I’m seven years old and this kid from the neighborhood is telling me to blow him. He’s older than me. He’s saying all the girls in his seventh grade class love to suck his ding dong. He says one girl claims it’s the most super awesome penis she’s ever seen. He says the girl’s gobbled everyone, so she knows what she’s talking about.
We’re in the woods behind my house. There’s no one around for about a mile. The boy brought me here to show me where he camps. He’s got a little metal pot and a can of beans. Now he’s unzipping himself and fishing out his wiener. I haven’t seen many, but I’m pretty sure no one calls this “super awesome.” It’s purple and veiny, like when you wrap dental floss around your finger and it cuts off the circulation. It looks like it’s going to fall off.
“Just lick it,” he says.
“No,” I say.
“Come on, just tell me what you think. Just–”
“Get away from me!”
“Stop being a baby and just lick it.”
“I’m not licking anything!”
I back up and he’s shuffling towards me. He’s still choking his wiener with his fist. His pants are falling down. They’re around his knees. I turn, take off running. I hear him screaming. Then I hear a thud. I’m pretty sure he tripped, but I don’t look back. I just keeping running and crunching over the dead leaves until I make it to my house. My dad is out front cutting the grass. He sees me crying and asks what happened. I tell him about the boy, how he wanted me to put his ding dong in his mouth.
The boy is now across the street. He’s out of breath. His pants are back on. My father charges over and grabs him by the throat. I think he’s going to kill the kid, and I realize it’s my fault. My father’s going to murder a child and he’s going to go to jail and I’m going to be an orphan.
I run over, beg him to stop.
My father pulls the boy up to his face. My father says, “You don’t ever come around here again. I mean ever. You hear me?”
The boy nods. His face is almost as purple as his pecker was. My father lets him go. The boy tears off down the street.
I see him a few more times that summer, but he always heads in the other direction.
When friends find out my wife and I have threesomes with girls, a lot of them ask if that means I have to do stuff with guys. It doesn’t. My wife is the one into girls. It’s not the other way around. If we brought a dude into the bed, I’d just be sitting there hanging out.
My friend asked, “Would you ever do anything, you know, if that’s what your wife really wanted? Like that’s what she needed to see?”
“I don’t know…”
I said I guess, but I’d need to be positive that’s what she really wanted. It couldn’t be a prank. Like “Ha ha, you blew a dude!”
But if that’s what she really wanted, sure. I wouldn’t be excited, but I wouldn’t be freaked out either. I’d probably suck a dick the way I’d eat a Subway sandwich. Meaning I’d do it, but I’m not gonna brag about it to everyone. Like “Holy shit, people! I just ate a motherfucking Cold Cut Combo!”
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/tambako/4864191604/”>Tambako the Jaguar</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/bk/243930/”>★keaggy.com</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a>