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uglycousin3
june
2007 |
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uglycousin3
june
2007 |
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contents
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The first time her cock appears, Audrey calls up her boyfriend and insists he come over right away. He’s quite good at following orders, but she knows it will be at least twenty minutes door to door and she doesn’t wait that long to test it out. Audrey wraps her fingers around it, squeezes it gently, then with more pressure until it hurts. It starts to get hard before it starts to feel pain, but with a quick clench she manages to illicit an “ow” from herself. Then she starts handling it like she has so many other penises. She is in the middle of trying to get to a second orgasm when she hears the front door to her house open. Her boyfriend Kieran’s face is a mix of worry and excitement from her phone call, but before he can ask what’s wrong she stands up and opens her robe. He immediately drops to his knees and sucks her off. She is impressed. Where did it come from, they ask each other, lying on their backs in bed. He says it smells and tastes like her, but different. She says she wants to fuck him with it. He says unconvincingly, “Maybe later.” They stay in bed the whole day and half the night and don’t leave the house except when he steps onto the porch to collect the pizza and pay the delivery guy. The next morning, Sunday, the cock is gone. Her regular equipment is back and fully functional. She tries various incantations and phrasings but it doesn’t reappear. Until the next month. The cock appears for twenty-four hours each page of the calendar, not always on the same day or date. It could appear for two days in a row if the first day is the 31st and the second day is the 1st, but then she has to wait another 30 days before it happens again. The cock materializes after she thinks the magic phrase, assuming the incantation is properly timed. She does not discover the rules of the magic phrase until four or five months into it, but she is patient and methodical and determined to figure out exactly how to make it happen, even if she cannot explain why. It has nothing to do with ‘I wish’ statements. It’s an ‘I want’ statement: I want my cock. I want my cock. Not a cock, but my cock. During these first few months, she has problems making it work properly. It jumps up immediately when touched, but she can’t sustain hardness. She thinks back to conversations where she bitterly accused men of theirs having a mind of it’s own (except, of course, when it would betray them in a crucial moment). She touches her cock in different places, squeezes with varying strength, pushing and pulling. She stops being frustrated with its flaccidity and starts noticing what works and what doesn’t. Then it takes less than three hours and four orgasms for her to feel confident in her knowledge. She loses her erection for good when she thinks about how many years it took her to learn about her female parts. She can fuck her boyfriend angrily but not herself. She has never had an interest in being a man, with their hairy chests and rough faces and deep loud arrogant voices. But she has thought on occasion this curious organ was wasted on many of the men she has met. Men give penises a bad name. Audrey is tall, above average for women and maybe most men too, or perhaps it’s just shorter men are not only attracted to her but also compelled to constantly comment on her height with insecurities posing as compliments. Kieran is exactly her height except for when she wears high heels, which she only does occasionally. But on the day when she has her cock, she feels even taller. Maybe she pulls her shoulders back more and slouches less. They fight about it. Afterwards he says: “I think it’s causing too many problems. You should stop wishing for it.” “Fuck off. Maybe you should get rid of yours.” They apologize to each other later. Her boyfriend Kieran is German, not gay like she initially thought. They met while he was a graduate student in engineering at the university where she worked in the admissions office. He wanted to study philosophy, she wanted to make more money, and they both left at the same time independently, reconnecting a month later while out with separate friends at a bar. He bought her a drink and they sat talking at the bar until they realized they were ignoring their groups. He asked if he could call her later. She said yes. He was born and raised in West Germany, his mother is French, and he spent four years at an English boarding school, so his accent is unidentifiable in it’s geographic placement. But it’s one of his sexiest features, one she wanted to make the most use of, so she taught him to talk dirty in bed. At first he wasn’t good at it, too self-conscious, but she didn’t care because it sounded sensual and foreign and out of her fantasy. Now she’s gotten over the initial crush on his vowels and cadence, but he’s gotten more talented on name-calling and narration. She thinks he would be good at phone sex but doubts there’s a lucrative market in women calling 1-900 numbers. She is surprised at how quickly she’s able to convince him to receive her cock during sex. She expected him to have more reservations. When she’s inside him she can’t think at all except to keep pushing, keep pulling, keep pushing, don’t let the rush stop and her legs get numb and possibly she’s sweating enough that a thin sheen has formed over every inch of skin and sounds are coming out of her mouth that she can’t hear because all she can do is focus on the act of coming. Fuck, fuck, fuck, her body seems to be chanting or ordering, or perhaps not her body but the cock which has become the drill seargent of her body. Mid-thrust, she realizes she’s inside him, inside another person, she wants to reach her entire arm inside and clench her hand around his organs, to have his intestines squish and ooze through her fingers, except this isn’t her arm inside him, this is her cock. She has a cock. It suddenly feels outside of her, detached from her, and she flinches. But he moans and clinches around her and the cock swells in response and then, yes, it is her, it is