Three of Christopher’s college friends are siblings that come from a rather unusual family. Their father’s lineage boasts a long line of physicians, bankers and proper ladies whose hair doesn’t turn gray with age but rather a pale blue.
Their mother Paula was born of an entirely different type of family. Let’s just say that Paula’s family is, well… colorful. And I mean that in the most literal sense, as two of her brothers are well-known and respected tattoo artists living in Southern California.
Some years ago I had the opportunity to meet both sides of the family when we were invited to attend a backyard barbeque in honor of yet another degree earned by one of the siblings, all of whom are of superior intelligence. It was here that I first met Uncle Mike, the younger of the two California skin artists.
Uncle Mike was smitten from the moment he laid eyes on me and spent the entire afternoon trying to get me on his motorcycle so he could whisk me off to wherever aging hippies go to have sex nowadays. I was having none of it, instead preferring to sit on the deck with his mother and ruminate on how absolutely ridiculous men were.
Mike had tattoos. Lots of them. Which is okay, not my favorite thing, but to each his own. The only really disturbing part of this was that Mike’s tattoos featured women in various states of bondage and if he flexed his muscles just the right way they seemed to writhe in their chains. Clearly some part of his brain had been damaged and he thought that I would think this demonstration fascinating and most likely, sexually titillating.
Mike’s mother sat in the rocker next to mine watching her son’s mating dance and eventually reached over to pat my knee.
“You’re not falling for this shit… are you?”
I glanced her way and narrowed my eyes in response. She laughed and gave my knee first a squeeze and then a quick shake saying, “Smart girl.” Then she turned pensive and sighed. “If you think this one makes me proud, you should meet his older brother Joe… he has a bolt in his dick.”
Suddenly the Marquis de Mike seemed relatively harmless.
Fast-forward a few years where there has been another degree conferred and another party on the horizon. This time, straight from Southern California, the infamous Uncle Joe was making an appearance. My R.S.V.P. was a big fat yes.
Usually I am not known to be an opportunist, but in this case I sent an inquiry ahead of time via the Lord Chamberlain: Would Uncle Joe let me see his penis?
And over the great Rocky Mountains came the answer… Of course he would.
Party day arrived and I awoke absolutely chipper. This was more than enough to induce suspicion in all who knew me as I generally view social obligations such as these as an intrusion into the amount of time I am able to spend with my favorite person… me.
I dressed carefully and on the way out asked my neighbor Elaine if she saw anything “suggestive” in my appearance. She wanted to know what I meant by “suggestive.”
Annoyed at her lack of vocabulary skills, I put my hands on my hips and asked, “Elaine, if you were a guy and you saw me in this outfit, would you think that I wanted to sleep with you?”
She looked at me for a moment and very cautiously stated that I was dressed the way I always dressed. This was getting tiresome, but to be honest, it was an odd question and I did skip the part about me asking a man I didn’t know if I could see his penis as I thought that this information might influence her answer.
“Elaine!” I snapped. “What do you think this outfit says to a man?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Touch me and I’ll kill you?”
Perfect. Just the effect I wanted. I was ready to go.
I arrived early and met up with Mike, who, over the years had mellowed and given up on the possibility of me being his fifth wife. We were sitting inside the VFW Hall having drinks served from red plastic cups when word came that Uncle Joe’s limo had arrived from the airport.
Mike drained his cup, stood up, gently took my arm and smiled mischievously before asking “Ready?”
Hell yeah I was ready. I was more than ready. Let the show begin!
When the limo pulled away and the parking lot dust settled, I took my first look at one of the finest examples of counter-culture that I had ever personally laid eyes on. Uncle Joe was older than I expected, or honestly, maybe he just looked older. He was dressed in jeans, cowboy boots and a red t-shirt that stretched tightly across his stomach. Everything was held in place with suspenders, no belt.
As we walked toward one another I noticed that Joe had a rather pronounced limp. Mike whispered “Bar fight.” and I thought Of course, what else?
