Something was definitely missing. That much was obvious.

I looked at my feet. They were there. Next to them, on the bed, was an old suitcase. It was open and full of women’s things. More women’s things were being added as I watched, smiling discreetly to myself. Kammé caught my eye:

"Good morning." She said, unsmiling.

I looked at the contents of the suitcase. Okay, so it was just your regular holiday shit. Sun cream, clothes, towels, swimsuits, sunglasses, sandals, a few books, magazines. But I still felt it was all really sweet. I liked her stuff. And thinking of her lying there on her towel by the pool….. in her bikini...... magazine face down on her belly..... sunblock being lazily applied to those warm arms.... an enraptured sandal being teased by her little foot.... well… it was enough to make me hard.

I rolled over. She would certainly want to one last time before she left without me, but I liked to be a little more subtle. That was the moment I realised what was missing.

I jumped out of bed.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!"

She looked at me a mixture of confusion and reproach.

"OH MY GOD! OH FUCKFUCKFUCK!" I screamed. "IT’S GONE!!! MY COCK!! WHERE’S MY FUCKING COCK GONE??!!"

The sheets had fallen away and I was stood there naked. Just as God had made me. Except my cock was missing.

"KAMMY!! KAMMY!! WHAT THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED TO ME!!?? BABY LOOK AT ME!! I’M DEFORMED!!"

"Will you please stop SHOUTING!" She shouted.

I stopped staring at myself in disbelief and stared at her in disbelief. I felt like running but I knew my own body wasn’t something I could escape. So I just stood. There. Next to the bed.

"Thank-you." She said and resumed her packing. "Can you give me a hand now you’re up?"

"MY FUCKING COCK’S DISAPPEARED!!" I yelled. "LOOK!!" I held my arms wide and glared down at myself in case it wasn’t obvious where she should be looking.

"Will you please stop being so excitable Paul! And you know I don’t like the word ‘cock’. It makes me think of those maga--

"I DON’T GIVE A FUCK!—

—Trust her to be calm about this. If it’s her hairbrush that’s missing, then she gets hysterical…

….IT’S MY COCK BABY!.... AND IT’S DISAPPEARED!!"

Suddenly I felt faint. I sat down on the bed and stared down. My defiant midriff stared back at me indifferently. My balls were still there. Thank God. They were okay. They looked normal. Or at least as normal as they could when their centrepiece was so conspicuously absent.

Kammé started to walk towards me. I couldn’t talk to her. I could barely look at her. I felt sick.

"Paul....." She said tentatively.

Finally I detected some compassion in her eyes.

"Baby...." I stammered back.

I must have looked petrified – that much was mirrored in her expression.

Physically, her face had barely changed but I knew it well and could see in it how distressed she was by my carry-on. I felt the blood had drain from my face and I felt weak.

Tentatively, as we both watched, I reached down to touch what was left. I almost expected something magical to happen. Maybe my balls would vanish as well, I thought. My hand stopped for a moment. Or maybe my cock would reappear! Just as unlikely. I continued looking but she turned away. I reached down further. My fingers hit flesh….. My balls felt just the same as before. I pawed around a little. Kammé looked at me and let out a little whimper.

My legs were jelly but I stood up and held her.

"What am I going to do? What the fuck has happened to me babe?" I said. "I go to bed. I go to sleep. I wake up. And now my co—my dick’s disappeared."

"It’s okay Paul, it’s not disappeared. It’ll be fine."

"How can you be so casual about it?" It was puzzling. "If your pussy had closed up you wouldn’t be acting like this! If your pussy had closed up I wouldn’t be acting like--

It was at that moment that I realised what I should have about 5 minutes ago. I was always groggy in the morning, but this morning I had grogginess shoving me one way and shock pushing me in the other. To say I was left disoriented between them… well, it almost excused my lack of perceptiveness:

She knew something.

My arms moved to her shoulders and I pushed her away from me. I looked into her face.

"What?" I said deliberately.

She averted her gaze. "I’m sure it will be okay...." She mumbled.

Her words betrayed nothing. Her face, however, was positively screaming at me.

"What happened?" My voice was rising again.

"I don’t know!"

"Where the fuck is my COCK?! Where is it?" My grip on her tightened. "COME ON!" I yelled. "IT WAS YOU WASN’T IT!?? WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE??! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY COCK!"

She pulled herself away. "I don’t know!"

"YOU DON’T KNOW??! What?! you’ve forgotten? How do you know it hasn’t disappeared?!"

She turned away, freeing herself from my grip, her composure returning. "Look, don’t blame me. If you’d taken better care of it—

"Taken better care of it? IT WAS ATTACHED TO MY FUCKING BODY!" I yelled. "COME ON KAMMY! TELL ME! WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE WITH IT?"

"I haven’t done anything with it! It’s fine, you won’t need it for a while anyway! I don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about! Leave me alone!"

She turned her back to me again.

"LEAVE YOU ALONE??!"

This was now beyond frustrating. I sat back down on the bed, if only because I felt I might do something stupid if I stayed standing. I put my head in my hands and tried to regain my composure…. But through my fingers I could still make it out. Glaring back at me. I turned my head again and looked over at her.

She was back at the suitcase. Still packing. But her movements lacked conviction now. She looked like a scolded child forced to pack away her toys. Her eyes were moist. And barely did a tear form in her eye than she’d wipe it away. I hated to see her cry. I really did. I didn’t say anything but looked at her. She continued. Her left hand was resting on some item of clothing in the suitcase. It seemed to hinder her movements to keep it there, I noticed, but she still didn’t move it. Her other arm alternated dutifully between packing and cheek-wiping.

I got up. I walked over to her and put my hand on hers. She didn’t move but looked at me. Those deep watery eyes. Pleading with me. I put my other arm around her tiny body and only after this subtle act of forgiveness did she finally capitulate. Her arms wrapped around me tightly and again I held her.

This was the way our relationship worked. Up and down. Hot and cold. Pain and ecstasy. It was all there, only the middle ground seemed to be lacking — our life together was a journey through lonely plains punctuated by an occasional virgin oasis. Maybe it would be better in the long run to use them to irrigate the land and run happily through green fields. But that required effort, and was furthest from my mind whenever I was granted the temporary reprieve and security of some small paradise. But now things had gone horribly wrong. I found myself treading water in quicksand and it was important for me not to lose my cool again.

I kissed her on the top of her head and she looked at me through bleary eyes.

"I.... I just didn’t want you to.... you know....I.... I get worried..... y’know…..while I’m away."

I had a feeling I knew what she was talking about.

"What are you talking about?" I said.

"I don’t know.... maybe I’m just being silly..." She continued.

I held her with one arm. She was still hanging off me. My right hand was now rummaging in the suitcase behind us. I listened:

—I read in a magazine...."

Fabric..... slightly elastic..... swimsuit probably..... underneath..... plastic….. roll-on anti-perspirant surely.....

"….loads of people—

I leapt back. The washrag flew across the room. And IT rolled out.

We both just stared. Then she turned to me.

I looked at her: "You were going to take it with you?!"

She said nothing.

"Well?? I’m fucking deformed just because you wanted to take my cock with you on holiday? Are you fucking insane?! Do you even know if it’ll–" At this point I dashed across the room and gathered it up. "Do you even know if this fucking thing will go back on?!"

Still nothing.

I looked at the thing in my hand. There were certainly no clips or fasteners on it. Irreversible damage may have already been done. I was unhappy.

"Fuck! What do they teach you in those magazines? This is not normal behaviour!"

Trembling, I turned it round the right way and tried fitting it back on. I held it there for a few seconds then slowly, once I had convinced myself that it had developed some purchase, I eased my grip….

It dropped to the floor.

We stared at it.

"It’s okay! It’ll go back on!" She leant over and reached for it. "Honestly! People do it all the time! I just wanted to take it with me…."

"WHY!? What the hell use is a flaccid cock to you?" I grabbed it and held it away from her. "This thing can’t get hard! It hasn’t got a blood supply! If you wanted the cock to come with you don’t you think a better idea would have been to invite me? Instead you insisted on going by yourself!"

I sat back on the bed with it still clenched in my fist.

"I don’t know…"

"I wanted to come with you!" I brandished the thing in her face. "This is fucking useless without you anyway! If you didn’t want me to cheat and you didn’t want to be without this……..

Fuck it.

"Oh, I give up." I said.

She moved towards me. Eyes moist again. Gently, she touched the side of my head.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do."

"…Always got to do things the hard way…."

"It will fit back on. Honestly. I know it will."

"I don’t I understand you."

"Sorry."

So that was that. She had taken my cock and was now on a plane to Valencia with it in her hand luggage. That was one small mercy she granted me – we’d agreed that the suitcase was a bad idea as cargo bay conditions tend to reach below freezing. That had never been good for it in my experience. So she wrapped it in some tissues, put it in her shoulder bag and agreed to take good care of it. I made her promise to make sure she had it with her when she was sober. And make sure she didn’t when she was drunk.

