My penis was getting bigger, right before my eyes, beyond anything I had experienced, massive, towering, suddenly like a god, too much. And right then, that moment, decided to separate itself. I held on, amazed, scared of how I would re-attach it, of my growing worship of the thing. I pulled up to the tip and saw it looking back, eyeing me, and then surged from me and was at the window, waiting to be let out. I watched it dash, flying, sleek into the night. I was worked up, very worked up and had to get that feeling out. My penis, the one left behind, was thin and rigid, like a small branch. It felt awful. It was erect, but girthless. I tried to get it to fill in. The screen saver on my computer started popping up old porn of me, a highlight reel, and I couldn’t get it to stop. There were people in the room, an old friend who hadn’t spoken to me in years.
“Nice.” He didn’t care that the videos kept popping up, my nakedness, my old penis, and all of those others, naked with me. He didn’t care that I was embarrassed by all of these secreted images playing one on top of the other; he thought it was impressive. But I had to get up. My old penis was out there and I needed it back.