It had been 3 weeks since I last met Joe. And for that whole time I had been thinking of the night we'd spent together. I couldn't get it of mind but I at the same time, I couldn't make up my mind - did I want to meet him again? I mean I have feelings for him, I told myself, but maybe it was just about sex. I mean the sex was great, but was it too great? Would we be able create such an incredible level of passion again? These confusing thoughts rendered me indecisive. I could feel him slipping away, but should I let him? What was right!
It turned out that Joe eventually reached out to me. He texted me and told me, in his very direct way, to come over again next Friday night. In a way I was relieved to have received the text and so I accepted straight away, but as soon as I did that strange mixture of excitement and apprehension boiled up inside me.
He said that he would cook us meal and we would eat in at his house. On my way over I stopped at the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine. I came close to losing my nerve shop; I could feel my feet getting colder by second. I was almost in panic trying to decide how much I should spend. I mean I didn't mind splashing out but how would he receive it? Would he think that I was too needy, was he just in it for sex himself? I wanted to make a good impression but it irked me that Joe always appeared so sure of himself, while I was often a nervous wreck. In the end I pulled myself together and bought a mid-priced prosecco, because everyone loves some fruity fun, I told myself.
When I arrived I knocked on his door and this time he actually answered.
'Hi Craig! It's lovely to see you again. Oh and look, is that prosecco? How did you know? It's my favourite.' I was very pleased by this welcome. The meal was ready when I arrived and Joe had served up two dishes. The beautiful aroma of thyme and well-cooked lamb filled the air. We had two cutlets each with a big side of mashed potato. He had also lit a candle in the middle of the table; this and a standing lamp looming over the kitchen counter were the only sources of light: it was very romantic. Oh it looked so lovely as I watched the sensuous plumes steam lifting off the food and winding their way up beyond the farthest reaches of the candle light, only to disappear somewhere near the dark roof.
'Well don't just look, sit down and tuck in,' Joe said with a chuckle.
Dinner tasted just as good as it looked and smelt. We had three weeks to catch up on. Neither of us had really done anything of note but still we babbled on about all the menial details we could remember. The conversation wasn't exciting, but it wasn't boring either. I felt comforted by the gentle stream of his words. I felt almost as if I were drinking them, drinking them from a mountain spring as I lounged under a pleasant sun. Perhaps this simple conversation meant something more serious was on the cards in terms of a relationship. I was very content with the meal and the fact that we could hold such a humble conversation with ease. But as it happens, unstrained small talk, albeit a good omen, doesn't produce a night of high passion. We were both feeling the pressure of emulating the same pleasure fever that we were able to manifest last time - alcohol was just what was needed. I was glad that when we finished eating Joe asked, 'I suppose you're thirsty?' He stood up grabbed the bottle I'd left on bench. When he picked it up he laughed to himself with gleaming eyes. I got nervous, why was he laughing.
'What's so funny,' I asked timidly.
'Well it's prosecco, doesn't really go with lamb cutlets does it? A hearty red would have been more in order, don't you think?' Oh no! I thought to myself, how could I have been so stupid! I felt very embarrassed. But wait, I didn't know what was to be served and it is his favourite or was he just saying that? Still he's right, oh why does everything always go wrong. All these thoughts rushed around my head in a spilt second. Craig, noticing my reddening features and lack of retort laughed again. 'Haha, lighten up, I'm only having fun, come on let's get drunk.'
A couple of glasses in and already we were getting giggly and our conversation was becoming more risqué. I was telling Joe about my boss, his name was Thomas Johnson but we called him Tommy Boy. Anyway I thought it was a funny story as Tommy Boy was bald and often got angry. When this happened his head turned bright red and it very much resembled another type of head. But after I finished speaking Joe looked terribly glum. He was just staring down into his glass and didn't say a word. Oh no, I thought, I haven't been funny, what a fool I've made of myself all because I got tipsy too quickly. But my thoughts stopped when I noticed Joe's knuckles whitening as he clutched his glass tighter and tighter.
'Joe, are you okay?' I asked, fearful that the glass would break and cut his hand. He looked up and I saw him release his hold. 'Oh I am sorry Craig, it's just my ex... he used call his... he used it "Tommy Boy."' This is bad, I thought, damn I've ruined everything just because I drank too much and told a silly tale just to get a laugh.
'Oh I'm sorry Joe, please I didn't know, would like to talk...' But he cut me off.
'Hey, you know I have a name for mine?' He seemed to have returned to his usual jovial self in the blink of an eye. 'Guess what it is. I'll give you a clue, it has a place name.' I had no idea what he called his penis, and why would he name it after a place? I was mildly annoyed with him for making me guess but I laughed to show my relief at his return to a jovial temperament.
'Haha, I don't know Joe,' I said between forced chortles, just tell me.'
'It's The South Pole!' He exclaimed enthusiastically before turning stern to give an explanation: 'And for years the men of The South Pole have been leaving en masse. The region would very much welcome some foreign sailors. Are you much of the sea faring type? Do you know any worthy seamen? Any that would like to risk their fate on frosty waves?'
'Joe what are you saying? You know I'll try almost anything with you but I don't know what you mean.'
'Excellent, well then I insist - after your voyage you must harbour at my port tonight. Set a course for The South Pole, but be wary: you'll need a good wind. A wind to blow your sail stiff! Let rocks themselves shatter on your sail! For only with a well stiffened sail will reach this destination.'
I was speechless, bewildered. Why does he get like this, is he mad, like properly mad? I thought. But I was distracted from such thoughts because, mad or not, I was going to accept this so called "voyage" yet I still had no idea what I was in for.
'Come on captain, drop those dacks on the deck!'
Okay here goes. I dropped mine and he his. Gosh he's big, I thought. I didn't get a good look the other night, as I was riding him the entire time while he remained prone. Initially I was excited by his size but I had to do a double take; something didn't seem quite right. Upon further inspection I discovered that he was only average sized: the extra length I had at first perceived was just ghastly illusion. To my horror, he had a foreskin that accounted for roughly 25% the length of his phallus. What an utter monstrosity! I thought. My goodness I had never seen the likes of it. It was the way it was hanging that was hard to stomach- there it was, just drooping off his knob like a terribly wrinkled soggy sock. It looked as if someone had pulled apart a longer tube, stretched it to breaking point and when it did break the outer sheath had snapped back with forceful elasticity and now here it was- an immense mass of redundant convolutions.
