Tim Johnson woke on the last day of his sophomore year of high school with an erection.
A real proud one.
A triumphant exclamation point to the sky.
Good morning, America.
This was not unusual for any hormonal teenager. But for Tim, it was nearly constant, and not just good ole' morning wood either. All kinds of boners, for all kinds of reasons, and the occasional for no reason at all.
But more on that later.
For now, there was the problem, or not-problem to deal with, and boy did he like dealing with it.
He rolled out of bed and reached into his dresser-drawer and pulled out a Ziploc bag and a small bottle of Jergens Ultra-Healing lotion. He turned on his TV and turned up the volume. Patrick Star was fucking up some simple task in an epic way.
There was no need to lock the door, it was already locked. His mother preferred it that way.
But more on that later.
Tim turned the Ziploc bag inside-out and squirted the perfect amount of Jergens into the turned-out portion of the bag. Kneeling, he placed the bag between the mattress and the box-spring so that only the end stuck out of the side.
When Tim entered his kitchen before leaving for school, he saw his father standing on the other side of the room reading the newspaper with his back turned towards him.
“Morning, Tim.”
“Hey, Dad.”
Tim reached into the pantry and grabbed the box of chocolate Pop-Tarts.
Still not looking in Tim's direction, Wendell Johnson asked, “You got a girlfriend yet, Tim?”
Tim was working on getting the silvery plastic off his Pop-Tart, but his hands stopped working for a moment. Without looking up he said, “No.”
Wendell turned his head, sighing quietly. “But you'd like one?” He said.
“Sure, I guess.” Tim blushed, still looking down. This conversation happened way too often.
“I just mean to say…well, I just want you to be smart is all. And careful.”
Ah yes, thought Tim.
Careful.
Of course.
The girls were just lining up for him.
“Yeah, Dad. You don't have to worry,” is all he said.
But Wendell did worry. Wendell worried a lot.
And for good reason, really.
Tim had been diagnosed as having extremely high levels of testosterone, enough to place him into the category of 'Teen Sex-Addict' by some doctors. This title seemed ridiculous for someone whose only crime was that he had developed early. And strongly.
His family had become concerned when Tim had come to them with a question about some hair he was growing—pubic hair, specifically—when he was only seven years old.
Precocious puberty, the doctors had called it, and it was extremely rare. For Tim, it meant that he had very high testosterone, levels higher than a grown man.
This meant that if your average teenager thought about sex every fifteen seconds, Tim thought about sex every three seconds. Everyday items caused Tim to get an erection.
Milk: jugs.
Grass: pubic hair.
Flagpole: you know.
Luckily for Tim, he had managed (for the most part) to control his problem and mask it enough so he could maintain friendships.
In other words: his friends didn't know he was a freak.
But there was the one thing…
Three months ago, when it was still cold outside, Tim had been walking out of the lunchroom when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye.
Kelsey Martin (Patrick had a crush on her and everyone knew it) was bending over to fix her flip-flop. And normally, it being cold and all, Kelsey would be wearing some modest and conservative clothing, but on this particular day, she had decided to wear a sundress, of all things. She had a denim jacket over the dress, her arms inside the jacket rather than inside the sleeves of the jacket.
What Tim saw when he looked in her direction was that it was very windy that day, and from the angle where he stood, there was something showing out of the top of her dress.
Kelsey Martin had opted out on a bra this day, and Tim could see not only her entire breasts, but her nipples.
Hot damn.
Now, if this particular score had been discovered by any other boy in the school, it would have been pretty hard not to get worked up over. But for Tim Johnson, well…
Tim lurched forward a few steps and dropped to his knees. He uttered a ridiculous choked sound. People stared. One girl asked if he was okay.
The thing was, he normally wore tight, restricting jeans which helped with his problem more often than not, but today, much like Kelsey Martin, Tim had made an ill-advised wardrobe choice. He had gone with sweatpants.
His penis jumped away from his body like a man jumping off the sinking Titanic. That is to say it was utterly pathetic and sad. And where was the goddamn bathroom anyways?
By now there was quite a crowd, and he couldn't just sit there on his knees like a lazy baseball catcher forever, could he? He decided to get up and use his bookbag to shield his front, maybe someone would think he had thrown up on himself.
No matter what, he had to get out of there. He ran down the hallway and managed not to run into anyone. Most of the teachers and students were outside or in the lunchroom.
He made it to the bathroom and quickly entered a stall, pushing it closed behind him. He went to lock the latch, but he noticed that the lock was broken.
Too late.
He backed up a step and dropped his pants and began to masturbate frantically. It was as if he was playing the most intense game of Yahtzee you could imagine.
His mind played images over and over of Kelsey Martin and her pink nipples. He wasn't proud of this…need. He hated his body and his mind for what it did to him, but he couldn't worry about that now. Because right now he was climbing the mountain, and he was reaching the peak and as the Bible says, he saw that it was good.
