fucked him at least once. I thought that'd be a bit less…cheap?”

“Did it work?”

“In a way, but pretty soon I was putting out on the first date, regular sex first, then oral on the same night. That meant getting less of what I wanted, at first.”