Epistrophe (e-pis’-tro-fee): Ending a series of lines, phrases, clauses, or sentences with the same word or words.
I was tired of my classmates making fun of the size of my penis. I dreaded post-gym class showering. It was not good showering. I wish it was the end of showering. I tried wearing swimming trunks in the shower, but Beatsy March, the class bully, de-pantsed me every time.
I had a 1’ 11 1/4” penis.
When I was born my mother thought a body part had popped out of me. I had to go to “Petro’s Delicatessen” to get circumcised. A crowd watched through the widow. My parents wanted it to be a public spectacle, so, as I got older, everybody would know I was “packin’ meat” and I would be popular. As you probably guessed, it did not work out that way. Two weeks later my mother was “put away” from the stress of dealing with a baby with a zucchini hanging between its legs. My father raised me.
My penis grew with me as I got oder. Nobody knew I had a giant hooter. I tucked down my pant leg and it was well concealed. Boners were still a problem though. Boners had the potential of ripping my pants. So, I wore an Electro-Limper—a little-known product of Dr. Scholl’s. It was an electric device that consisted of a bare wire band encircling my penis with a flesh-colored wire that was connected to a control box with a battery and a red button that I wore on my belt. If I felt an erection building, I would press the button once or twice and subdue it with shocks. It was quite effective.
The one time my Electro-Limper failed was my fault. I forgot to plug the wire into the control box. I was working in the 6th grade’s garden. Miss Crane bent over to pull carrots and I briefly saw her underpants. My penis tore through my pants and pointed at Miss Crane. I thought fast and put a bushel basket over it and told Miss Crane I had wet my pants—pretty bad, but much less embarrassing than displaying my King Kong dong to my teacher and fellow 6th graders. Miss Crane told me to go home and change my pants, and I did.
Then came high school, “Orange Ditch High School.” It was named for the 200 students who died of lung cancer there in the 60’s that was contracted from the orange-colored ditch that ran through the playground. We still had to wear little badges that changed color when we were in danger. The Board of Education believes the threat has been ameliorated. They changed the course of the ditch. Now, it runs alongside the parking lot and there’s little bridge we cross on the way to the bus stop. Also, they cite the fact that only two students have died from lung cancer this year, and we have to stop being “big fat scardy cats” and get to work on teaching and learning.
When I got to high school, I was required to take off my clothes and take a shower after gym class. I begged the principal to excuse me. He told me to be a man and had me pose in the shower while he took pictures of me on the first day of gym. Thank God he never came back. But, the students did.
They would hoot and holler things like “Big dicks sink ships,” “Hey, Salami Man, why don’t you put some mustard on that thing?” Or “Drill me a hole.” Or, “Batter up!” I learned how to twirl my dick like a mini-lariat. My dick was so long that I could do “butterfly loops” by my side. I’d go “Yahoo! and “Wee Haa” with a blank stare while I twirled. It kept the bullies off my back in the shower. When I had my clothes on they were not interested. I was grateful for that.
In my senior year Nicky Potlid sat down next to me in the lunchroom. She whispered in my ear “Will you show it to me?” I said “Yes.” She told me nobody was home at her house after school, and that I could show her at 4:00 pm.
I knocked on her door exactly at 4:00. She answered in a nightgown with tiny pictures of puppies on it. I told her I just wanted to get it over with it. She told me to stand on the dining room table. I complied. I pulled my pants down and held up my penis. Nicky clapped her hands and gasped when my dick swung loose and started to get hard. I activated my Electro-Limper and it immediately went flaccid. “You poor boy.” she said as I pulled up my pants.
Nicky asked me if I wanted a Coke. I was glad for it! We sat there sipping our Cokes and talking about what a bunch of shit school is. Before I left, I had to ask Jackie why she was wearing a nightgown. “For my after-school nap. It helps me get ready for homework.”
Jackie and I became great friends. In fact, we’re both going to the same college. I make extra money at parties and strip clubs doing my lariat routine. I dress up like a cowboy with crotchless Levi’s. I call myself “Cowboy Dick.”
Jackie’s my stalwart manager. She’s studying accounting and I’m studying dance.
Jackie is my best friend.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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