The Artificial Dick

I took the package from the mailman and rushed inside to see what I had bought.

It was that hot, still night a week ago when I ordered it. Right at 3:00 A.M. I got tired of tossing in the soggy bed so I got up and turned on the TV in the living room. I scanned through the channels, seeing mostly advertisements for jewelry and tummy-flattening machines until I clicked past a woman waving a plastic penis in the air. I clicked back to the channel and there were two girls talking about the artificial cock.

“Great penetration…a full eight inches…see how it flexes?”

Not to be outdone, the other girl reached under the counter and pulled out this massive cock and flopped it back and forth. She looked kind of like Mary Alice’s daughter from church, and I wondered at the time what had ever become of that girl. Mary Alice always bragged about her being in television and someday the movies, but I had never seen her on anything till then, maybe.

I set the package on the kitchen table where the grandkids were coloring the backs of used copy-machine paper Susie brought home from the technical college. One corner of the package was all mussed up like it had been pulled back. What if the mailman had opened it and looked at what I had bought? My hands shook as I washed the last couple of cereal bowls and set them on the drainer.

Out the window over the sink I watched our dog, a reddish-colored mongrel, digging around the burn pile where Jimmy had thrown the bones from last evening’s supper. Down the hill, Old Man Gilbert was feeding the pet bull he kept on a chain. Last week the bull had broken the dog chain and pretty much ruined the old man’s garden for the year, so now the bull was hooked to a log chain which snapped to a huge eyebolt anchored to the porch sill.

“He won’t break that chain,” Gilbert had told all the neighbors as they came one by one to mourn his ruined garden.

The pussy harness was a half-price bonus for ordering the supreme dildo. It went inside your panties and had an on/off button you kept in your pocket. It came loaded with batteries. But I didn’t care nothing about the pussy harness. It was that big penis I wanted to see. Of course, except for Raymond’s, and Philip’s before Raymond’s, and a couple of pictures one of the trashy Fleming girls had one day in high school, I had never seen very many cocks.

Jimmy Jr. proudly held up his paper.

“Look, Grandma. I’m a writing machine!”

“A what?” I answered and looked at the lines of scribbling.

“A writing machine. Mommy says one of the professors at the college says people won’t need to write anything in the future, just turn on a writing machine and it will do all the writing for you.”

I picked up the package and unwrapped it. I wondered if that really was Mary Alice’s daughter on the late night TV channel. What a job that would be to talk about around the Thanksgiving table. Yep, I’m selling dildos and pussy harnesses on the TV.

I dropped the package back on the table. What if Brenda, that was Mary Alice’s daughter’s name, what if she helped with the mailing, too, and saw my address up the holler? Oh my. I sat down with the kids and felt that fluttering in my chest again that the doctor had said was nothing to worry about. What if I had a heart attack right here and now with this package on the table? Everyone would stand around shaking their heads and muttering about how they really didn’t know much about this old widow woman. How I lead this secret life. I jumped up and ran to the bathroom then tore the wrapping off the box and spilled the contents onto the floor.

It was the biggest penis imaginable. I pulled my hose and panties down and sat on the toilet. While I tinkled, I licked the end of it. I tried to put my fingers around it and they wouldn’t even go halfway. I propped my butt up on the seat and pushed the head of that big dick against me then laid it back in the box and pulled out the pussy harness. I pushed the button and it looked like a Cottonmouth tongue flicking out almost faster than I could see it. I had just started reading the directions when Janie May let out the awfulest scream and I dropped it on the floor, pulled up my drawers, and ran into the other room. Jimmy Jr. had her on the floor, lying on top of her, thrashing wildly up and down.

I slapped him hard and then he was bawling along with her. I set about calming both of them down. Then here came the littlest one carrying that big dick. I snatched it away from him, went back into the bathroom where I shoved everything back in the box, and carried it into the kitchen where I opened the cupboard doors under the sink and reached into the way back. I didn’t even know what was back there anymore.

As soon as I put it there I started worrying. What if I really was to drop dead right now and that package was hidden there under my sink? Who would find it? Maybe the preacher’s wife when she was helping to ret the house up after the funeral. Maybe Susie, looking for more scrubby pads? I imagined them staring at the massive cock and trying to figure out what the heck it was doing there and the look on their faces as they got it. Dead or not, I could not abide with either result. They would think of me for all time as a crazy, horny old woman who hid her big penis and pussy harness under the kitchen sink. Never mind that I had never used either one.

