Paul Vaughn had a micropenis, and he was a virgin. He had spent much of his young adult life trying to convince himself that he didn’t care about any of that. He would say that he wasn’t gay, but he wasn’t all that interested in dating girls, either. Not for me, he said. He would tell his family that he was a kind of monk. He even shaved his head once. That was a phase. His family considered him eccentric at best.
Even though he told his family and friends how uninterested he was in spending his life trying to pursue women, occasionally women would pursue him. He never told them he wasn’t interested. He liked the attention.
One girl in particular hung around him a little too long. She would remain by his side when all other friends went their own way, and she would call him to go to a movie or get some pizza. Paul tried to treat her like any other friend, secretly wishing she was more, secretly wishing she didn’t think she was more.
She did think she was more.
The kissing was fine. He eventually learned how to do it properly. But when the kissing started lasting too long, he would look for something else for them to do. Something else entirely. His girlfriend–Janet was her name–wanted an aggressive boyfriend, and Paul wasn’t cutting it. But she liked him and his unusual worldview, so she figured she’d be the dominant one and push him to the next step.
She held him to the sofa and explored him with her hands, which made him grab her wrists and direct them himself. She liked that. She didn’t know he was making her avoid a particular area. She would kiss him when he tried to speak, to get them to move to a different activity. A different activity entirely.
She tried for his belt, and he would move her arms and kiss her neck and anywhere else, so long as he kept her hands from going further. He thought about telling her he didn’t want to move so fast, but how could he? That wasn’t something guys said.
He needed to save face. He didn’t want to, but the alternative was to have Janet be fully aware of his inadequacies, and potentially tell others. Paul’s usual excuse of not wanting to date because it was a waste of time would be ruined.
So he pushed her away and told her this wasn’t working. That he just wasn’t that into her. That he wanted to just be friends. She demanded he tell her the truth. So he said he didn’t like that one mole on her neck.
Janet was mortified. It wasn’t even a big mole. How could he break up with her over something so small?
Today’s random writing prompt categories were: “An eccentric relative,” “A virgin,” and “A break-up over the smallest thing.”
Interestingly, this is kind of a prequel story to a longer (pun intended) short (pun intended) story I wrote a few months back. I hope to get it published someday. If I do, I’ll let you know where you can find it.