Now we come to the important part of this story, the part that changed things for Tim Johnson. The thing was, in his delirium and mad-dash to the bathroom, he had entered the girls’ room rather than the boys’. If he had just looked around at all, he may have seen that the bathroom had no urinals, or the fact that there were little receptacles for feminine products, but the truth was that he didn't have his eyes open much at all. He had them closed, and he was playing back some recent footage in his mind.
Back to the peak.
The peak was good. So good, in fact, that he didn't hear the stall door opening when a freshman named Erica Kline opened it and saw the peak for her own eyes. She just stood there staring like Carol Anne stared at her TV in Poltergeist — terrified and unable to move.
What happened next was that Tim Johnson had to go to a lot of sit-down-meetings with his parents and some teachers, and eventually, doctors of the mental nature. Tim's parents were handed pamphlets of information about sex criminals and legal implications.
Tim had overheard some of the conversations he wasn't supposed to hear between his parents as well. Some key phrases were thrown around. But his least favorite of them all was future rapist.
No son of mine, Wendell Johnson had said.
Tim felt alone. He wanted to tell them so many things. Like how he had just fucked up and went into the wrong bathroom, but he knew that had little to do with the core concerns they had. Erica Kline had just been the catalyst to cause it all to come to light. They knew that he had been a frequent masturbator, there was no hiding it when you lived with him. Which brings us to the reason why Tim's mother didn't mind if he kept his door locked.
It's simple really: they show butts on TV.
On cable.
Tim had turned on his TV for background noise while he played World of Warcraft with his friends online, and there was Halle Berry's ass on his screen in high definition.
His mother had knocked on his door five minutes later and said that dinner was ready.
He said, “I'm coming.
”
Aggravated, she had entered the room anyway and found he wasn't lying.
Now, Tim considered himself lucky. Erica Kline had not told any students what she had seen. It had been requested heavily by the counselors who assured her that it was being taken care of, and student chatter would have made things worse for her.
They were right, really. High-schoolers could be terrible towards each other. It was in her best interest just to push it out of her mind as if it had never happened. She was, however, promised that she would not have to take any classes with Tim Johnson ever again, they would make sure that scheduling mess would never occur. And of course, Tim did his best job to avoid her, but they still occasionally passed in the halls in awkward avoidance.
Wendell Johnson waved goodbye to his son that morning and watched him get on the bus for school. If the truth were told, he was relieved.
Tim arrived at school before any of his friends. He walked around, waiting for the bell to signal the start of his first class. He spotted Erica Kline across the soccer field and turned to go the other way.
Why does my bus have to be so early?
In haste, he made his way to the playground next to the school. Tim crossed the small bridge between the properties and sat down on one of the swings. Swinging forward slowly, his mind wandered.
Don't get horny, he thought.
He thought of sports. Baseball, specifically. The Braves. He imagined Chipper Jones crushing a grand slam out of Turner Field; Tim Hudson pitching a no-hitter against the good-for-nothing Mets. He imagined girls in the stands jumping up and down, titties bouncing.
Fuck.
Okay, something else.
Of Mice and Men, the book Tim's English class had just finished. It was weird, wasn't it? Yes. That damned retard guy didn't know when to quit, did he? Tim suddenly wished that someone would put him out of his misery like an old dog with no teeth.
A noise came from his left.
Tim glanced around the playground searching for the source of the noise. After looking around for a moment, he decided it must have just been in his mind. He turned and walked towards the school.
The noise again.
Tim turned and stared behind him. He walked slowly towards the large plastic tubes on the playground. Walking up the steps, Tim heard the noise again, it sounded like… a moan.
He bent over and peered into the plastic red tube and saw two Senior girls whose names he didn't know. One of them had her face between the other's legs.
“Oh shit!” he said, stupidly.
The girl who was doing the work turned and saw him. “Oh my God, get out of here you creep!”
Tim ran away, laughing. The bulge in his pants throbbed. He turned and ran down the street in the direction of Betty the tunnel. He had something to take care of.
Tim turned right at the dead end and nearly ran into someone. Elmer Davis, a black boy in their grade, was standing on the street corner, eyes wide.
They stared at each other.
“Don't go,” said Elmer.
How could he know where I'm going, thought Tim. Has he been following me? Has he been watching me?
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Elmer continued to stare. His body started shaking, his eyes rolled in his head.
“Holy shit, dude! Are you having a seizure?”
Elmer made choking sounds and fell to the ground and started flopping. Tim started shouting for help. A woman came out of her house across the street and ran over to them.
“Call 9-1-1 please,” Tim said.
Reaching her shaking hand into her back pocket to grab her cell phone, she asked, “What happened?”
“I think he's having a seizure,” said Tim.
“Grab his tongue or something!” The woman shouted. Her voice was shaky. Tim couldn't help but notice that she was very attractive. She couldn't have been older than twenty-five.
“I can't just stick my hand in his mouth,” Tim said. “He'll bite my fingers off!” He pulled out his wallet and shoved it into Elmer's mouth.
