by Allie Castro
“Gross, you fucking guys,” she shouted and snapped her hand back.
They all snickered and laughed, Mickey standing behind Heather so she wouldn’t run away.
Heather hissed, “Don’t put fucking weird things in my hand...”
“It’s not weird,” Mickey said, laughing.
“What is it?”
Mickey said, “Put your hand on it again.”
Will rocked, swaying, his vision foggy, but at least the center-point was focused in a crystal-clear clarity; he could see his troubled girlfriend thinking all her friends were pranking her, putting something obviously not-a-dick in her hand. But it was a dick. A real one. A massive one.
“What is it?” she said again timidly, submitting to them, getting giddy, almost like she was starting to believe it was a real penis she’d held.
Mickey took her wrist and guided her to touch Kyle again. Kyle crossed his arms, moved a hand up to his mouth to stop himself from laughing. He watched this girl he didn’t even know put her hand on his dick again. She closed fingers around it, feeling it, squishing it. “What is it?”
Mickey said, “You tell me.”
A little giggly, her voice higher, she said, “What is it?”
Now she joined in with her other hand, holding Kyle’s huge hanging dick in two hands, squeezing, exploring. “Oh my God,” she said, “what the heck is this…?”
Well for fuck’s sake, Heather, it’s not my dick Will thought, as Heather didn’t stop exploring. Her mouth hung open, the corners tugged upward in a smile. Above the blindfold he could see her brow perplexed.
“What the hell is...” she murmured, still fondling this huge penis. Will watched with rising tension his longtime girlfriend’s small familiar hands manipulate another man’s massive manhood. One hand went inside Kyle’s fly, gripped the testicles; she ran a hand up and down its length, touched the puckered foreskin with her index finger. “Holy, oh my gawd,” she said, like she suddenly discovered it was indeed a real live penis, quickly snatching her hands back and holding them up, palms facing them. Kyle’s dick nodded side to side.
Heather hissed, “What the hell was that?...”
They all snickered; Mickey took her shoulders, turned her around, and Will sidestepped, then wandered back from the lineup, hand out searching around like he was the one blindfolded, looking for the fucking director’s chair. He fell into it, shorts still around his ankles, his much smaller penis thrust up from his lap and absolutely throbbing. It streamed lubricant. When he looked down and saw it, he was embarrassed, ashamed.
As Heather stepped out of the tent, the rest of the guys burst out laughing. Matt slapped Mickey on the back, laughing so hard his face burned red. Kyle laughed too, putting that horse dick back in his pants, zipping it up. “You guys are crazy,” he said, still the cool guy, the older dude, the cool ass outdoorsy river guide with the massive fucking penis. He stepped past Mickey and Matt, slapping them on the back, joining in on the fun. He looked around the dim tent space, caught Will’s eye. He said, “You good?”
He nodded, seeing everybody looking at him, and now that the hilarity was over, a certain amount of regret and shame worked through them all. The prank was funny; it was funny to do that to Heather, Heather was always a good sport. They’d put a big dick in her hand. But it was like they all realized it now: that was kind of shitty to Will.
Sully poked a finger toward him, gave a single nod of affirmation. “Good fucking sport, dude.” He sure was. None of the others would have let their girlfriend touch that thing.
“I think I’m going to fucking throw up,” he said.
They laughed. “That was fucking crazy,” they all agreed. Matt came over and helped Will stand. He pulled his shorts up, zipped and buttoned them. The girls were outside, talking low and hushed, laughing.
As he stepped out into the early evening sunlight, he could clearly see his girlfriend’s mouth shaping the words So fucking huge, and his heart sank again. He should not have let that happen. Heather agreed to play the game, but just the sheer size of that thing had instantly changed the relationship. And it was irreversible, wasn’t it?
8
Kyle escorted the guys out of the tent, standing holding the flap open, letting each of them pass before coming out to join them. Now it was four girls and four boyfriends standing facing each other. All of them cheery-cheeked, all of them in raised spirits. Heather, however, was pale. The color had drained from her cheeks. Her eyes were wide. But she was still smiling. Will looked to her, their eyes met. She looked away. Fucking great.
Kyle clapped his hands three times. “All right, ladies, let’s see some answers.”
On torn scraps of brown paper that had wrapped the bread they’d snacked on almost immediately after paddling in this afternoon, they all held a sheet not much bigger than a playing card. From Kyle’s pack, a wax pencil had been volunteered for them to write down their answers.
“In line, campers,” Kyle said, corralling them into two gender-sorted lines of four facing each other.
The girls sorted themselves, rearranging so they went in the order they’d entered the tent. Kyle pointed to Emma first. She did a little dance, flipped her card around to reveal she’d written BOYFRIEND. She smirked at Mickey and he smiled in return.
Kyle leaned to read what she’d written. “And the judges say...” Kyle said, dragging it out, waiting for the revelation. He did a golf swing, pointed at her, waited one more beat, said, “Emma, that was your boyfriend.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, clapped her hands, then raised a fist above her head in triumph. She stuck out her tongue at Mickey.
“You really know your dicks,” Mickey said with mock marveling.
