Stop thinking about your dick, and keep your eyes on the road, I thought as I drove my car down the interstate. Easier said than done, even in the best of times. And this most certainly was not the best of times. Unfortunately, it was far too late to turn back now.
I had been on the road for close to four hours, and home was now two hundred miles behind me. The hot July sun was toasting me through my windshield, but my water bottle lay ignored and unopened on the front passenger seat, the cool liquid an unpleasant reminder of a morning I’d rather forget.
As I shifted in my seat, I felt an uncomfortable wrongness move through me. It was like my groin was a wet guitar string, and each careful pluck gave off a dull, lifeless hum in lieu of the clear, resounding chords it once knew. I was tainted. Some unwelcome guest was wriggling through my pelvis and polluting my innards, as I impotently kept my eyes straight ahead and my hands at 10 and 2.
I sighed. “Who would have thought such a statistically average sized penis could weigh so heavy on my mind?”
*Ding*
I distractedly shot a glance towards my dashboard. Gas light. Damn.
I got off at the nearest exit and pulled into a gas station, wincing as I got out of my car. Through the warm plastic of the handle, my fingers could feel the gasoline pulsing through the pump like a heartbeat. It stopped with a click, and I shook off the last few drops from the nozzle before sticking it back in its holster and making my way towards the main building. Stepping through the entrance, I eyed the bathroom door cautiously. As I navigated towards the register, I could feel the man on its sign staring mockingly at my back as if to say, “You can’t hide from me forever, Tom. There are no secrets between old friends. And we are old friends, aren’t we?”
Reluctantly, I finished paying and turned to shuffle in his direction. Old friends. Yes, I suppose we were. I met his gaze, a challenge in my own eyes, my outward confidence undercut by the nervous withdrawal of my genitals into my body. No secrets. At least not for much longer. Hesitating for only a moment more, I extended my arm and pulled on the cold, metallic door handle, the dangling arms of the man on the sign opening in welcome as I stepped inside. No more hiding. Well, tell that to my penis, old friend.
Thud. The door closed ominously behind me. Click. I moved the lock into place.
As I turned around, I caught my reflection in the mirror as I approached the sink. My face was greasy and pasty, a likely side-effect of the self-inflicted dehydration I had hoped would prevent this encounter; my eyes were wide, but resolute with the assurance of a decision made and a path taken.
My gaze slid off my reflection to rove over the rest of the bathroom, catching abruptly at the urinal. It stood proud and tall at the far end of the room, all shiny porcelain and slick steel. I could almost hear a low whine emitting from my pants as I stepped up and squared my stance in front of it. I fumbled around in my boxers, coaxing my sword gently into my palm, and whispering words of courage as I unsheathed it from my zipper.
“No secrets between old friends?” I looked over my shoulder to stare at the bathroom door, imagining the man on the other side listening in, waiting expectantly. “Well, whatever happens here, remember you asked for this.”
With one last deep breath and a quick prayer to the God I didn’t believe in, I levelled my hose at the white porcelain in front of me and turned on the spigot.
“GAHHHHHHHHH!”
I sputtered and screamed, scrambling back in pain and alarm.
“Turn it off! Turn it off!”
Cold laughter reverberated in my mind and around the walls as I twisted and stumbled, errant droplets of urine baptizing the floor in front of me. Blood pounded in my ears and my breaths came in short, shallow gasps as I stared at the urinal through watery eyes.
“Well, that somehow went worse than expected,” I gasped to myself, my mouth tight with pain. “At least this morning I managed to finish pissing before the screaming started.”
The sharp, searing heat in my groin was in no hurry to be on its way. Like a “Midwest Goodbye” it took its leisurely time to meander towards the exit, stopping now and again to get one last word in and pausing on the threshold to make impromptu plans to “do this again sometime.”
I waited for a heartbeat. Thump. Then another. Thump, thump. Then a third. Thump, thump, yes, this sure was fun, but gosh, look at the time, we really must be putting the kids to bed; buh-bye now!
Slowly, gradually the throbbing began to subside. My limbs trembled lightly, and my face felt cool beneath a sheen of sweat. I shakily zipped up my pants, limping over to the sink to wash the piss and perspiration from my body. Gripping the sides of the basin through white knuckles, I looked up to find my reflection once more, and staring into my own eyes, I realized what I should have figured out that morning: Going on this trip was a disastrous mistake.
Back on the road, flat farmland gave way to shallow hills and dense pockets of coniferous trees. I opened my window to smell the northern air, the scent of pine reminding me just how far I’d left Milwaukee behind, each subsequent highway marker taking me further and further from the comfort of home and in-network medical care.
Glancing down at my speedometer, I clocked my speed at eighty miles per hour. Why rush? I eased off the gas pedal, watching the needle drift down to seventy-five, seventy, sixty-five as my car continued its inexorable crawl towards a week in Rhinelander, Wisconsin.
One week. One entire week. It felt like so much less time just five hours ago. Now it felt like a lifetime, an eternity spent with close relatives and a burning cock.
“The allure of mosquitos and spotty Wi-Fi were just too much to give up, eh, Tom?” I laughed bitterly to myself. “Or was it the lack of privacy and air conditioning?”
Shame. If I were honest with myself, that’s what pushed me out the door and into my car this morning. What was I supposed to tell my family? “Sorry guys, I woke up this morning with a zesty urethra and a weak stream. What? Oh no, not a slow burn. Think more like a shot of wasabi to the gonads. Anyways, I hope you’ll understand that I’m not going to be able to join this week. Can’t have the man with the peppery penis dragging down the mood.”
I shook my head ruefully. Would I make a different decision if I could go back? I liked to think I would, but no use dwelling on it, I suppose.
Breaking from my reverie, I turned my attention back to the road. I was close. Just a few more miles, and I would arrive. The highway began to give way to winding country roads, and the forested landscape became dotted with homes and cabins. Despite my slow pace, each sharp, twisting turn through the trees made my stomach turn over on itself.
Finally, I came to the head of a steep hill. A hundred more feet down this incline, and I would arrive. I stopped my car and stalled the engine. I could still turn back, but the moment I came into view of those waiting for me at the bottom, the game was up. I’d be stuck. I hesitated, sparing a final pitying look down at my penis. I could see it wilting in resignation beneath my chinos. Eventually, a car came around the bend and stopped behind me, blocking my exit, impatiently honking its horn for me to be on my way.
“Looks like my decision’s been made for me,” I muttered. “I guess-” I broke off as the car replaced its sporadic honking with a loud, continuous blare on the horn. “Jesus! Yes, I hear you! Fuck.”
Sigh. So be it. I put my car back into drive and headed down the hill.
It was showtime.
The Existential Wannabe 