Naturally, I was still concerned about it. Shit, who wouldn’t be? It was my cock after all — But what could I do? She was genuinely sorry. She did regret it. I could see that in her face. And, after all, if it wasn’t going to go back on then it wasn’t going to go back on — 2 weeks in the sun or no 2 weeks in the sun. Yes, I’d fretted initially; I’d felt angry and sad and frustrated and small. But once I had calmed down, it just seemed churlish not to let her take it with her. I would just have to put up with the situation for a while. 2 weeks really wasn’t long.

I drove her to the airport and we said goodbye. I didn’t wait with her in the terminal, telling her I had to get back to take care of a few things. I was deliberately unspecific — I didn’t have anything to do and she probably knew it. I just didn’t want to seem too needy. I kissed her and held her tightly for a few moments. Then I drove away.

Soon I was on the M23 back to London. The vehicle didn’t have much of a stereo and it was difficult to hear above the engine noise. However, motorway journeys for me were always ones laboured by imagination, rather than by the actual driving and today I figured I’d thought enough already. I tossed in an unlabelled cassette and pressed the play button hopefully. It was one of hers. I’d never thought the band particularly talented. Or the songs particularly well-written. Or the singer particularly interesting. I switched it off.

Yes, of course I could see her behavior was rather rash. Certainly most girls didn’t do this sort of thing (despite whatever she had read). But she wasn’t most girls. She was Kammé. Different and special for it — She’d light up a cigarette, take 2 pulls, then change her mind and put it out. Indecisive. Yes. I knew her and I knew the things she did. And I guess that’s why I liked her. I liked her and it was a part of her — the more I thought about it, the more hypocritical and more stubborn my initial reaction seemed. She was a good person and I trusted her.

I pressed play again and gave the tape another go.

The next week and half were relatively uneventful. I was between jobs but had some money in the bank. I didn’t have many friends and the ones that I did have worked during the day. So, essentially, I had fuck all to do.

Usually, the boredom of my life was alleviated by her company. In all honesty it was that that I lived for. And that only. Naturally I didn’t tell her that. I’ve had that before. Done that before and learned my lesson — It was a habit of mine to hold so tightly that the flame of affection would first flicker, then, as I tried to make amends, go out. I wasn’t going to smother it again. No, not this time.

So I only called her a couple of times while she was away. And when I did we didn’t talk for long. She seemed like she was enjoying herself and I guess I was happy about that. But my bed felt as empty as the pit of my stomach. My body felt cold and my soul was on pause.

So most of the 2 weeks I spent drinking. It was an old habit. And an easy one to slip back into. I didn’t much like television and I didn’t want much to go outside. I read a few books, but mostly I just sat in the garden. And thought about things. I sat there in my cheap, time-molded, supremely comfortable garden chair. And thought. Thought a lot. My mind would flit all over the place, but, like a timid youngster, it never ventured too far from it’s guardian — I was never more than a few paces from her, returning over and over for that familiar reassurance. I thought about what she might be doing. I thought about our argument before she left. And about the talk in the car. About the sex we’d had the night before. The 2 conversations on the phone. Sometimes, when I was particularly drunk I’d get worked up, convincing myself that some throwaway remark actually meant she hated me. One day I finished my scotch before sundown and smashed the bottle at the end of the garden. It seemed funny and I laughed loudly.

Inevitably it wasn’t long before my days took on a familiar, banal simplicity: Get dressed. Eat. Drink. (Sometimes the order of those 2 was reversed.) Sit. Drink. Sleep. Drink. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. After about 10 days I resolved to meet up with a friend and get drunk in a different setting. He suggested a local club / bar. I didn’t much like the place — the staff were rude, the beer was watered down, and the crowd were wankers. We met there at 8.

"So how do you piss with no dick?" Asked Shy.

"There’s still a hole there. I just find it’s better to sit down first otherwise it sprays out everywhere."

"Really? Sounds like you’ve got a pussy now. You sure you haven’t got a pussy now?"

He sounded almost hopeful.

"What’s the matter with you? It was nearly 2 fucking weeks ago — don’t you think I’d notice if it was a pussy? I told you I’ve still got my balls and my sack there. And I’ve kind of still got my cock y’know? It’s just not attached to my body anymore."

"It’s in a different country."

"I’ve told you, I trust her."

"Hmm."

We both drank quietly for a few moments. Shy was a big drinker. Bigger than me. He didn’t drink as regularly, but when he did he usually ended up pissing himself or falling asleep at a bustop. He did more of the latter these days because it hadn’t taken me long to get sick of washing the stains out of my settee.

"It’s not unheard of though." He piped up.

"What?"

"The whole removal thing."

I looked at him questioningly.

"Not that it isn’t something you shouldn’t be worried about.... Fuck MAN, she’s got your COCK!" He really yelled this last word. "Man she’s taken your cock to FUCKING SPAIN WITH HER!!"

At this point the humour of the situation seemed to hit him all at once. And the shame of it hit me.

"Alright, keep it down...."

"HAHAHA! SHE’S GOT YOUR COCK IN HER BAG!!"

"SHY! Fucking shut up……" We were beginning to get a few looks.

I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LET HER DO THAT!!" He continued. "YOU FUCKING MOOK! First of all you let her cut it off—

"She didn’t cut—

—then you let her take it on HOLIDAY WITH HER!!" He leant back in his chair grinning like a drunk. ".... Let her just borrow it like some fucking ultra-realistic FRIGGING DEVICE!!"

"It’s not like that Shy...."

"What the fuck did she want it for then?"

"She... she just....well… she….

I guess he had me there.

.... She just worries, okay? You don’t know what she’s like...."

"I don’t care what she’s like!!"

By this time he was rocking back and forth in his chair so much that I thought he might topple off. I don’t mean this so much figuratively — we’d been drinking for a few hours now and it was a given that one of us would fall over sooner or later.

"If it was mine, I wouldn’t give a fuck what she was like...." He sighed. "But, y’know, if you’re happy about it...."

"I didn’t say I was happy about it." That was going a bit too far. "I just trust her y’know? I admit she can be kind of.... scatty... occasionally quite rash, but with something like this... well.... she’ll take care of it. I’m sure of it." I drank some. "She will.… Yeah."

He gave me a (relatively) sober look:

"Well, if you’re sure about it. I suppose it’s your—

"Yeah I’m sure about it. And it is mine. We’ve been together long enough for me to trust her with something like this."

"How long’s it been now?"

"2 months."

"Fuck, I’d have told her to take my balls too."

"Fuck you Shy. What do I have to do to get some sympathy from you?"

"Hey!" He made a show of looking offended. "What d’you need sympathy for? I thought it wasn’t a big deal?"

"Look, it’s not, it’s.... shut up." I tossed back my drink. "It’s your round."

He did likewise. Then he got up and went to the bar.

I’d known Shy since my school days. That’s where his nickname came from. We’d called him Shy because he was shy. I’ll admit it wasn’t exactly inspired, but it was catchy — now, almost 15 years later, and despite his not being shy anymore, he still bore the name like a scar.

He was short at school too. But unlike his shyness, he’d discovered that this was something he’d never socially, or physically, outgrow. It bothered me then because it meant I had to stick up for him. And it bothered me now because it meant I had to wait ages for him to get served. I was sitting there a good 15 minutes. I passed my time eyeing up some short-haired blonde at the table opposite. She had big lips and small breasts. But very beautiful. She had a way about her.

Shy returned with the drinks.

"Fucking bartender." He said sitting down. "Every time I come here he takes about an hour to serve me."

"Shy?"

"What?" He took a gulp of his drink (which, I noticed, was already half empty).

"You said it wasn’t unheard of.... the whole removal thing.... I haven’t heard of it.... well, until now obviously. What were you talking about?"

"A friend of mine, this guy I used to work with — he had the same thing happen to him."

"He what?"

"His girlfriend —or ex-girlfriend I should say— she stole his dick."

"Stole it?" I said. "Like, wouldn’t give it back?"

"Denied she ever took it in the first place." He replied matter-of-factly.

"How do you know she did then? Maybe it just fell off or something."

"Just ‘fell off’? Don’t be a prick. No. She took it alright."

"Well? How did he get it back?"

"Why?" He was grinning at me again. "Scared she won’t come back?"

"No....

Maybe.

....I just want to hear the fucking story, right?"

"Okay.... You wanna know the truth?"

Cut the histrionics Shy; I just looked at him.

"She never gave it back."

"She never gave it back?"

"She never gave it back."

"So what happened to it?"

"God knows, it’s probably rotted away by now."

"Shy...."

"Sorry, I didn’t mean... y’know.... But anyway, the guy’s okay now — he’s getting on with his life. He’s cool."

"Getting on with his life? Cool? Without his dick?"

"No no no — you’ve got it all wrong." He said sipping away: "It grew back."

"It grew back?"

I wasn’t repeating everything he said on purpose. It’s just that most of it seemed too fantastical to believe.