“I know your dick, stupid,” she said, folding her arms.
Kyle talked over them, keeping the momentum going. “All right, Rachel. You’re up next, let’s see your answer.”
Rachel flipped her card around, and on it she’d written HOT DOG. They all laughed. It was a great joke. Will’s stomach was still sinking. Rachel said, “No, I’m kidding. That dick belonged to my boyfriend.”
Matt pursed his lips, trying not to give anything away. With great flourish Kyle drew out his response again. “And that was… Rachel, that was your boyfriend.”
“I know, I know,” she said, took a bow, touching her stomach, other hand holding the paper flapping up above her. She bowed left and bowed right.
Kyle kept it moving. “Next we have...” He snapped his fingers, pointed at Megan. “Megan, we all want to know... Was that your boyfriend?...”
Megan rolled her eyes, holding the blank side of her sheet of paper between pinched thumbs and fingers. “It’s so stupid, anyway. I didn’t even need to go in and feel a stupid dick. There’s no way one of you you would let the other one put their dick in our hand, so I said...” She flipped the card around. It read: BOYFRIEND.
Kyle applauded. “Indeed, Megan, that was your boyfriend.”
And now Will felt even stupider.
Megan said, “I wrote fucking boyfriend on this before I even went in the tent. I’m not stupid…” But then she looked Heather’s way, their eyes met; Megan snapped her head back. She was sounding arrogant, and given Heather’s reaction, coming out of the tent and saying whatever she’d held was so fucking huge, that must mean Heather didn’t recognize it. And that must mean the boys put somebody else’s dick in Heather’s hand. Will had allowed another man to put their penis in his girlfriend’s hand. “Anyway, I told you,” Megan muttered, balled up her paper and tossed it in the fire.
Kyle slow-clapped now, eyeing her, waiting her out. When she said no more, shoving her hands in the pouch of her sweatshirt and looking down, probably sorry she’d embarrassed her friend, Heather, Kyle continued. “And last we have… Heather. Heather, what did you say?”
Heather rolled her eyes, and at once those paled cheeks bloomed sudden rosiness. She bit her lower lip, looked away. She hummed, said, “Well…”
“Your answer is…?”
Heather turned her paper around. The girls were just supposed to write BOYFRIEND or NOT MY BOYFRIEND. That was the rule. Sure, Megan had written HOT DOG, and it was funny, but the guys kinda broke the rules putting a non-penis in her hand, so they could let that one slip. But fucking Heather wrote: DEFINITELY NOT MY BOYFRIEND. She had underlined definitely. Way to rub it in.
Will’s knees weakened again, and he swayed where he stood.
Kyle leaned to read. “What does that say?”
Heather said, “Definitely not my boyfriend. Definitely not.”
All the girls cackled; they got close again, they weren’t supposed to talk, but the game was over now officially, and they whispered to each other.
Mickey called over, “You sure that wasn’t Will?”
Over her shoulder, laughing, Heather said, “Oh yeah, I’m really sure.” Then she began talking low with her gang of girlfriends. Megan clutched Heather’s forearm. They were all laughing at Heather’s retelling of what happened inside the cook tent.
“Girls,” Kyle said, trying to get their attention again.
The huddle loosened, and as Heather stepped back, she had her hands near her waist, spread out almost a foot apart, demonstrating to the other girls the size of the penis she’d handled inside the tent. They were all wide-eyed now, still laughing, but a sudden weirdness had seized them all. A big dick like that? Well, they all knew their boyfriends. It wasn’t their boyfriend. Who amongst the guys had this enormous penis? But they’d all looked at each other, all of them with the same shocked face. None of the boyfriends had that. That would mean…
Will watched as the girls assembled their line again, all of them with their bare skinny legs and Teva sandals, their hair tied back in outdoorsy ponytails—their eyes all moved to Kyle. Yeah. Cool River Guide Kyle had just been outed as having a fucking enormous penis between his legs. Bad news, indeed.
Part 2
An Argument
9
Dinner was extravagant for outdoor cooking—some supplied bread, some cheese, sliced vegetables; the tour company had delivered three whole chickens to the campsite an hour before they’d come in and Kyle and Mickey took to skewering them and slow roasting them for hours over the campfire. A delicious dinner, but the company awkward. They made it through all right, keeping their conversation PG and definitely less boisterous, and it was in the tent, ready for bedtime, that Will finally let Heather have it.
“So what the fuck was that?” He was mad, and this had been brewing for hours, since the wicked game of guess-a-dick.
Heather was kneeling, folding back the flap of her sleeping bag. The tents were arranged in a loose crescent around the fire. Four individual tents, a couple in each, plus the main tent—where the dick touching had happened—where the river guide slept. The lantern was on, the light garish. Still, Heather looked beautiful. Thick, wavy, chestnut hair tied back, showing off the grace of her slender neck, and wearing a cotton tank top she liked to sleep in, plaid pajama shorts, legs and feet bare. She was hunched, one hand on her thigh, pretty bare feet folded up under her bottom. She looked over her shoulder at him, scowled, said, “What?” But he could see in her eyes she knew what he wanted to discuss.
