Number 10: Prison Micro Penis

I once worked with a girl who had the same name as me. At first, we were good friends. We’d head home together after our shifts, have occasional drinks on Thursday nights, and keep in touch via text when we weren’t in each other’s company. That was until one day, when that girl did or said something that upset me. I can’t remember what that thing was now, but I do remember being very pissed off about it.

Fast forward a few weeks, that girl and I had, essentially, parted ways. No walks home, no drinks, and definitely no in-between shift texts. We were no longer friends.

I was, however, invited to the same party that she’d been invited to.

And, of course, we both went.

Me: single and slutty.

Her: newly engaged to her boyfriend, who was just out of prison.

She introduced us with a smug ol’ smile on her face, but she wasn’t quite so smug when she learned that her fella would soon live right across the street from me. Or, rather, I was moving in, right across the street from him.

It was my turn to be smug.

I couldn’t leave it at that, though, could I?

Oh, no. Of course not. I had a point to prove, and damn straight, I was going to prove it.

One evening, I bumped into her felon fella, and he invited me over to his place, to meet his housemates and have a few drinks.

I said yes, and arrived promptly (10 minutes late) with a big ol’ bottle of vodka. He introduced me to a rather unsavoury bunch of characters, then handed me a glass of brown liquid that I, stupidly, took and gulped down. It was whisky, I think. Proper cheap stuff. It was disgusting.

The night continued, all of us getting progressively more shitfaced, music blaring, neighbours probably complaining, and before I knew it, people started saying goodnight and/or goodbye.

“You can crash with me if you want?” Prison Guy offered, and despite living literally fewer than twenty steps away, I, once again, said yes.

A decent person would’ve said no. In fact, a decent person probably wouldn’t have gone to the house in the first place. I wasn’t a decent person back then, though. I was a bitch… and one who couldn’t handle her liquor and/or keep her legs shut.

You can probably guess where I’m going with this, right?

I fucked him.

I fucked Prison Guy even though I was friends with – and worked with – his girlfriend. No, sorry: fiancée.

In all honesty, I don’t even think we really fucked at all. He had a micro penis. There’s no beating around the bush here; he had the tiniest penis. That day taught me that micro penises exist. And back then, I was not ready for it.

Did it even go in? I actually, honestly don’t think it did. I wanted to ask. Somehow, even in my drunken state, I managed to keep the question to myself and just roll with it. Literally. Hips rolling on… something.

Eventually, he came. It didn’t take long, and he jizzed on my left labia, which just reinforces my theory that he didn’t actually penetrate me. I stayed the night, then was tortured with rounds two and three in the morning, before making my excuses as soon as was reasonably possible.

The next day, the girl with the same name found out that she was pregnant. She text me with the news, wanting to patch up the friendship and let old fights go.

Fuck.

I’d just “fucked” her boyfriend. No, sorry: fiancé.

Shit.

A few days after that, Prison Micro Penis called me from an unrecognised number. “I need your help.”

He came running to mine after checking I was at home, then asked to “stash some shit.”

“What kinda shit?” I asked, super suspiciously.

“Oh, this n’ that!” he replied.

I realised that I could possibly kill two proverbial birds with one stone: I could get rid of Prison Micro Penis and not repeat the non-fuck, and I could prevent myself from getting nicked for harbouring a wanted fugitive and/or stolen goods. Probably.

He was predictably pissed off. Stormed out, the lot. I, on the other hand, breathed a big sigh of relief – and for good bloody reason, too. A few weeks later, a relative pointed out a news piece from the local paper.

“That’s opposite where you live, isn’t it?” they said.

I scanned the page and nodded.

That rat bastard with the teeny-tiny penis had burgled homes belonging to elderly relatives. Thankfully, he went back to prison…

And I’m fairly certain that my secret is still safe, unlike his micro penis one.

The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Number 11: Lurch (The Flat)