Joe used a magnificent walking stick with a crystal knob that displayed a perfectly preserved scorpion. Later I learned that if you unscrewed the knob, a full-length sword was hidden in the shaft of the stick. Fabulous. I was having the best time.
Mike introduced us and after a round of handshakes and small talk we all decided to sit together during dinner. Behind the rheumy eyes and under the balding, yet ponytailed head was one of the most thoughtful, intelligent and insightful minds I had ever had the pleasure of conversing with. By the time the traditional chicken, beef and sausage had been served, this man had become a real person to me, a human being that life had clearly kicked the shit out of. Sadly, I no longer wanted to see the bolt in his dick. To be honest, I still did want to see a bolted dick, but just not Joe’s.
Goddamn it. I should have sat with the other side of the family during dinner.
After cake had been served, when we were cleaning up the tables, Joe’s mom came over and took the used paper plates out of my hand. She nodded toward the back of the room and said, “Go.”
I looked up and saw Joe making his way to the storage room behind the kitchen. The middle of the room was empty, always was with this crowd, his family on one side, hers on the other. At the end of this human hallway I saw Mike motioning with his hands to have me follow Joe into the storage room. I froze.
Joe’s mother came up behind me, took my elbow and whispered “Go ahead, at his age not many women are clamoring to take a look at it. You could hurt his feelings if you back out.”
I looked down at her and took a deep composing breath. “Okay. I’ll do it.” Well, I won’t do it, but I’ll see it.
On my way to the storage room, I grabbed Mike’s arm and held on tightly. Even in this alternate universe that I was entering, I needed to have some semblance of propriety. I simply didn’t know Joe well enough to be alone with him, especially if he was going to be naked and displaying his penis.
Squeezing Mike’s arm I said “Come on, you’re going with me…”
Mike, aghast, jerked his arm out of my grasp. “I am not looking at my brother’s cock.”
I shoved him through a herd of blue haired aunties coming back from a group field trip to the bathroom. “Yes you are.” I hissed at him. “Let’s go.”
Very quickly (too quickly for my tastes) Mike relaxed and decided to go along for the ride, probably thinking he could bank images of me and a naked penis in the same room for future private use or if he was really lucky, perhaps he would score a threesome in the closet.
Soon all three of us were in the tiny storage room behind the kitchen while Paula of all people, was assigned the job of sentinel operating the toll booth between the mainstream highway and this little road trip into the town of If You Show Me Yours. Population 3.
After a few moments of awkward silence I folded my arms over my chest, a signal that they were getting nothing in return and nodded for the show to begin. Joe shrugged, unbuttoned his pants, dug his dick out and stretched it long for me to inspect.
Mother of God, he did have a bolt in his penis. It was right through the whole thing, from side to side. And it wasn’t some pansy ass skin-piercing pole that you see in the navels of teenagers. This was an actual hardware store bolt. I moved my head down a bit to make sure this wasn’t a magician’s trick and shot upright, startled when I saw that he also had a small gold hoop (like an earring) coming out of the hole. The hole!
I stared at this for a few moments and then I had to ask, I just had to. I learned that he actually had sex like this and that women found it pleasurable. Alarmed, I thought, what kind of women? I seriously wanted to know. Just so, if nothing else, I wouldn’t use the same public toilets they did.
Of course there was another question floating around in the air: What the hell did this thing look like erect? And since all good taste had followed Elvis out of the building long ago, I took a deep breath and prepared to ask the ultimate. Mike, who, let’s face it, had already served admirably under the circumstances, panicked and shakily announced that the question and answer portion of this show and tell event was over. Seeing his brother’s dick was one thing, seeing his brother’s erect dick was quite another matter entirely.
Once the storage room door was opened and the festive party air hit him, Mike got a little queasy and had to be helped back to our table. As for me? I sat beside him and wolfed down three more pieces of cake, all the time wondering what the hell made people abuse their bodies like that.