"Yup. Thing grew back even bigger than before. Have to take his word for that obviously — but he says he measured it and everything. Apparently it was hell at first. Stuck in an impotent limbo like that. But after a while he noticed this little nodule coming up and that was enough of a ray of hope to pick him up a bit. The nodule grew bigger over the weeks and before long he was even able to shoot his load again. Amazing huh? He was so relieved that he stayed off work for a week just playing with himself. I know that because I had to fill in for him while he was gone. Cunt. But, then, once his cock was fully grown, he was out shagging every chick he could get his hands on."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Quit after a couple of weeks too. I think he realised what a fucking waste of time it was working there."

"A real life changing experience."

"I can’t really imagine being without my dick for long, but I’d say it could be a bit of a life-changer. Definitely in the short term."

"The best thing that ever happened to him?"

"No. Says if he ever sees the bitch again he’s going pull out her eyes and rape her face."

"Resentful."

"Wouldn’t you be?" Shy was about to sip his drink but stopped. "Hey... I didn’t mean that."

I suddenly felt very embarrassed. I looked down.

"Like you said, with you—" he pointed at me "—It’s different. This bitch was crazy. She was a crazy bitch. Fucked up on drugs y’know? So fucked up, that one time she sold their cat to get a fix."

"Okay." I said, still not wishing to make eye-contact.

I was beginning to wonder what kind of mistake I had made. I don’t think my girl was as crazy as that one in the story but I was still pretty worried. Who knows what she’d do? I could envisage her leaving it in a shop or dropping it down the toilet. Shy was right. I was fucking mad to let her take it. Shy was right to point and shout like that. It was madness, this whole situation. I liked the happy ending to his story, but I certainly wasn’t convinced that it held any truth for me. I hadn’t got any nodule yet. It had been 10 days — if that sort of thing was going to happen then it surely would have happened already? But it hadn’t. And the thing that was there was now in the hands of some girl I’d only known for 2 months. It was fucking madness.

Fuck it.

Maybe it was just the drink talking. I needed a piss.

"I’m going for a piss." I said and got up.

* * *

Hours was at 3 and our stamina was good. Particularly mine — I had been getting up between 1200 and 1300 since she’d left and rarely hit the hay before 0400. So, in short, it was a long night. Even longer considering what was going to happen next.

Because of the state of my body I had to queue to use the only cubicle in the men’s. I’d be there a long time. As with most clubs in the area there was a lot of speed and a lot of spliff. And both clogged up a toilet-cubicle worse than the biggest turd. I was about sixth in line and full of whisky.

I’d often wondered whether it was lack of inhibitions or the increased need that had me pissing damn near anywhere after a few drinks. It was now obvious that it was the latter. I would happily have got my cockless package out in front everyone, but using a urinal after someone’s taken your dick is like trying to water a potted plant with a sprinkler. I’d have got very wet and probably beaten up too.

It became too much. I quit the queue.

The plan was to get out of there and do it squatted in a nearby alley. But, passing the ladies’, I noticed there was no queue. Fuck it, I thought. The worse that could happen is the bouncers would throw me out. And then I’d probably get to that alley even quicker.

I pushed open the door.

There were no girls in there doing their make-up or chatting in front of the mirror, and 2 of the cubicles were empty.

I leapt in. Didn’t bother putting the latch across. And the piss was coming before I’d even sat down. But…… aaahhhhhh! Like fucking, it was always a familiar release but never a dissatisfying one. As soon as I was done and had wiped myself off, without thinking, I flung open the door and strode out.

There was a girl standing right in front of me.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?"

"Sorry! I really needed to go! I just needed the cubicle! I’ll go...." My gaze shifted from her twisted countenance to the door. I shoved past her.

"WAIT!"

I didn’t wait.

"I said WAIT!" She pushed the door closed just before I got to it. Then stood in front of me.

????

For the first time I noticed her features and not just her expression. She had short blonde hair. And her lips were full. I looked down at her chest. There wasn’t too much there.

"You looking at something?"

It had struck my drunken perceptions that this was the same girl I had been sporadically eyeing up earlier.

"Sorry I just, er—

I cut myself off there — I had realised something very odd. I had been waiting to get slapped or kicked in the testicles or something but if her expression was to be trusted nothing of the sort was going to happen. I had to double-take, but it was true: she was smiling.

You’ve got to understand, this sort of thing doesn’t happen to me. Girls barely smiled when I said something funny let alone when I’d been caught in a situation as compromising as this. And it was one of THOSE smiles. Head tilted forward slightly. Eyes peering out from under a delicately lowered brow. It was a mischievous, enticing little smile.

I suddenly came alive but I was too drunk to think of anything to say. But this was probably a good thing because it wasn’t time for me to say anything anyway.

She reached out and touched my chest with her fingers. I looked down at her hand then back up at her face. Her lips and eyes glistened. Her features certainly made the most of the harsh light. Alcohol had even given her that flushed look akin to arousal. Gorgeous.

"I saw you looking at me out there." She said.

I couldn’t deny it.

"You’re a very beautiful girl." I said keeping my gaze steady.

She giggled and looked away.

Wow. She was cute.

Just then the door shuddered and bumped against her cute behind.

Fuck it. Knew it was too good to last, I thought.

But then, quick as anything, she grabbed my arm and yanked me back into the cubicle. She shut the door behind us and put her finger to her lips. I wasn’t sure if we’d been seen or not. I didn’t care. There probably weren’t any jealous types around that would say anything anyway.

Right about then, for the first time, since that initial excitement, I remembered who and what I was and a wave of panic broke over me.

"I…" I started, forgetting myself.

She silenced me with a look.

But what the fuck was I going to say anyway?! ‘I’m sorry, I have a girlfriend.’ Or even better, ‘I’m sorry, but I have no penis.’ Fuck it! Fuck! The first time I get closer than the letters page of Men Only to something like this and not only did I have a girl I really cared about but no fucking cock to boot! Bastards.

I still had my balls though, and I was still a man. I had no choice but to shut up and just go with it.

Clumsily she put one hand on my shoulder and another to my lips. By her movements more than her face I judged her to be a good few years younger than me. I slid my arm around her waist. Then her hot mouth was on mine and, standing on tiptoes, she pushed her hips against me.

We heard the door again. Whoever it was had left.

"My boyfriend’s away." She whispered, pulling back briefly.

I looked into her eyes again. They were deep. I wanted to see as far into her as I could. Satisfied I’d plumbed their depths, I closed my own and kissed her again.

Of course, In retrospect I should have known better. Clearly something was up. The simple reason this had never happened to me before is that things like that didn’t happen to me. They don’t happen to me. And they never will. Nope. Maybe other people… but me….? No.

I guessed something wasn’t right but I went back to her flat regardless. I was filled with desire as much as I was doubt. But what the fuck was I thinking? No, I didn’t want to cheat. Certainly not. In principle at least — I knew how mortified I’d be if she did it to me for one thing. And I did love her. Too much in fact. But fuck all that: what was more pertinent was the matter of my having no penis.

As we walked back, arms around each other, steadying each other, stopping occasionally to kiss and fondle, my teeming brain shot from one crazy scenario to the next. Foremost I was scared of her reaction when she discovered the monstrosity that lay behind my fly. Next was the possibility of some fucker with a tool waiting for me back at her place or even just around the next corner. I even considered that she was a friend of my girl’s out to get revenge for some bullshit that I’d probably never know about. There was all sorts of shit to consider, but as usual, having a head full of whisky and a pair of testicles I just didn’t give a fuck; I didn’t want to cheat, but boy did I want to. And I could take on 2 geezers. Just no knife and I’d be alright. I could still go down on her, we could still fool around. It wasn’t that big of a deal. We walked a long way, but my step was light with her weight against me.

* * *

Her place was pretty nice. Expensive and tidy. It was clear that 2 people lived there but she’d already assured me that her boyfriend was away and wouldn’t be back for another week. And I wanted to believe her so I did.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Er, yes please?"

I was sat on the couch. I choose the couch rather than a chair so she could join me.

She went into the kitchen. I surveyed my surroundings as best I could. Some of the book titles were interesting and the obligatory reprints decorating the walls weren’t too obvious.

But when she came back she wasn’t holding cups.

In her right hand she held a large hard suitcase, and judging from the way she moved with it it wasn’t very heavy. She put it on the coffee table in front of me and perched that cute behind next to it.

"What’s that?" I said, trying to sound confident.

She didn’t answer but came and sat next to me. I put my hand on her cheek and tried to turn her face towards me. But she took my hand by the wrist and put it back in my lap. She turned away from me and started speaking:

"I heard you tonight."

Shit. She knew.

"I am attracted to you." She continued. "….. and you’re a great kisser—

"You reckon?"

"Yeah! Not the best, but pretty good."

"Thank-you."

"Er, that’s okay. But I really had another reason for bringing you back here."

I shifted in my seat and looked around myself.

"Don’t worry." She said smiling. "There’s no one else here. This place is mine and my boyfriend’s like I told you, and he is away at the moment. In Europe — Spain last time I heard. But I haven’t been entirely honest with you tonight."

"No?"

"No. But don’t worry, I actually want to help you." She looked at me coolly.

