FICTION

Where Did This Extremely Large Penis Come From?

It wasn’t there last night

After partying hard all night long, sometimes I wake up in strange beds with strange people. Or in unknown beds with unfamiliar people. Or in alleyways. Rarely do I wake up with familiar people, though. It isn’t the seemly thing to do in the circles that I run with.

That being said, it was instead a shock to wake up in my bed, alone, this morning. Hopefully, I didn’t come home alone, and the dudes or dudettes made an early exit.

The shocks just kept on coming this morning when I walked, crawled, stumbled from my bedroom into my breakfast nook. There was an enormous penis sitting on my barstool, drinking a cappuccino out of my favorite mug. And by giant penis, I mean it was at least 6’2” and 180lbs. And it even had abs on the, you know, on the shaft. I do have to say, that was one built penis.

Man, what sort of drugs did I take last night. I remember the tequila. I remember the vodka. I remember some magic shrooms, too. That must be it. It’s The shrooms. I imagined a giant penis. (Wow, I just wondered how much that dick would shoot and how far. I’ll never take shrooms again. Or maybe, more of them. Yeah, more of them)

I wasn’t sure what to do now, so I decided to ignore the giant penis. It was only a delusion—a damn strange delusion, but one nonetheless.

After making myself a strong cup of black coffee (with a massive shot of Irish Cream), I decided to sit on my balcony and watch the city traffic. It was just a typical LA Sunday morning, except that I was in Boston the night before. How the hell did I get across the continent and not remember it?

The day keeps getting stranger and stranger.

Finishing my coffee, I think to myself, “I hope that dick’s gone. I hate cleaning up after somebody else’s penis, but they don’t clean up themselves”.

Walking back into the coffee cranny — sometimes I call it a nook, sometimes I call it a cranny, and sometimes I call it my hallway — I see that the enormous penis is gone. But then I hear the toilet flush, the sink run, and it walks out of the bathroom. How did you walk, you ask? That’s a fucking good question because penises don’t have legs. It did, however, have its testicles attached, so it basically hopped from one ball to another while twisting. It was definitely a sight to watch, moving from erotic to bizarre to erotically bizarre in leaps and bounds.

Having to accept the situation as such, and while waiting for the drugs to wear off, we chit-chatted for a bit — don’t ask me how it talked. I’m not an expert in penis anatomy even though I’ve seen lots of them — and then I told him that I had to get cleaned up and meet my parents for lunch. A little lie, but convenient. I gave the penis a giant hug and a kiss goodbye at the door, and he was off. Out the door, I mean. Not the other.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I was violently shaken — definitely not stirred. It was the bouncer. “Oi! Mate, you can’t sleep here.”

Best dream ever, and the fucker went and woke me up. Now to find somebody to go home with. Hopefully, they have a giant penis.

Fucking alarm! I was having a great dream about a giant penis. Maybe I should write it down as a short story? Just have to change the ending. “Waking up and it’s all dream” is so overdone. It’s the crutch of every bad tv show out there. Yeah, I’ll write it down. It should make me a quarter. Maybe even fifty cents.

Paul Mansfield is a writer, a photographer, a guitar player, a philosopher — some he does well, some not so well, but he still tries them all.

You can follow him on Twitter @pmansfield.

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