“You know what I’m saying.”
She slumped, her head falling to one side. “What, Will?”
“Jesus, you know...”
“Do I? Just say it...”
He grunted, said, “Definitely not my boyfriend?”
“Whatever,” she said, dismissing him, aggravating him, sitting back with her butt in the flannel space of her open sleeping bag, hugging her knees now, feet on the satiny sleeping bag surface.
“You wrote definitely not my boyfriend.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“How’s that make me feel?”
“I don’t know, what does it mean to you?”
“Definitely not my boyfriend?—think about it...”
She rolled her eyes. “The game was stupid.”
“Yeah, it was stupid,” he said. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“It wasn’t my idea either, Will.”
“I didn’t say it was your idea...”
“Why are you coming after me?”
“Because you wrote definitely not my boyfriend.”
She scoffed, baffled. “Well, it definitely wasn’t my boyfriend...”
“Keep your voice down,” he said quieter.
She grumbled. “You keep your voice down.”
“They can hear us,” he said.
“Well then don’t come after me.”
He sighed, rubbed his forehead. “You hurt my feelings.”
She whispered hoarsely: “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”
“Well you fucking hurt my feelings,” he said, both of them whispering but their voices beginning to rise.
“Will, I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, come on.”
“Why did you write Definitely not my boyfriend?”
She looked at him, bewildered. She said, “Because it wasn’t you.”
“Right, and why wasn’t it me?”
“I just knew it wasn’t you.”
He crossed his arms, sitting on his heels now, jaw set firm, angry eyes staring. “I saw it. I saw you touching it, saw your hands all over it.”
She mimicked the anger in his expression, glowering in return. “Why did you put it in my hand?”
“I didn’t put it in your hand...”
“Why did you let whoever had that thing put it in my hand?”
He groaned, mad but vacillating, capitulating. “The guys thought it would be funny.”
“Good, go fucking yell at them, Will.”
“They didn’t write down definitely not my boyfriend...”
“You’re being such a jerk.”
“Would you just admit my feelings got hurt?”
“I’m not arguing with you. Yes, your feelings were hurt. I get it. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. Think of it from my perspective...”
“What’s your perspective?”
“I went in there thinking I was going to feel your dick.”
He zinged her, mad as hell. “Well, you definitely didn’t...”
She recoiled. “You’re such an asshole right now...”
“I’m not an asshole—admit I’m right...”
“Stop demanding I do things.”
“Just see it from my point of view.”
“Will, I’m not arguing with you. But the game was supposed to be funny...”
“Sure was hilarious, baby, fucking high-larious,” he said.
“Come on, Will, you guys played a joke on me,” she spat, jabbing a thumb in her chest. “What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, consider my feelings?”
She wiped her brow, eyes closed, at her wit’s end. “I’m sorry.”
“See, was that hard?”
She shook her head, unamused. “You’re such a sore winner.”
“I’m not a sore winner,” he said.
“You’re totally a sore winner. Okay, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I felt like a funny answer was expected of me so excuse me if—”
“Your answer was really god damn hilarious...”
She stuck her chin out. “Why isn’t it funny?”
“Because, like, you’re saying to the other girls…”
“Saying what? What am I saying?”
“I don’t know. Like a million things.”
“Like a million?—tell me like one or two...”
“It’s like,” he said, and now he was in trouble, getting caught up in her argument like a fish caught in a net. “Well…”
“A million things. Just two...”
“Like…”
“Come on...”
He said, “Like that I’m... not like that...”
“Like what?”
“I don’t have one like that.”
She scowled but with a smirk. “Who
se was it?”
“Never fucking mind.”
“You guys are jerks.”
He rubbed a hand through his hair, dropped both hands to his hips. “Okay, look, it’s like you’re saying... Number one, mine’s not that great, and number two—and it's intertwined with number one—mine is not that great, but his is great...”
She groaned, rubbed her cheeks, pulled, made her eyeholes stretch. “I didn’t say that, I just said it wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“Because I don’t have a big dick like that.”
“What...?—you don’t.”
His face snapped tight. “Fucking stab me harder, Heather.”
“Jesus, you don’t, Will,” she said to the tent’s roof, throwing her hands up. “And why the fuck would you let somebody put their dick in my hand?”
“That was the game, Heather.”
“Such a stupid fucking game,” she grumbled.
“Yeah, and you played it, you played it with both hands...”
She slapped her thighs. “Fuck you, Will—you got me in that tent, you let me come in there and you let some other guy put his giant dick in my hand.”
He snarled, “And you’d just love to know who it was, wouldn’t you?”
“Holy fuck, Will,” she claimed to the top of the tent, growing more irritated, grabbing the back of her neck and rubbing it.
“What?...”
“Fucking never mind.”
“Why are we fighting?”
“You tell me—I was ready to go to bed, and you just come at me...”
“You hurt my feelings.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know...”
“Fuck, Will, I said I’m sorry and you’re not going to let it go? Where does that leave me?”
He grumbled, “Probably wondering whose dick was in your hand,” tightened his crossed arms like he was cold.