The woman was talking with an emergency dispatcher.
“Yes, that's right. I run Lots of Tots daycare. My name is Wendy. Yes. Well, it's my house. Yes, right down from Dothan High School. Okay, thank you.”
Tim and Wendy stood together and waited for the ambulance to arrive. Elmer had gone stiff, but his eyes were still moving frantically, and his nose was bleeding. Tim wondered if Elmer was going to die. That would be strange, to see someone die like this, or at all really. But then, of course, he would be able to tell people, “I watched a guy die once.” People would be standing around at their fancy office party exchanging stories about their kids in little league and Tim would have the option—should he choose to utilize it—to just walk up and tell everyone he watched a kid die.
Still, he didn't want it to happen. Elmer had always been nice to Tim the few times they had interacted.
The ambulance arrived at nearly the same time as the police. Two EMT’s got out of the vehicle and trotted over to where Elmer lay on the ground.
“Whose is this?” one of them said, holding a spit-covered wallet in the air.
“That's mine,” said Tim, grimacing.
“That's good thinking, son.”
Tim nodded and watched the men work. Elmer was mumbling something that sounded like 'ridge'.
A police officer approached Tim and Wendy and asked for their stories. Tim talked nervously, explaining what he could about the situation, and Wendy interjected where she felt necessary.
After the officer thanked Wendy, she turned and went back into her house. Tim turned to walk back in the direction of the school.
“Where you headed son?”
“Oh,” said Tim, “I was just gonna go on to school now.”
“It's two blocks away,” the cop said. “I'll take ya, hop in.” He gestured to the back seat of the cruiser. “Besides, you're late now. I can explain to the school what happened.”
Tim didn't care what the school thought.
“Thank you,” he said.
The cop smiled. “It's no problem.”
Tim hopped in the back of the car.
The officer climbed into the driver's seat and turned, looking at Tim as if to check that he was still there. He picked up his radio. Tim shifted uncomfortably, realizing he was sitting where the rapists and murderers sit.
“This is Officer Yates. I need a representative from CPS to head to Dothan High School, estimated time eleven-hundred. Better have someone from juvie too.” He hung the mic back on its clip.
“What was that?” Tim said. “CPS? You mean like, child protective services?”
“That's correct.” Officer Yates was writing something on a clipboard.
Tim felt for the handle of the car and pulled gently.
“You know that won't work,” Yates said without even turning his head. And then he turned on the siren and drove down the street, passing over the tunnel and turning right in the direction of the school.
Tim saw John and Dean staring at him—jaws open—as the car flew past them.
CHAPTER FIVE
Patrick snuck out to his car to check his phone, cursing himself for not just keeping it on him. The problem was that the school had gotten so strict about the dumbest shit, and all students were subject to search at any time. He had been unlucky once and received three days of in-school-suspension for having his cell phone.
He knew he had limited time since his teacher, Mr. Robertson, had only really excused him to use the bathroom. He sprinted down the hallway, making sure no one saw him and bolted outside.
When he made it to his car, he heard his phone ringing before he even unlocked the door. He fumbled with the keys and dropped them to the ground, sighing. And then he heard the siren.
Looking down the street, he saw the police car headed in his direction.
Damn it, he thought. I just wanted to check my phone. That's all.
He knelt qui
ckly between his car and a green Jeep that was parked next to his car, grabbing his keys and staring through the windows. The police cruiser passed by the parking lot, and there was someone in the back seat. The car was slowing down, turn signal flashing.
He opened the door and snatched his cellphone from under the seat.
John was calling.
“Hello?” said Patrick.
Panting and obviously out of breath, his friend said, “They've… got… Tim!”
He looked up from his phone and saw Dean and John running down the street in the direction of the police car, John had his phone to his ear. He closed his phone and ran over to them.
John was still talking into his phone when he reached them. “Whoa, where the hell did you come from?”
“Never mind that. What's going on?
Officer Yates parked the car in front of the school, there were a few kids walking outside. A few teachers, surprised by the flashing lights, came outside to see what was going on.
Tim could feel his heart attempting a jailbreak, but the bars of his ribcage were too strong. A cold sweat had begun to form on his forehead. He looked out the window and saw his three friends gathered by a far wall, their mouths open.
“You gonna come in quietly, or do I need the cuffs?” Yates asked him.
Tim said nothing.
“Quietly, it seems.” He laughed.
Officer Yates opened his door and got out of the car. He walked around to Tim's side of the car and opened his door.
“Stand up.”
Tim stood up.
Officer Yates put his hand on his shoulder and led him inside the school.
“Did he kill somebody?” Patrick asked.
“How should we know?” Dean said with the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.
“Course he didn't kill no one,” said John.
“Well then, what happened?”
“Me and John went to go check on Tim, since no one had heard from him, you know?” said Dean. “And we figured he was probably hanging out in Betty, so we walked down there.”
“And the cop was putting Tim in the car when we got there,” John finished.
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