I was suddenly very uncomfortable at the way the balance of power had so abruptly and explicitly shifted.

"You were helping me babe! What are you talking about?" I tried.

"Well, I say I heard you… it was really your little friend I heard. It wasn’t tough, the way he was shouting I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole bar heard."

From the way she’d moved and the way she spoke that evening (and she still hadn’t said much — in fact, even now, we had exchanged more in the way of bodily fluids than words) I had put her age at early 20s. But now she was different. I had been part of some kind of ruse. I now guessed her age at about 25 upwards. She was clearly well off and kept herself well.

"What are you talking about? The whole bar heard what?"

I still wasn’t giving anything away. She was right: It had been an enjoyable half hour and I still had the opportunity to escape with at least a shred of dignity.

"That you’ve got no dick." She said flatly.

"I’ve what?!" I did my best to look shocked.

"You’ve got no dick." She repeated.

"Don’t be so ridiculous! Of course I’ve got a dick!"

"No you haven’t."

"Yes I have! What do you think I came back here to do?"

"I was kind of curious about that myself."

"Well," I said getting up. "If that’s what you think of me, then I think I shall be going home!"

Even standing I still felt like she was towering over me.

I looked around: "Can you remember if I brought anything with me. Which way’s the door? I’ve got—

For the second time that evening she silenced me with a look.

Softly: "Sit down."

I sat.

"Aren’t you even curious to know what’s in this case?" She said smiling and patting it.

"I, well. Er…"

Yes, I was very curious.

"I guess you might as well show me before I go, I doubt I’ll be seeing you again."

She smiled again. Then, deftly and without the faintest sign of drunkenness, she span the combination lock and popped the catches. "I think you might stop pretending and let me help you when you see what’s inside."

She opened it. I stared.

"Take your time." She said. "I’d prefer it if you didn’t touch any of them though."

So far it had been easily the single weirdest fortnight of my life. And it showed no signs of letting up.

In front of me was a case full of penises. They were various shapes and colours. There were skinless ones and regular ones. All different sizes too. And there they were, arranged in the gray foam of the case like they were guns for sale. A case full of one-eyes all frowning up at me.

"That’s disgusting." I said truthfully.

"Oh, I don’t think they look so bad."

"Yeah well you wouldn’t."

"Oh it’s not like that, at first I couldn’t stand the sight of them either. All wrinkly and useless like that. Ugh." She feigned a shudder in that way only girls can. "But in this business you soon get used to it."

"This ‘business’?" I said incredulously, but really there was no denying the business-like persona she’d adopted.

"Well, it’s my boyfriend’s really, I help him out while he’s away."

"Goes away a lot, does he?"

"Oh yeah, all the time. Of course it’s always on business. You wouldn’t believe the problems you can have acquiring one of these things."

"It was never difficult for me."

"It’s going to be difficult now though. That’s where I come in."

I sat back again. Being that close to so many penises was not just unpleasant, but also strangely unnerving.

"Now call this a crazy assumption," I started, "But I’m taking it you’re trying to sell me one of these things? You thought you overheard something tonight and concluded that I have no penis. That’s why you tricked me like that to get me back here — to show that you really meant business?"

"Come on," She grinned. "We both know you wouldn’t have come otherwise."

"And your boyfriend’s happy about that? I was rubbing your pussy at one stage."

"You don’t have to be quite so graphic about it."

"‘Quite so graphic?’ You’ve just opened up a suit-case full of cocks in front of me. I think we can dispense with pleasantries."

"You know, you talk pretty well considering the amount you’ve drunk tonight. I was watching you all night you know."

"What can I say? It’s one area I have real experience in."

"And I’ve got experience in selling these. That’s how I knew what approach to use on you tonight."

She was cool and sharp. I’d managed to forget briefly what had brought me to the flat in the first place. I’d been attracted to her innocence initially but this pad and her sudden change had inspired a new and renewed desire in me.

"I think that would’ve worked with any guy in that bar tonight." I said.

"You’d be surprised. But I knew that even without a penis you’d come home with me."

"How?"

"Like I said, I’d been watching you all night. You never made eye-contact with me once."

"Oh."

I looked into the case again. They were fucking ugly things. But I also saw a future full of hope in those pink and brown slugs. I examined them a bit closer. My face was right close to them, closer than I’d been to an exposed penis in all my life. And there was a good reason for that. Despite myself I found I was examining them with the eye of a potential buyer. Predictably enough in the corner there was a huge black one.

I pointed at it: "How much for that one?"

"Usually that would go for about £15,000."

"How much!?"

"About that. All prices are negotiable. It’s one of the cheaper ones though, we’ve sold for up to £40,000 before."

"£40,000! Where the FUCK would I get £40,000 from? And what do you mean ‘one of the cheaper ones?’ It’s enormous."

I started to wonder what kind of beast you could get for £40,000.

"Well, yeah it is." She said, "But then so are most of the black ones we get in. Anyway would you seriously consider buying it?"

"I suppose not. It wouldn’t look right."

"Most of our customers agree."

"What about your black customers?"

"We get surprisingly few. My theory is that they’re less likely to let their girlfriends take their cocks in the first place."

"Hey, who said my girlfriend took mine?"

"It invariably is. Either that or the mother. At least your admitting that it’s gone now though."

"Okay okay." I sighed. "Yes it’s gone. Well done. And yes my girlfriend has taken it. You happy now?"

"I was actually counting on making a sale tonight. I want a new washing machine."

"No no." I shook my head vigourously. "I don’t think I’ll be able to help you out there. For one thing I really haven’t got that kind of money…."

"I can’t even think of a priest who wouldn’t pay at least £20,000 to get his manhood back."

"No, you don’t understand, I don’t need one either."

"But you just said you did?" She looked confused.

"No, I said I didn’t have one. There’s a difference. My girlfriend’s still got it, that’s all. It’s safe and everything, I just can’t get at it at the moment."

"Why, where is it?"

"She took it on holiday with her."

"On holiday? Are you fucking crazy?"

I was getting a little tired of that reaction.

"What!?" I shouted. "Surely it’s not the first time you’ve heard that? I trust her, okay? Is that really so crazy? We’re very close you know. And she’s getting back real soon."

"You hope."

"I trust her."

Then the girl looked down like I’d said something wrong.

"Wow." She said after a moment. "I sometimes want to apologise for the behaviour of my species. Although I don’t think we’d be able to afford a place like this if it didn’t go on."

"True, you can’t condemn it if you’re making a living out of it." I said, opting for the objective rather than subjective interpretation.

"Well, I can really." She replied casually. "And I don’t feel bad about it if that’s what you mean. I doubt a doctor or policeman feels particularly bad after saving someone’s life. Shit happens. We’re just here to help out once I has, that’s all."

It seemed a fair enough argument.

"I suppose when you put it like that…"

But she still hadn’t seemed entirely convinced.

"Yeah, I do." She said. "And believe it or not, I do actually like you. You clearly drink too much but you’re a sweet guy…."

"Don’t say that."

"Why? It’s not a bad thing."

"It is if you’re a guy. Trust me, nothing good has ever come of being ‘sweet’."

"I probably wouldn’t have introduced myself to you tonight. It was a real stroke of luck running into you in the toilets like that."

"I was beginning to think that you’d planned that one like everything else."

"Hardly. But I was serious when I said I’d enjoyed being with you."

She came over and sat down next to me. She leaned close and started to fiddle with the neck of my t-shirt. She had beautifully manicured nails I noticed; the business clearly paid well. They brushed against the sensitive skin around my collarbone. If I had a cock this was about the time when I’d really start to get hard.

"This girl…" She said doing the playful eyes thing again. "How long have you been with her? Do you really love her?"

"Very much so." I said, carefully ignoring the first question.

She stopped fiddling and pulled the case a little closer to us, diverting my attention back to it. She didn’t speak and I felt obliged to fill the silence.

"So… er… how do you go about getting a penis? I’m assuming you don’t just do what I have to and go to someone like you? There aren’t any penis-wholesalers are there?"

"No, if it were only that easy!" She laughed. "My boyfriend gets them all. He has contacts all around the world. I don’t really know how it works, but he has to buy them then we re-sell them. He usually goes away, gets loads of them, and sends them back to me by DHL. We used to use UPS but they kept squashing them. Then he comes back and sits around the flat for a few months. He used to sell coke, but this is much better. We make a great mark up, more than any drug — Even on the black ones; most black countries don’t have any money so you can get them by the bucketload out there."

"Should you really be telling me all this? I wouldn’t have thought you’d want this sort of thing to get out in the open."

"Well there’s nothing illegal about selling them as far as I know. But the trick is that it just isn’t one of those things that anyone involved wants to talk about much." She paused. I saw one of her legs rub slightly against the other. "Besides, I don’t think you’d say anything. Like I said, you’re sweet."

"I do wish you’d stop saying that." I said with a slight smile. I secretly appreciated any compliment.

"I know you’ve said you’re confident that your girlfriend will come back with yours but just to show you what options there are…" She pointed to one of the cocks. "One like that would usually go for about £20,000 but I’d sell it to you for £16,000."

