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“Like catcalling and indecent exposure.” I’d read something to that effect myself.
“Exactly.” Marie frowned thoughtfully as she leaned up against the counter. “But honestly, I have a hard time understanding how these desperate randos spamming out their sad beans and wieners think they’re exerting any power by inviting our mockery.”
I shrugged as I deleted an obvious phishing scam trying to get me to click on a link to a malware site. “Apes and male monkeys commonly display their erect penises to indicate sexual interest to females.”
“So what you’re saying is all these men dropping their weens into women’s DMs is what happens when you give an ape access to a smartphone?”
“Makes sense to me. And we’re up to three dicks now.” More bad lighting and awkward composition. The poor guy had posed his pecker next to a TV remote—for size comparison, I could only presume.
While I didn’t condone body-shaming, I did feel free to judge their poor photography skills and lack of imagination. If you were going to hang your entire seduction technique on a photo of your hairy hot dog, at least put a little effort into it.
“How many messages left?” Marie asked.
“Just one. If it has a dick in it, you win.”
She held up a hand with her fingers crossed. “Come on, dick!”
“Here goes.” I made a dramatic show of clicking on the message. “And we have a dick!”
“Woo hoo!” Marie did a little victory dance in front of the break room fridge. “My dick Spidey sense is second to none.”
A twentysomething man wearing bright orange Beats headphones—the sole occupant of the coworking space outside the break room—looked up from his laptop to cast a curious glance at us. I offered him an apologetic smile for our rowdiness, and he returned it with a careless shrug before bending his head to his laptop once more.
The demographics of our office co-op skewed fairly young, and most of them didn’t start filing in until later in the morning. I was one of the oldest members, and even Marie, who I estimated to be at least ten years my junior, was older than most.
When I’d first gone out on my own as a product marketing consultant seven years ago, I’d tried working from my apartment, but I’d found it isolating and less than ideal for my mental health. My small rented office in the downtown Chicago co-op allowed for a much-needed change of scenery and afforded me an opportunity to interact with actual human people I might not otherwise get to know—like Marie.
“You’ve got a real gift,” I told her when she’d completed her victory celebration. As I squinted at the last dick pick, I let out a sigh. “Now that’s just sad.”
“What?” Marie leaned in for a look. “Awww. It looks like a naked mole rat peeking out from under a blanket.”
It was a full-body selfie from the neck down. The gentleman had removed his pants, but elected to leave on his gym shoes, tube socks, and a shapeless beige sweater.
“Does he honestly think this is a sexy look?” I wondered. “Not that any dick pics are sexy.”
Marie tilted her head to one side. “I don’t know. I think a dick pic can be sexy if it’s from the right person in the right situation—prior consent obviously being a prerequisite.”
“You know what’s sexy?” I said as I blocked and deleted the sweater-clad mole rat. “Forearms. Why don’t men send us pictures of their forearms?”
“God, yes,” Marie agreed with a nod. “With the sleeves rolled up? Holy yumcakes!”
“Right? I’m getting sweaty just thinking about it.” At least I hoped it was thoughts of sexy male forearms making me sweaty rather than a pre-menopausal hot flash. You never knew at my age.
The corners of Marie’s mouth hitched. “But dicks can definitely be sexy.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I can’t say I’ve ever found one attractive enough that I’d want a picture of it.”
As soon as I said the words, a random memory popped into my head of a long-lost dick from my youth. I’d been enamored enough at the time that I might actually have coveted a photo of the dick in question. Alas, that had been back in the days before digital cameras ushered in the dick pic boom.
Even more unfortunately, the dickhead who owned that sexy phallus dredged up a lot of unpleasant recollections, so I stuffed him and his accursed penis back into the locked memory vault where they belonged.
Marie offered me a shrug. “Speaking for myself, when I love the man, I love the penis. It doesn’t even matter what it looks like or if it gets all weird and wrinkly when we’re old. I’m always going to love it.”
Of course she’d say that. She was newly married and madly in love with her hot nerd husband. Not all of us were so lucky.
Although I’d dated plenty of men over the years, never once had I felt tempted to make a lifelong commitment. My longest, most serious relationship had lasted two years before he was offered a job in another city. Faced with an ultimatum—follow him to Seattle or let him go—I didn’t even think twice before wishing him well in his new life. And I certainly hadn’t felt any particular attachment to his penis, if that was meant to be some sort of litmus test for true love.
I smiled at Marie as I sipped my coffee. “It sounds like the penis itself doesn’t matter as much as the man attached to it.”
