3

3

Johnny was a little man, not just in stature, but in mind and in the unspoken measure. None of that bothered him until he hit the eighth grade. Then every guy in the locker room knew his religion and the distance from his stomach to his pee hole. Not to mention that his hormones had only managed to push out one pubic hair.
One hair.
It didn’t even curl. It just dangled awkwardly about an inch above the base of his penis and slightly to the right. It had sprouted next a mole but still seemed lonely. It was way too early for the party. Sometimes, at night Johnny would talk to it and twirl it gently with his index finger trying to cheer it up and keep it company.
One day, five boys that Mother Nature let go first on the Puberty Train, pummeled him mercilessly with red rubber balls on the dodge ball court in gym class and then really let him have it in the shower.
They laughed and pointed at his undeveloped phallus and his solitary pube. They even made up a song about his inverted pee pee. His balls were as big as sun ripened oranges but his stick wasn’t enough to, well, shake a stick at. Thimble sized at best, Johnny’s Johnny quickly sailed from a Junior High wisecrack to a High School legend. Cheeks ripe with red acne and a smelly tooth never mattered much when his nickname was Needle Dick. Not one girl said yes to his invitations to a night at the movies or super melts at Friendly’s. He couldn’t even get a maybe from the midget girl in A.V.
That all ended with graduation.
He didn’t get any poon, but he decided he was taking his show on the road and get shunned by girls from a different state.
He decided to grow a mustache to look older. He stole a bottle of High Karate from his dad and hit the road.
Two days of pavement behind him, he stopped into a place called The Big Red Dog. Nobody asked him for I.D., probably because of his mustache, he thought. He leaned on the sticky bar and ordered a Manhattan. He didn’t know what was in it but it was the only drink he knew. Next thing he remembers, a girl in a wheelchair was tugging on his back pocket. She invited him out to the parking lot to share her Jim Beam. He followed and put his sneaker behind her wheel as she fished through the back seat of an Impala looking for the booze she was baiting him with. She finally found the bottle and held it up like it was Excalibur. She tilted her head back and made like a siphon on that bottle. Her adams apple jumped up and down as she guzzled down the booze, mesmerizing Johnny like a bouncing ball on a karaoke screen. Wiping her chin, she passed the whiskey over to Johnny. He rubbed the rim with his fingers and started to take a sip. As he did, the wheelchair girl unzipped his fly and fumbled around his groin till she grasped his stuff.
Johnny had never felt another persons flesh on his wang before. The shock and warmth of delicate female fingertips erupted him into a gooey mess, just barely outside of his zipper and slightly above her elbow.
Now he was a man.
The mustache really paid off.
He gallantly wheeled the girl back inside and thank her with a Pina Colada. She wasn’t impressed, but he didn’t care. He was off to his next conquest.
Somewhere down the road.