"It’s fucking tiny though!"

It was true — bar a couple of yellow and light brown ones it was the smallest there.

"Oh, don’t be silly!" She smiled, touching my arm. "It’s a good size — most girls aren’t really that bothered anyway."

"Well maybe, but I don’t want one that small."

"I think it’s quite nice. It’s a new one — came in just the other day. Really fresh. And it’s the perfect colour for you."

That much was true. It was almost the same colour as what I’d had before. And, in all honesty, pretty much the same size too. But I was getting sucked in and after seeing all the others I was even flirting with the idea of an upgrade.

"It’s a bit pale." I said feebly.

"Oh don’t worry about that, once the blood starts flowing round it it’ll brighten up."

"Hey!" I said, coming to my senses. "I’ve told you! My girlfriend’s bringing mine back. Simple. I really don’t have to buy something I haven’t even got the money for."

"You don’t know how many times I’ve heard that."

"Well, I can always come back, can’t I?"

"Well, yes. You’d be more than welcome, but you’d have to deal with my boyfriend and I guarantee he’d hit you for £20,000. And even then you’d have to bargain him down to that price."

She was close to me again and I could smell her perfume. It was mixed with her own scent and was rather wonderful. Her leg touched mine and as we spoke our faces were close. In my mind I could feel her soft lips against mine.

"Okay…" I started. Despite the sobering effects of all this excitement I was still thinking a little slow. "Let’s just say, maybe she doesn’t have it when she comes back. I don’t know, maybe someone stole it off her or something—

—totally possible."

"Well, I was speaking to my friend Shy tonight —as you know— but he said that he used to work with some guy who had the same thing happen to him, but his grew back. There wouldn’t be much point in my spending all this money if the same thing happened to me, would there?"

"I’ve heard the same stories too. My boyfriend insists they’re just urban myths though. ‘A man’s cock is not a lizard’s tail’ he says. I’m really not so certain myself, but he doesn’t listen to me. I suppose he is the expert."

"I’ve told you a lot about my girlfriend tonight…

"No you haven’t."

True.

"Well okay, but I’ve told you how I feel about her. How do you feel about your boyfriend? How long have you been together?"

"I’ve been with him for about 4 years now. Yeah, I guess I do love him. It’s a good relationship."

Unlike me she’d answered both questions. But again, she’d failed to sound convinced. I told her this.

"It’s not that…" She tailed off, looking down at her hands.

"Go on…" I said placing a hand on her shoulder.

She looked back up at me. There was a definite sadness in her eyes. Either she was a better actor than I had given her credit for or there was some real feeling behind all the antics earlier that evening.

"He’s away a lot and I, well… I get lonely."

I waited for her to continue.

"I know he fucks other girls while he’s out there."

I squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. She continued:

"I suspect that’s how he gets half of these things, he’s always really evasive when I try to talk to him about it. I even heard him on the telephone to his mate talking about some Italian girl he screwed."

Then there was a silence that neither one of us filled. I moved my hand from her shoulder to her cheek. Her skin was softer than Kammé’s and she was wearing less foundation. Then we kissed again.

Before long we were lying together on the couch, limbs intertwined, her body pressed hard against mine. With one arm I reached out and closed the suitcase. She sat up slightly and raised her arms. As smoothly and delicately as I could I peeled off her pink top to reveal her breasts. They were gorgeously shaped and through a white bra I could see large red nipples. I put an eager hand to her breast and with my other hand I unclasped her bra. It hung there for a few moments, held up by those small but pert breasts. Then she kissed me once more and held me tightly.

"I know we can’t do anything, but I want you." She whispered in my ear.

"I want you too."

One of her legs hung over the edge of the couch and the other was neatly folded underneath her. I put my hand on the inside thigh of the folded leg and she made moves to get my top off. In no time I was naked from the waist up and relishing the warmth of her flesh against mine. Delighting as those hard nipples brushed against, and pressed into, my chest.

I pulled away.

"I can’t do this." I said.

"Don’t worry. We don’t have to do anything. I know everything. It’s okay."

She made moves to kiss me again. I moved my head back and placed my hand on a naked shoulder.

"No. I don’t mean that. I can’t do this."

"You’re doing fine!" She smiled and again moved in.

"I don’t mean that!" I pushed her away.

She looked hurt.

"What’s wrong?" She said, sounding rejected. "I’m not expecting anything from you! If you don’t want to go down on me I don’t fucking mind! I just don’t want to sleep alone again!"

"Neither do I! And I won’t have to once my girlfriend gets back!"

She didn’t say anything but looked away. She was clearly upset.

"I’m sorry." I said putting my hand on her shoulder again. She didn’t shrug it off.

"I know you love her. You told me. I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t understand what the problem is…."

It was true. I did love her. And I couldn’t do anything. It just didn’t seem right. I’d feel guilty for sure.

She continued without looking at me: "We’ve already done so much, just stay the night, please! I’ve got a bottle of vodka in the fridge. I just don’t want to sleep alone again."

"I’ll have to tell her. It won’t be right otherwise…."

"Oh, and I suppose sticking your fingers in me and, and… mouthing my nipples, that’s okay is it?"

"Now who’s being graphic?"

She swallowed then spoke in a half whisper. "I think we’ve dispensed with pleasantries." She looked into my eyes again. They were now wet as rain and twice as big as before. Again I penetrated their surface, but this time I realised what I hadn’t before: there were depths, but there was no bottom to them.

I brushed the hair away from her face. She closed her eyes and I kissed each of them. We were still for a moment then as gently as I could I lay her back and parted her legs. She didn’t open her eyes. I lowered myself down between her warm thighs. She wore black leggings and, running my finger under the elastic, I began to mouth her flat belly. Her fingers massaged my hair as I began to slowly push them down, all the while kissing her, breathing heavily, nuzzling. Her pubis was revealed to me and my head was close; the familiar scent of sweat and genitals buzzed in my head. Intoxicated, I started to caress the insides of her thighs with a single finger. I removed the rest of her leggings as she wriggled beneath me, the tendons I had now begun to kiss stiffening and relaxing as she did so.

She was now naked save a pair of white cotton knickers. I looked up at her and she opened her eyes. She beheld me with a sweet half-smile of pleasure and expectation. I was ready to peel off those girlish underpants and mouth her where she would now have begged me to. I pulled myself up to feel her fat tongue in my mouth one more time. With my weight on one arm I massaged her hair and kissed her. My weight bore down on her and instinctively she hooked her legs around my waist.

I pulled away.

"I can’t bear this." I said.

"What? What is it? Please don’t stop! Please, we’ve gone this far!"

"It’s not that. I want you. I want to…"

"What?"

"I want to do it properly! I want to fuck you! You look so perfect…. Your body is so hot and I smell you, I can smell that you’re wet…. It’s too much for me! Fuck!"

I sat up. She rolled over. I looked. Her buttocks trembled slightly as she moved. I could almost feel their them under the slightly billowed cotton fabric…. Warm. Smooth. Inviting…

Something emerged through my intoxication. There was an idea that had been nagging at the back of my mind. It was an idea I thought I was too scared to consider. It seemed disgusting. And in truth, at a deeper level I had already weighed it up and decided against it. Decided against thinking about it, that is.

I opened up the case again.

At the sound of it she sat up.

"What about if I use one of these?" I said.

She rubbed my back. "There’s no reason why you can’t put one of those on. But you can’t, you won’t be able to get it off again."

"What, never?"

"Well no, not really. Not unless something happens like before."

"Jesus."

"You don’t have to."

"I fucking want to babe."

"You haven’t got the money — you already told me. I can’t let you do it."

"I could use that cheap one you showed me. You’re so gorgeous…"

I put my hand on her leg. She felt warmer than before. I guess she sensed there was nothing for her to say because she shut up.

I hadn’t been entirely honest earlier. It was true, I didn’t have £20,000 or even £16,000 but I did have ways of getting that kind of money together. I could have had it for her within a week. If I wanted to.

She had stopped talking but continued to rub my back.

"I don’t know what to do." I said.

"But you said you didn’t have the money…."

"Hmm." I grunted non-commitally. "I don’t know what’s happened to mine." I continued. "I want to believe that it’s safe…. But I just don’t know…"

"It’s okay. Come on. Let’s just lie together."

I looked at her. Her face. Her breasts. I moved with each breath she took. I rode her like the beautiful dream that she had been for me that night.

At length she sighed:

"Okay…."

And to my surprise I detected a note of something else in her voice. It was slight but it was definitely there: impatience.

She paused.

"Come on…" I said.

"I want you to enjoy it as well." She said looking down. "Just use the one I showed you. I might be able to get the price down even further. We don’t know, it might not even take. You might as well try."

So that was it.

"What are you talking about?"

I glared at her. She looked back without sympathy.

"You know…."

"No, I don’t know. You tell me."

I continued to examine her. She was quite happy before when I was about to eat her out. Maybe it was just that broken anticipation that had caused it the change, I thought. But it didn’t seem like that. It seemed to be something else.