attached. And she would leave part of herself behind, inside of him. And this made her a part of him, the way he made himself a part of her. Her teeth sink into the pink skin of his shoulders during orgasm. Often the day after having her penis, she feels mildly depressed, like the letdown of Christmas afternoon. She revisits her own body, touches herself more often, wondering what it would feel like if she could have sex with herself with both organs. She imagines this scenario while in bed with Kieran. She wonders if she could get a woman pregnant. Audrey works for a theater company. She knows nothing about plays or acting, but she knows how to raise money and plan budgets for them. She messes up once and the cock appears while she is at work. She didn’t mean to think the phrase, she was saving it for the weekend, but she was on the phone with an arrogant male board member who she always suspected of feeling threatened by her being a woman, at least moreso than the average man her age. After the phone call, she considers her options. She is wearing a skirt, which make her feel ridiculous, but more alarming is her inability to keep it in a state of non-hardness for more than a few minutes. The thought of it being noticed turns her on, the fear of discovery converts into desire so quickly she can’t stop the cycle of erections. She leaves the office to attend a fictional meeting. But when alone at home with her cock, she preens in the mirror and admires and never feels foolish for doing so and has newfound compassion towards men and their self-absorption. She’s not sure she’ll ever get used to hers, or rather, she doesn’t want to get used to it. She loves the newness and surprise. She fights with Kieran again. “Maybe you should wish harder for a cunt. Or just wish, period.” “Why?” “So I could fuck you once a month.” “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” “No, the other way. Don’t you wonder what it’s like?” “I’ve never really thought about it.” They eat in silence for several minutes, then: “Wait... how long have you been wishing you had a penis?” She rolls her eyes. She owns at least four calendars now, but uses more if you count those little wallet ones from banks or ones on the walls of co-workers’ offices that she stares at during meetings. She is always the first person to answer and know what date today is and what day of the week the 19th is and how many more days are left in the month. On days when she has her cock and she leaves the house, she looks forward to using public restrooms. She will sometimes stand up, sometimes sit. Sometimes she’ll sit and stroke herself, feeling repulsed by the smells, the salty and sulfuric ones associated with bodily functions being mixed with chemical deodorizers, the sticky floors with bits of toilet paper and gum wrappers and dampness that she hopes is from leaky toilets and not from misdirected bodily functions, knowing that on the other side of walls that don’t extend to floor or ceiling are women lifting their skirts and sitting down. Audrey imagines one of them in her stall lifting her skirt to sit on her erection. It doesn’t seem gay. Kieren issues an ultimatum. She chooses the cock. He goes through her apartment and collects his items, enough to fill a plastic grocery store bag, then leaves without saying anything else. She calls him the next week but he doesn't pick up and she leaves a quiet message asking how he is. She goes to her favorite museum. She has always taken pride in her cerebral love for esoteric art, choosing the rooms of the museum less populated with tourists than the big galleries with the French landscapes and ballerinas. She stands in front of big overwhelming canvasses that hum with color, the canvases so saturated with paint she examines them closely to see if they will drip down onto the floor, years after they’ve dried. When her face gets close to the painting, her entire line of vision fills with the broad brushstrokes and the painting could absorb her entire body, seems to invite her to step inside like Alice’s looking-glass. She wishes she could stand even closer, to feel her eyelashes brush agasint the painting, to gently touch her lips to the shapes, but of course no museum guard would allow such intimacies. She gets distracted from her paintings by her cock pushing against the seam of her zipper, only half-hard but persistent. Her sacred space intruded upon by a disgusting base reaction. A hard-on. In an art museum. She’s ashamed by a sexual response she didn’t control, ashamed of her cock, betraying what she really thinks of the purity of her intellectual and spiritual experience. She goes home and there’s a message from Kieren returning her call. While sitting on the couch watching television he asks her if she’s told anyone about it. She says no. Then it strikes her as odd that while it’s been on her mind constantly, it’s never even occurred to share the information with anyone. He asks if she thinks it weird so much time has passed and they’ve only talked about it with each other. She kisses him and touches his hair and shrugs. Now Audrey thinks about telling someone else, but has no idea how to start that conversation. If someone were to ask her directly, it would be easier to answer, but the likelihood of that happening is small. She’s also unsure of who in her life would want to know. Occasionally she wishes even Kieran didn’t know. When the weather turns cold she catches strep throat and goes to the doctor to get antibiotics. He asks how her health has been otherwise, if there are any other abnormalities. She says no, no problems, nothing new. One weekday morning she wakes up before the alarm and watches him sleep. She hasn’t paid him much attention lately, hasn’t looked at him closely, hasn’t noticed his tiny movements. Now, as his breathing gets shallow and she senses he’s on the verge of waking, her eyes water but she can’t, or won’t, avert her gaze. Even the smile in his sleep is forgiving. He does not question her desire. She wonders which cock will remain longer, his or hers. She whispers in her ear. “Will you keep my secret?” His eyes flutter and he mumbles “What?” “I said, ‘Will you keep my secret?’” She’s relieved when he says yes.
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