by Lilie Berlin
(10/01/03)
I sat rigidly on my bed and gawked between my legs as if the thing there was a poisonous snake ready to strike. I knew it wasn't a snake, that much was obvious. It was a penis. The only question was, how did it get there?
The rest of my body remained very much what it had been when I had gone to sleep the night before. My breasts were still there, my skin as soft and feminine as ever, the hair on my head long and curling past my shoulders. The penis that magically attached itself overnight was what had initially woken me. I felt a sexual arousal that was familiar, but it manifested itself with a heaviness that I had not previously experienced. Imagine my surprise upon inspection when my hand came into contact with the hard Joy Stick springing from the apex of my pubic hair.
I thought about going to the doctor. But which one would I go to? A gynecologist? Hardly seemed appropriate now. A proctologist? I imagined a team of medical students in white lab coats hovering over me scribbling furiously on clip boards. A psychologist seemed most sensible. I hesitated when I rose from the bed and headed for the phone, my penis batting the air side to side with my gait. It swung ludicrously in front of me, still hard. I was aching and I had to go pee. I was deathly afraid of trying that now; I was running the risk of putting an eye out.
I tried to calm myself down. First things first, I wasn't going to be able to do anything until I had a chance to relieve my bladder. I sat on the couch and tried to deflate my boner by distracting myself with a Time magazine. I pushed on my penis with my hand and started whimpering frantically. What the hell was I going to do now? How would I live my life? I was a freak.
Looking around the room, knowing already that my roommate had left town early for the Memorial Day weekend and that I was completely alone, I convinced myself that there was only one thing to do. I pulled up my satin nightie and leaned back against the couch. I stared uncomfortably at my penis, still curving up my belly and pointing at me. The little slit hole at the top looked like a gentle sideways smile on a puffy mushroom-shaped head. So it didn't seem that daunting. The sight of this poor horny little creature and the pressure of urine in my bladder reinforced my desire and I licked my right hand.
I used it how I did with my boyfriends. I gripped my penis tightly like they showed me, concentrating mostly on the ridged bottom of the head with all my fingers closed around it. A few of the more uninhibited boyfriends, including Michael, who I was now dating, had demonstrated openly on themselves. It was always a particularly erotic exhibition to watch a man bring himself off. My obsession with this act started with my first witness of it at the age of 15. I caught my friend's older brother jacking off in the bathroom. Okay, so I didn't exactly catch him, I was outright spying. I was watching through the window from the bushes outside. I had been innocently on my way home after dinner at their house. When I saw the light go on in the bathroom, curiosity about the boy I already had a crush on pulled me forward.
He had a magazine with him (I still to this day cannot buy Cosmopolitan without sexual arousal). He unfastened his jeans and pulled them with his underwear down to his ankles. He took a seat on the toilet and pulled the laundry hamper up to him like a desk, that's where he spread the magazine open in front of him. With one hand around his shaft, the other toying gently with his balls, he pumped until he squirted satisfyingly all over his hand.
I thought about this now. I thought about how he looked right before he came, his mouth open, his head thrown back, and his eyes squeezed shut. My own orgasm began to build. The muscles in my back and legs tightened. I felt that I was about to urinate but continued anyway. It came fast, and didn't stay long. It was purely penile, in contrast to my usual orgasms which originate in my clitoris, spread into my abdomen, then finish with contractions of my vagina. I normally have the benefit of longer-lasting orgasms that spread over more area, but they are less relieving. I felt the warm come shooting from deep at the base of the shaft, traveling all the way up before it shot out in gooey streams upon my fingers. When it was finished, I felt drained. I wasn't worried about having a penis anymore; I wasn't worried about anything except for where I could get a cigarette.
My penis finally relaxed after I lay there unmoving for several minutes. The heavy weight from before disappeared. When I got off the couch, I was still aware of it, but to a lesser extent. I went into the bathroom.
How many times have we all contemplated what it would be like to be a man? They have it so easy on camping trips, get to have fun in the snow, don't even have to touch nasty public toilets. I spread my legs to balance myself in front of the toilet and aimed. I giggled at the loud sound echoing through the bathroom when my pee hit the water. I hadn't lifted the seat of course and lost the last couple of drops on the edge even though I tried to lunge them into the bowl with a few hard shakes.
I took a shower next and went about freely examining myself. I reached deep between my legs and fingered the testicles there. I pulled on the skin to see how far I could before it hurt to do so. I found that squeezing and tugging them gently was arousing. I detected this with the slight upward jerk of my penis that began to grow again. I filled my hands with soap and began polishing up my new member. I did it slower than before on the couch. I teased myself a little, aware that the pressure was building, knowing I was about to come, then I stopped and performed something less flourishing to bring me back down again.
I enjoyed the immediacy I felt. The urgency, as if it didn't come now, it never would. Maybe this is why men seem so frantic to get to the main event. This was torture having to wait and knowing it was so close. As a woman, I was used to that waiting, the patience required, the building up to the climax. This new knowledge reinforced my prior jealousy of how easily men achieve orgasm.
In actuality, I could have come in about two minutes, but I drew it out on purpose and ten minutes later I came three times as hard as the first time when I was doing it purely out of necessity. My free hand slapped against the shower wall to hold myself up as my legs became weak and the liquid excitement washed down the drain at my feet.
I fell asleep on the bed again in my post-orgasmic satisfaction and was awakened by Michael's arrival at the apartment a couple of hours later. I heard the key in the door and panicked.
"Abby?" He called from the front door. I pulled the sheet up my body and sat frozen on the bed. "Oh, there you are. Slept all day, did ya?" He chuckled and sat down next to me, the bed sank from his weight.
"I...I did...don't feel too well." I said but noticed a change from before. Cautiously, I slithered my hand under the sheet and between my legs. The penis was gone. I sighed with a mixture of relief and disappointment.
"You know what? I missed my classes today too. I had the strangest dream." He said a little nervously.
"What was it about?" I asked, contemplating my own sanity from the first part of the day.
"I had a vagina." He laughed then his eyes darted to me quickly. "Isn't that sick?"
"What's wrong with having a vagina?" I asked defensively.
"Nothing, nothing. It was just strange, that's all. So real, I could have sworn I--"
"Did you learn anything from this little experience?" I tempted in his bewildered pause.
"Maybe."
"I had a pretty interesting dream last night, too," I said and lay back onto the pillows.
"Oh yeah?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Come on, I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