"You want me to put that thing on even though you know it won’t come off again don’t you?"

"Well, yes! I want you to enjoy this." Her tone was flat. Her voice was steady yet she reminded me in some very real way of the main reason why I should not have been there that night.

It was beginning to rise within me. I stood up.

"You want me to enjoy this?" I snarled. "You weren’t too bothered about that a fucking moment ago were you?"

"Oh come on!" She was clearly exasperated now. "What are you talking about? I’ve been nothing but honest with you all evening!"

"‘Honest?’ You want me to put that fucking thing on me? Even though you know— even though you’ve just told me— THAT IT WON’T COME OFF?!"

"Why are you being like this?"

It didn’t wash with me. Her chameleon-like attitude had betrayed her for the last time.

"Why am I being like what exactly?" Cheated again. "Let me remind you I can be any fucking way I like you little bitch! You think I owe you something?!"

"What?!" She pulled away from me and stared daggers.

Oh… it had all been very convincing. I grinned down at her in disbelief then shook my head:

"You lying cheating little BITCH!"

"What are you saying!?"

"YOU THINK I’M FUCKING STUPID?" I yelled. "Just some lonely drunk who’s going to pay 20 grand for one night with you!? Boy, you value yourself highly don’t you?! You and your fella, you’ve got a good one going on here haven’t you YOU LITTLE WHORE!?"

"Stop saying that!—

—Of course you know I’m harmless don’t you? Otherwise how would I have been so pathetic to lose my cock to someone I’ve only known for 2 months!"

"I didn’t know it was…. I’ve been nothing but good to you!"

I grabbed my t-shirt roughly from under her leg.

"Fucking harmless and fucking gullible! That’s it isn’t it? You think I don’t know what’s going to happen once your ‘boyfriend’ gets back and I’ve got his property hanging off me? The cocaine business? He’s not going to need many fucking contacts to get £20,000 off SOME PATHETIC FUCKING LOSER IS HE?!"

I yanked the t-shirt quickly over my head.

"Oh yeah, you’re a right one!" I continued. "Well-fucking-done! Had me going! I was going to enjoy eating your pussy, you fucking harlot!

"Get out! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!"

"Oh, don’t worry I’m going. And I’m taking some information with me." I waved my finger at her. She’d long ago risen from her seat and was presented before me no less naked than before. "Don’t you dare show your fucking face around these streets again because maybe I’m not the fucking loser you think I am! I can’t believe I was about to let you do this to me…. I’ve got a beautiful girlfriend who I TRUST! All you’ve tried to do all night is turn me against her, haven’t you? Distrust her? Seduce me? Wave under my nose a product I can’t refuse? Must work a fucking treat because you’ve got it down to a T. I bet you even had a tight little pussy waiting for me in those little kid’s pants you’re wearing…

"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE!"

"The police? Yeah, I bet they’d be impressed with what they found here. But don’t worry your pretty little brain about it, I’m gone."

I picked up my jumper and walked to the door.

"GET OUT!! NOW YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!"

I looked at her before I left. She was crying. Almost naked, but no longer attractive to me.

I shut the door then marched down the stairs alert and ready for anyone I might meet curious about the disturbance.

I stayed drunk for the next 4 days. Not like before. I didn’t sleep. But I was never really awake either. And I was no longer in the garden; I stayed in the living room and drew the curtains. Before long, days turned to nights and nights turned to days; I vomited constantly and my stomach rejected any food I was fool enough to ply it with. Mostly I drank vodka. And after about 2 days I began mixing it with milk and drank it by the cupful.

It’s difficult to say what hit me so hard. I had felt useless for most of my life, but I think that evening had compacted the whole nightmare into just a few hours. I felt foolish. Credulous. Worthless. Barren. Not for having gone home with her. Not for having kissed her or touched her. Not for having enjoyed her young body. And certainly not for having left Shy in the lurch like that. (He had tried to call a few times but I switched my phone off.) But for having trusted her. And for having come so close to betraying my Kammy.

I didn’t know how long I would be in this state. And the more I thought about it, the more it added to the weight of my burden. Also, I knew Kammé would not be happy if she got back and saw the state of me. Or the flat. It wasn’t her fault after all, and she had fronted half the rent and bills this month. I had only called her twice in the 2 weeks she had been away. And now, with every retch and every gulp I yearned to hear her voice again. She would sooth my burning stomach and warm my enervated heart. I just needed to hear her. Everything would be okay when she got back — I could get on with my life; maybe even find a proper job. Until then (it wouldn’t be long!) a phonecall would have to do.

We didn’t have the luxury of a house phone and using the mobile was no more of an option. Both the other times I had used the phonebox at the end of the road. It would mean leaving the house, but I was running out of alcohol anyway. I made a conscious effort to sober up before I went. I dulled my brain with a few hours of television, then, on the third try managed to keep down a mixture of raw eggs, milk, and juice. Afterwards I took some codeine painkillers and tried to sleep. Eventually I did. Not well, but it was enough. I awoke, not clear-headed, but dazed and trembling, reality painfully real. Then I shaved, put on some shoes, and set off down the road.

* * *

"Kammé is that you?"

"Hello Paul."

"Hi baby, I’m missing you! Are you having a good time out there? What’s the weather like?"

I hadn’t meant to ask such an obvious and stupid question but I was so excited it just seemed to bypass my brain.

"It’s great!" She sounded happy. "The sun’s out! It was really hot the other day. I went down to the beach, my tan’s really coming along."

"That’s great, you’ll look even lovelier than usual when you get back!"

I actually preferred her skin lighter, but I knew she firmly believed that chocolate-brown was the only way to go.

"Are you okay? Have you been drinking?" She asked.

I don’t know whether she had heard something in my voice (I was aware that I didn’t sound great — my voice was croaky and my breaths shallow) or if she was just enquiring out of habit.

"No! Well, not for a few days." I lied. "It’s been pretty boring with you away though. I’ve been knocking about with Shy a bit, but he’s no substitute."

"No."

Pause.

"What have you been up to?" I ventured.

"Just going down to the beach really. I don’t know what to do when I’m on my own. I’ve been to a couple of bars but I feel a bit funny."

"Well, you’re coming home soon and when you do we can go to all the bars you want! I reckon you should just make the most of the sun while you’re out there, y’know?"

"Yeah, I am. I’ve been reading a lot."

"Did you read that one I bought you?"

"I started it, but it was a bit boring."

"Oh don’t worry," I said. "It’s probably one that you’ll come back to."

"I don’t really come back to a book once I’ve started it…."

"Okay." Fair enough. "But, hey, it doesn’t matter? The important thing is that you’re coming home soon!"

I paused before asking the big question. Naturally, I’d asked her on both other calls but she the way she spoke made me feel I was being tactless.

"So, have you still got it?" I asked.

"Got what?"

"You know."

"What are you talking about Paul?"

She seemed genuinely not to know what I could be referring to.

"The thing! You put it in your hand-bag, you remember…. My cock?"

"Oh that."

"Yes?"

"Well… I met this guy in a bar and he bought me a drink…."

Under normal circumstances this would have at least worried me. But under the current circumstances I found myself trembling violently.

"Kam… What have you done?"

"I just thought he was just trying to chat me up y’know? That sort of thing happens to me all the time, particularly…"

"Kammy…"

"Well, I thought I’d get a couple of drinks out of him at least, but after the first one he told me that he’d seen the thing in my bag…"

"My cock?"

"I do wish you’d stop using that word, but yes, that thing. He was actually a really nice man — said he recognised my accent when I ordered at the bar. He wasn’t that that good looking though — he had long hair and was all red from the sun. I really like his clothes though. He had on this really handsome t-shirt, similar to…"

"Kam! I’m going to run out of fucking credit! Just tell me what you did with it!"

The power cold-turkey and the harbinger of bad news had me almost in tears.

"Okay, okay. I got a good price for it, don’t worry about that. I know you’re always thinking of money with your anti-work ethic…."

"YOU SOLD IT?!"

"Don’t say it like that! Why are you being so mean to me? You only bother to call twice —3 times including this one— and I could have had loads of guys while I’ve been out here you know! Some of the ones at the beach—

"YOU FUCKING SOLD IT!!?"

I had been drowning at the bottom of a heavy private ocean. It had now filled with black magma.

"Oh, I don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about!" She sounded choked up. "You were exactly like this before I left! Oh, I don’t understand you! If you were so bothered about it why did you let me take it with me in the first place!?"

I couldn’t speak.

….

"Paul? Are you still there? Have you run out of credit?"

My unsteady frame had trouble holding the handset to my ear.

"I’m…. still here…"

"You haven’t even asked me how much I got for it!"

"Tell me."

"£2000!"

I hung up.

* * *

It didn’t take me long to smash the phone box. Once my energy was spent, my legs gave and I slumped into the corner. Crumpled into years of stale piss, cum and dirt. It wouldn’t be long before the police came. But I didn’t care. I was too stunned to do anything except sit there and take jagged breaths. I was stunned at what she’d done to me. And stunned more at my own stupidity.

