Someone must have put this on me. But who would do it and why?My phone rang, interrupting my rational paranoia. My screen told me it was my sister. Fuck, I was supposed to go to the gym and have lunch with her today."Hey Angie," I said, answering the phone nervously."Hey," she responded, sounding pre-occupied. "Am I meeting you inside the gym? Or at your place?" Umm," I hesitated, trying to think quickly as I stared at the abomination between my legs. "Look, Angie, I'm really sorry, but I'm going to have to cancel today." Why?" She quacked, annoyingly, the way only a sister could."Because, I feel really sick today. Like, I can't leave the bathroom, type sick." Ugh, gross. Fine," she sighed. "Feel better, I guess."I hung up and felt relieved only for a brief moment before frustration with my situation overwhelmed me again.My phone beeped beside me as a text popped in. Now what?It was a message from an unknown number. I started to feel sick for real as my face became hot and red. I. Then, turning to Dad, he let loose a stinger. “I bet seeing your son sport a harder piece of wood than you really stokes that competitive flame, doesn’t it, Bob.”“Well, since the competition here is otherwise nonexistent in that department,” Dad retorted, shooting an obvious glance at Jack’s impressive, yet completely flaccid member. “I’ll take what I can get.”“Touché!!” laughed Jack. “This guy is definitely done for the day,” he conceded, shaking his drooping member like a thick, wet noodle.“Maybe you could get Kitty to do some mouth-to-head resuscitation on that tonight,” Dad quipped. “Either that or you could take care of it yourself with your secret talent.” Facing me, he asked, “You know the old joke about why dogs lick themselves, right, Charlie?”I glanced over to Jack to see how he was going to handle what Dad was implying. Instead of brushing off the comment as a joke, he conceded what my father was intimating.“What can I say? There’s a lot of truth in that joke. Trouble is,.
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