Oh, curse that cable TV.

The kids were squalling and hungry so I set about fixing sandwiches and heating up Campbell’s Tomato Soup. The ham bone for our supper was done. I turned the burner off, set the bone aside, and poured the hot broth through the strainer while the soup warmed.

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That evening, after our supper of ham and beans, the grandkids were playing down by the garden. Jimmy had said he would light the brush and debris from spring cleanup. He would use a tire to get it going. Susie was at the sink getting the dishes started. She could watch the kids out the window while we talked. I was just coming out of the bathroom where I had sat down and hooked up the pussy harness–I wasn’t going to use it, but inside my pants seemed to be the best place I could think of to hide it–when I heard Susie shriek, the kind of blood curdling noise that mothers make when their children are in danger. I ran on out the back door to where I knew the children were. There came Gilbert’s bull across the field dragging the old man’s front porch. That bull had pulled the porch–sill, boards, roof and all–right off the front of the house.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gilbert limping out of his yard in pursuit. That bull ran twenty more yards or so and snagged the roof on a stump. He strained and popped off most of the roof boards. Then he spied Ruthie’s red t-shirt again and set off toward her. I ran as fast as I could down toward the kids. My heart was going a million miles an hour and I thought that I surely would die of a heart attack right there in the yard wearing that pussy harness.

But I couldn’t stop. Those were my grandkids and I would go naked and wear that pussy harness in the Halloween Parade if it meant I could save just one of them. I could hear Susie shrieking behind me now and I heard Jimmy yell. The bull ran right through the burn pile and the framework of the porch scattered limbs and debris all over the yard. The pile slowed him down some but I saw that the bull would still get to the little ones before any of us could get there. I started bawling. The bull was thirty yards away when I heard the shot. He slowed and then there was another shot. After the third explosion that bull fell dead right in front of the kids. Gilbert had taken to never leaving the house without his Model 94 Winchester ever since that rabid skunk had attacked him several years ago. It saved the day.

We all gathered around hugging the kids. Gilbert finally got there, levered another round into the chamber, and shot the bull again.

“I almost killed the dumb sumbitch this morning. I wish now I had,” Gilbert said.

That harness thing had activated itself while I was running and I couldn’t get the button to make it turn off. It was tickling me and I kind of slapped myself in the lower tummy real quick but that pushed it a whole bunch closer to where it was supposed to be.

About that time the dog came out of the burn pile with a stick and ran over to Old Man Gilbert, who always played fetch-it with him. He threw the stick and the dog took off after it. Jimmy was gutting the bull where it lay and blood was running all over the place. Gilbert took the stick from the panting dog and reared back to throw it, but stopped and examined it.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Lookee here.”

“What is it?” Jimmy said.

Now I saw what had happened. The ham bone bag had broken open when the bull dragged the porch through the burn pile, and there was that dildo that I had put in with the bone.

Gilbert glanced around sheepishly and leaned close to Jimmy.

“It’s a dick.”

Jimmy wiped his bloody hands on the grass.

“A dick? A real one?”

“No…an artificial one.”

He held it out and Jimmy grabbed it. Then Jimmy was laughing hard.

“An artificial dick,” he shouted and threw the thing for the dog to chase again.

I wanted out of there. That thing was working away in my pants, the kids were fussing at the sight of all the blood, and Susie was frowning. In the house a couple of minutes later, little Jimmy hollered out of the blue, “An artificial dick!”

I swatted his butt for him.

“Don’t say that word,” I said.

The grandkids started crying and I wanted everybody to go away. The next best thing was for me to hide. I went into the bedroom, shut the door, and lay down on the bed. That pussy harness was still at it, and I pushed it over slightly and lay back and closed my eyes. I guessed tomorrow would be plenty soon enough to throw it away.

Front page image by elbragon.

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William Trent Pancoast

About the Author

William Trent Pancoast's novels include Wildcat (2010) and Crashing (1983). His short stories, essays, and editorials have appeared in MONKEYBICYCLE, Night Train, As It Ought To Be, Solidarity Magazine, and US News & World Report. Pancoast is retired from the auto industry after thirty years as a die maker and union newspaper editor. Born in 1949, the author lives in Ontario, Ohio. He has a BA in English from the Ohio State University.
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