The voice inside me screamed.

My mistake was obvious That was now so clear…. so clear.… The voice continued. I didn’t need to be told any of it. It was all too obvious. Nonetheless its volume and pitch grew. And grew. Before long my head would crack. Then the thick glass that had merely shivered mockingly when I threw my fists against it would shatter from the vibrations. I could see then in my mind those shards lying around me. Sharp and glinting impatiently at me, offering that simple solution….

But no. There was something else.

I knew what my mistake was. And it was my mistake: I had trusted. Again. Put my faith in someone else. Again. And again I had been betrayed.

It wouldn’t hold for much longer.

But then something changed and I got up.

* * *

I stepped into the shop and went to the shelves at the back. All the staff at the off-license knew me to look at me. It didn’t take me long to locate what I needed. I walked up to the counter and put it on the glass.

"And that bottle." I said pointing behind the shopkeeper.

Even if I hadn’t known it, the fact that I looked terrible was there in his eyes. My hair and face were ragged. Clothing disheveled. Knuckles torn.

"Y’okay?" He said, looking first at the counter then to me.

I didn’t answer but looked. I kept his gaze.

"How much please?" I said.

He gave it a moment longer. Then, with a look that said ‘fuck it’, he racked the items up, and, still trembling violently, I handed over the cash. I picked up my things and made for the door. I put the bottle of vodka in one pocket and the kitchen-knife in the other.

As soon as I was out of the shop I looked around for the nearest ally. I saw one, ducked into it and unscrewed the bottle. This would not have been an option in a police cell. And however ludicrous or feeble it may sound that was probably the reason I had managed to move my legs and get the fuck out of that phonebox. I had other matters on my mind, but first things first. I put the bottle in my mouth and gulped until I couldn’t take any more. I felt at once nauseous but energized. I set off.

* * *

By the time I got there it was growing dark. I didn’t know who would be in, or what I’d do when I was up there, but it was definitely the right place and that was enough.

The walk had been long and painful; I had never known the route, only the address. My brain was fucked from the alcohol and, beyond the first sentence or 2, I forgot any directions I was given. But eventually I made it and there I was outside that same block of flats. Predictably, the door to the stairwell was on an electric security lock. I had remembered her flat number but pressed the next buzzer up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, I’m from flat 37 but I’ve forgotten my key. Could you let me in please?"

Bzzzzzz!

I pulled open the door and went immediately to the concrete steps and sat down. I needed a moment to catch my breath and my wits. I reached for the bottle and it struck me again that I really didn’t know who’d be up there. And even if it was just her how on earth would I get in? What would be the point in trying and failing? It would just fuck up any potential later opportunity….

I decided not to think about it. I unscrewed the bottle and took a couple of gulps. Holding it up before I put it back in my pocket I saw that there was only about 1/3 left.

Then I heard something.

It came from upstairs and sounded like voices. My first instinct was to hide or get moving. But I gave it a moment longer… It was shouting, but quiet shouting — like from a distance, muffled, behind a door; some kind of argument a couple of floors up…. but nothing to do with me.

Relaxing a little, I resolved to take one more mouthful then climb those cold stairs. But before the bottle reached my lips the sound’s volume doubled. It became sharper and echoed round the stairwell. Whatever the commotion was, it had now spilled out of the flat and had become my business. I got off the steps and hid round the corner. I listened intently and realised something: it had taken a few moments but those piercing screams had at last penetrated my dulled senses. It was her. Screaming at some guy.

Her screams were followed by her footsteps. Tap! Tap! Tap! Sporadic and drawing closer; quick and punctuated by the insults that that stairwell was probably becoming familiar with. I put the bottle on the ground and gripped the knife in my pocket. Eventually she reached the last flight. She took them quickly and steadily, making no sound save her light sobs and heavy breaths. Then I saw her as, unsteadily, she rounded the last corner.

And I grabbed her.

I clamped my hand over her mouth and dragged her backwards. She started to struggle immediately but I pulled her back and out of sight behind the stairs. Her adrenaline was already going but she was still small and easily subdued. I had never done anything like this to a female before, but it seemed to come easily, almost like second nature. All the time she was kicking behind herself frantically trying to get me in the groin. I wasted no more time — I drew the knife and put it to her throat. Almost immediately she froze. It was the reaction I had wanted. For the first time I spoke:

"Remember me?" I said.

We were close. And, not for the first time, my alcohol-soaked breath assaulted her face. "I don’t want to hurt you." I said. "You understand that?"

She nodded.

"I just came back for something I forgot. That’s all I fucking want. Is that clear?"

She nodded.

"Okay, I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth but if you make one sound, just one fucking peep, I swear to God I’ll plant this knife in you…. Okay?"

She nodded.

Keeping the blade fixed rigid against her delicate throat I took my hand away from her mouth and held her around the chest. She didn’t scream or cry out. But spoke. And when she spoke it was with a venom that I wasn’t prepared for.

"What the fuck do you want?" She snarled through her tears.

I was taken aback. I drew the knife upwards and she adjusted height accordingly. She was now on her toes and unsteady; her whole weight in my control.

"WHAT did you say?"

"If you’re going to kill me, do it quickly." Her tone was less harsh but still defiant.

"What the fuck is the matter with you? I’ve told you, I’ve come here for what’s mine!"

"If you want to talk business it’s that cunt upstairs you need to speak to."

It was clear to me now that the cunt upstairs was her boyfriend.

"Business??" Does this feel like I’m here on business?" I said pushing the blade up the last centimeter I could before it broke her skin. "I’ve come to get back what’s mine and I don’t intend to fucking pay for it!"

"What are you talking about?"

"VALENCIA! That’s what I’m fucking talking about!"

"What?! Take this knife away from my neck now!"

Yeah, right.

"I don’t think so you little bitch…. That THING up there was MINE. Fucking Valencia! I’ve been too drunk to put 2 and 2 together up until recently, but now it all makes fucking sense! That thing up there, that one you showed me, the one that looked so familiar to me? The one you said was just the right colour? Well, of course it was the right fucking colour! It was MINE!"

It had hit me slumped in that phone box. Sobriety along with the unique and simple clarity that accompanies despair made it seem obvious. And it made perfect sense. Kammé, the stupid bitch, had sold it to this girl’s boyfriend. He was the guy in the bar — the guy who twigged the accent and didn’t tan so well. Him and the whore currently under my knife had tried to sell me back my own cock at about 14 grand profit! Damn right it was better than the fucking coke business!

At first I had been convinced that I had been headhunted. That this girl (I still didn’t even know her name) had come looking for me. That the whole thing had been planned. But thinking about it I realised that that would have been just too much. For one thing it would have been easier to blackmail me than show me a case full of options. Then there was the fact that I hadn’t left the flat in almost 10 days. But, more than all that, how the fuck would they know who I was anyway? I considered that Kammé, in her ultimate stupidity, would have given the necessary details to the guy who chatted her up. That was what convinced me that it was just a coincidence. A truly fucked-up coincidence but just a coincidence nonetheless — the last thing Kammé would have spoken about out there was me.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" She spat again.

"Came by fucking DHL from Spain? Well I’ll bet you both our pathetic lives that the papers say Valencia on them. Valencia is where my girlfriend went on holiday! That’s where she sold it to your boyfriend!"

All the time those large wild eyes had been darting about my face, apparently looking for some clue, but it was only then that it clicked with her. I continued:

"Then you tried to sell it back to me. You tried to sell my own cock back to me!"

"I didn’t know it was—

"I believe you didn’t! Big fucking co-incidence huh? But I’m not here to wonder about co-incidences, or to talk to you about them. That’s not my fucking business here. I want back what’s mine and you’re going to help me get it!"

"Let me go!"

"Let you go? Don’t make me fucking laugh! "Why would I have bothered to pull a knife on you if I was just going to let you go? No…. you’re going to help me out!"

"If you’d have fucking listened to me you wouldn’t be in this mess you IDIOT!"

She was becoming too much. Such a long way from that girl I had met in a toilet only 3 nights ago. I took the knife away from her throat, turned around then flung her against the wall. She hit it with a crack. Her head had hit the bricks but she stayed standing. Usually I’d feel some pang. An instinct to apologise or help. But I was beyond that. There was only one reason I had came and only one person I felt sympathy for.

I thrust the knife out in front of me. Still she wasn’t intimidated.

"I’ve just been kicked out of my house and it’s all because of you!" She started. I could tell from her tone that she felt just as wronged as me. What a fucking joke that was. "If you’d listened to me in the first place and taken that thing then you could have avoided all this shit! You’re a fucking idiot!" I now realised taking that knife away from her throat was tantamount to taking my foot off a hosepipe. She was worked up emotionally and it started to gush out. "I was going to give it to you for free, you fucking moron!—

"No more fucking lies!"

"Oh? I’m lying am I? I was going to give it to you for FREE. I’d have lied to my boyfriend about it just like I would have lied about what I did while he was away. But it’s too late now! Too fucking late for you. Your girlfriend’s fucked you over —just like I said she would— and now you’ve got no more fucking options! It’s gone! That tiny thing that’s apparently so precious to you? Well, you can kiss it goodbye because it’s GONE. You’re not going to get that back!"

"Oh no," I said firmly shaking my head, gesturing with the knife. "You’re going to help me get it back…"

"How exactly?" She continued, interrupting me. "What do you think all that arguing was about? I’ve been kicked out of there! Because of you! You! A fucking guy that’s so insecure he can’t take it when a girl actually, genuinely likes him! One that gives his cock to his worst enemy then turns on the one person that can help him! You’re beyond hope! You might as well put that knife in me then turn it on yourself!"

I stared at her. My eyes were fire. She saw it but continued to vent — to vent and feed those flames.

"I’ve been kicked out because of you! You think I do that shit all the time? That I’m some kind of whore to him? That he’s my pimp? He might have cheated on me but I wasn’t some fucking temptress! He didn’t want me to touch you or kiss you or fuck you! There was no fucking conspiracy, you were just too fucking dumb to see that! But that doesn’t matter now because however much he’d like to hurt me I guarantee he’d do it to you 10 times over!"

It was hot. The flames were about to turn inward. They would ignite my anger and my anger would engulf me.

"… If he knew that thing was yours he’d fucking flush it down the toilet! He’d put it in the fucking blender!" She paused. "YOU’VE FUCKED EVERYTHING UP FOR YOURSELF!"

That was it. I hit her. Closed hand; the back of the left. She dropped. But I didn’t stay to admire my shame. I ran up the steps 2 and 3 at a time. I was in front of the expensive door. With one hand I stuffed the knife in my pocket and with the other I beat on the door. The response was immediate.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?"

I heard someone run towards the door. It didn’t open. There was a peephole in it. I pulled my wallet out, took out the photo of Kammé that had been so precious to me, and shoved it through the letterbox. Then resumed the thumping.

"YOU RECOGNISE HER? YOU BEEN TO VALENCIA RECENTLY? THAT’S MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND YOU PIECE OF SHIT! OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR NOW!"

"Who the FUCK are you!?" He yelled from behind the door.

"OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR NOW!"

"I don’t know who you are mate but you don’t WANT me to open this door. Y’get me? You don’t want to be shouting at ME like that — Get the fuck out of here before I call the police."

"ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING LISTENING TO ME? I KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND WHAT YOU DO! I KNOW WHY YOU’D NEVER CALL THE POLICE SO DON’T THREATEN ME WITH THAT SHIT! GIVE ME WHAT’S MINE YOU PRICK!"

"Are we talking business here? Do you want me to get my business partners to discuss it with you?"

"YOU CAN GET WHOEVER YOU WANT YOU LITTLE PRICK! I’M READY AND I WANT BACK WHAT’S MINE!"

There was a rattling and finally the door opened. It was on the chain and a pair of thick black eyebrows peered out. And when he opened his mouth to talk a set of ugly broken teeth looked out at me too.

"I don’t know who you think you are but I don’t fucking talk to cunts who come banging on my door shouting—

I cut him off

—When I say that you’ve got something of mine I think you know what I’m talking about! And I think you had better give it back to me."

I was confident. I was considering taking that knife out of my pocket and sticking it in his face. I could do it quickly before he could slam the door shut. Then I could break the door in. And get back….

"I think that you’re going to have to pay for anything that you want from me—

He was cut off by some other voice inside the flat. There were at least 2 people in there. The door closed. I resumed my thumping on it.

"OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR AGAIN! NOW! I’VE GOT THE GOODS ON YOU BOY! I’M GONNA BREAK YOU AND THIS FUCKING DOOR IF YOU DON’T—

The door opened again. It only opened partway but this time it was not on any chain. My first instinct was to kick it in then deal with the boyfriend cunt in any way necessary to get back what was mine. But something offset the reaction. It was a different face looking out.

"Hello again." It said.

The fellow was clearly bigger than myself and the other prick and was confident-talking. He was even smiling at me. Despite myself I felt immediately unsettled.

"Who the fuck are you? If you think I’m scared that there are 2 of you you better think again you big fuck—

His voice was big, and talking calmly, he cut me off.

"What makes you think there are just 2 of us? Did you have a good time with my friend’s girl by the way? I know who you are. Well, I don’t know who you are. Couldn’t care less really. But I know what you did. Saw you on the main road on Wednesday after the bar. Saw you both. And saw what you was doing with your hands, you dickless child… trying to fuck my man’s girl when you ain’t even got a todger down there?" He grinned.

I made my move.

I had been sussed and the longer this went on the less chance I had of making it out there with what was rightfully mine. My hand had been behind me for the whole conversation. They hadn’t noticed anything unusual about this. But they should have. The knife had been in it the whole time.

I swung my arm upwards in a wide arc. I was going for his face. But he moved. He was too quick for my dulled, fucked-up senses. He grabbed my outstretched arm and flung me forward like I had done to the girl just minutes earlier. With ease, it seemed, he had taken the knife off of me. I crashed into that sofa and span round. I looked at him. He was vexed.

"YOU COME AT ME WITH THIS….?" He said brandishing the knife. "I’LL FUCKING TEACH YOU!"

Then, knife in hand, he advanced on me. And that pair of black eyebrows simply looked on, statically signaling their assent.

* * *

They didn’t kill me. I would have happily done it myself, but the knife stayed on the table where the big fucker put it. He had hit hard and accurate. I lost count of the cracks I heard from my chest and face, but after the first 30 seconds or so it didn’t really hurt. It continued though and after they realised my crying was actually laughter they decided to hit me harder. It didn’t change anything though. I wanted them to beat me to death. But they didn’t. Pussies. Eventually I heard the big cunt tell the other one he didn’t want a murder on his hands and they wound it up. I lay there shaking. At this point even I didn’t know whether I was laughing or crying. They dragged me outside, threw me down the stairwell and told me to get the fuck out of there. I did. One eye was closed completely and I was limping. It felt like my left arm was broken. But I couldn’t be sure.

I don’t properly understand what it was that kept me alive. I had lost that 1/3 and was ready for another hit, but this was something beyond even that. Every time I thought about what she had said to me just before I had hit her I winced and my open eye screwed up. It was gone for good. I had lost everything. If there was ever a right time to check out, this was it. Hey, I’d lose my deposit, but what good was that where I was going? I should have done the decent thing. But I didn’t. I kept going. Kept walking, head down, the blood dripping on the pavement in front of me with every step. It doesn’t really make much sense. But within me was a strange feeling. I had suffered badly, there was no denying it, but the fact was I had survived. I had just been mauled by 2 lions and lived to tell the tale. It would have been impossible for nature to let me simply jump into the ravine afterwards.

So I walked. And my legs took me back to my place. I went via a 24-hour supermarket and dripped blood down the aisle. When I reached the appropriate section I grabbed an item of children’s clothing and tied it around my head to stop the bleeding. Then I filled my basket with spirits paid and left. They didn’t charge me for the bandage.

It was actually a couple of weeks later before I saw Kammé again. I didn’t hear her come in. I had set up residence in the living room of the flat leaving only to use the toilet or kitchen. With the curtains drawn I felt more comfortable but the size of the room still seemed to offer too much freedom.

"Oh my God! What’s happened to this place!?"

I was lying half-on and half-off the couch when I saw her.

"Your tan looks good." I mumbled.

"What have you been doing?"

And so it was. She was devastated about the flat. And it was a fucking mess. Strewn around the floor and surfaces were empty bottles and cans. I’d pissed myself a few times and spilt spirits and wine all over the place; it smelt bad in there too. I probably didn’t look too good either. I was constantly drunk but my bruises and breaks still hurt. She kept on about the flat though. I wasn’t even hers.

She talked at me but wasn’t saying anything I wanted to hear. I was intimidated by her presence and just wanted her to leave. She didn’t once mention what we had last talked about, like it was of no real importance. I decided not to mention it either.

She stood opposite me. She looked amazing. Like the break (from me) had energized her body and her spirit. She looked about to start talking again but then seemed to notice something. I noticed it too. A tear had rolled down my cheek. I didn’t let myself shudder and sob but held my head and face still. Kammé stared at me with that look of pure compassion that I had all but forgotten existed. It was a forgiving, open expression. It allowed me to see that part of her that I had held so dear. Through my stiffened face and bleary eyes I recognised that it was true. I still loved her.

She walked over to me and, without saying anything, sat down beside me. I didn’t look at her but felt her put her arm around me. I crumpled. My head fell into her warm bosom. Still I did not sob. I felt her chin on my head and her little fingers brush the tears away from my face. I wanted it to last forever.

Of course she left. We said goodbye and held each other. I kissed her cheek and watched her walk away from the flat knowing that I would probably never be that close to her again. Like everything else that was so obviously between us that day, we never mentioned it, but both understood that it was over. I still loved her and she still cared for me. But that wasn’t the point — because now I was no good to her, no good to her incomplete.