by Southy

© August 2005


Jim listened to Blair turn a page of the newspaper. He tried not to be disappointed that this stakeout was so boring that Blair had tuned him out and was seeking more interesting distractions.

It was a drag, spending over two hours in the truck on this beautiful spring day, waiting for their perp to emerge from the second-rate motel across the street. Thing was, there was no particular reason to think the guy had any intention of leaving his room. Maybe he was going to meet with someone about trading counterfeit money for firearms… maybe not.

It didn’t help his mood that Sandburg had the newspaper opened wide, his left arm interfering with Jim’s personal space.

Jim wondered how long he should go without mentioning it.

Blair make a clicking noise while shaking his head back and forth. “So, thanks to the Bobbitts, the word penis is now a regular part of mainstream society.”

Jim glanced over at him. “Hmm?” Blair had said ‘penis’, hadn’t he?

Finally, Blair starting folding the newspaper. 

Jim drew a refreshing breath at having his space back.

“Think about it, Jim. In the past, it’s been rare for anyone to say the ‘p’ word out loud in the media or casual conversation, just like nobody says the ‘v’ word. Then Lorena Bobbitt cuts off her husband’s cock and drops it at an intersection in the street. The media and public at large are so fascinated that they don’t cringe at the word penis while discussing the story. Now, a few years later, the word penis is so common in everyday life that nobody bothers blushing anymore.”

Oh, yeah. The Bobbitt case. That had made for enthusiastic conversation around the PD’s break room for quite a number of weeks.

Jim kept his eyes on the motel. “Uh-huh.” A surge of blood went through his own penis, as though it were defending itself against the very idea of meeting the same fate as John Wayne Bobbitt’s. “I guess it’s only a matter of time before vagina has its magic day in the media.”

Blair grunted as he let the newspaper drop to the floor. “No doubt.” Then he shifted restlessly. “So, Jim. Back when you were a child….”

“‘Back when’ wasn’t so long ago, Chief.”

“Well, whatever. I mean, even when I was a kid, it was my ‘pee-pee’, my ‘little pecker’. Then later, my ‘woody’. My ‘dong”.”

“I’m trying to do a job here, Chief.”

“You’re watching the motel. You can watch and think about penises at the same time.”

Jim turned to Blair and attempted to give him an intimidating glare. Then his attention returned to the motel.

“So, Jim, waaay back when you were a child, what did you call it?”

Was there any way out of this conversation? Not unless their perp appeared. “I guess my wee-wee when I was really little.”

Blair burst out laughing.

Jim didn’t understand why wee-wee would be any more humorous than pee-pee or any of those other words Blair had grown up with.

Gaze still on the motel, Jim said, “Later it was my rod.”

“Oh, yeah,” Blair said in a deep voice. “Your rod.” Pause. “And when you were older and it was really useful to you….”

What else could it be called? “My cock,” he declared proudly.

“I like schlong,” Blair said thoughtfully. “Makes it sound longer.”

“That’s a wuss word. It’s too soft-sounding.” Jim wondered why he was getting into this.

Blair deadpanned in a dangerous tone, “Are you calling my penis a wuss?”

A distant memory floated up to Jim’s consciousness. He glanced at Blair, unable to hold back a grin. “Would you rather call it your ‘little red fire engine’?”

“WHAT?” Blair doubled over in the seat, laughing. 

Christ, Sandburg.

“Wh-What?” Blair asked again.

“I remember being naked when I was really little – maybe four – and some relative commenting on my ‘little red fire engine’.” How absurd that seemed now. “And then, later, when I was telling Steven what his different body parts were called, I told him it was his little red fire engine.”

That caused another burst of laughter.

What the hell. Making Blair laugh was fun. Jim went on with the memory. “He wanted to know if it could put out fires, like his toy fire truck.”

Blair laughed harder.

Jim laughed, too, even as he continued to watch the motel. 

Still laughing, Blair asked, “Did you tell him just exactly what kind of fires it could stop… and start?”

Jim shook his head. “I was too young to know that stuff. I just remember being puzzled as to why it was considered a little red fire engine. I couldn’t connect the phrase with anything I knew about fire engines. Still can’t.”

“So, Jim,” Blair said eagerly, “when you guys got older, did you show Steven how to use his ‘rod’?”

Whoa. Jim looked over at Blair to show his disapproval.

“Come on,” Blair said in a pouty tone, “I grew up without any siblings. I missed out on that whole experience. So, share some stuff with me.”

Firmly, Jim said, “Steven and I never touched each other.” His gaze went back to the motel.

“Okay. But you could have showed him, using your own schlong. And what about the facts of life? Are you the one who told him about the birds and the bees?”

Jim felt a blush creep up his face. “I told him some things. Some of it, turns out, wasn’t true.”

“Like what?”

“When I was maybe ten, my father had a dinner party. I remember overhearing one of the guests telling a dirty joke. He said that a woman asked her doctor if it were possible to get pregnant from anal intercourse. The doctor replied, ‘Of course. Where do you think lawyers come from?’”

Blair snorted. 

“I thought that might really be true. I told Steven later.”

Blair laughed sharply. “You thought some babies really came out of their mother’s butt hole?”

Jim shrugged. “I wasn’t sure and there was nobody I felt comfortable asking. Then, later, I heard that doing it the back way was how you could have sex without worrying about pregnancy.” Jim shook his head. “I was really confused for a while after that.”

Blair burst into another round of hysterics, holding his middle.

God, he’d been a miserable adolescent. “Looking back, it’s amazing how long it took for me to realize that the one guy was just telling a joke.”

Blair abruptly sobered. He leaned toward Jim and put a hand on his arm. “Jim,” he said with feigned seriousness, “if there’s ever any questions about sex and how those parts work that you need answers to, you can ask me.” He patted Jim’s arm. “No need to be embarrassed. I know – really know – all this stuff. I’m very educated and have lots of experience.” He snickered as he sat back.

Jim growled and made a motion with his hand, as though to smack Blair up the side of the head. Then he grumbled defensively, “The reason you think you know so much now is because you found out how wrong you were about so many things.”

“Hey, I learned the most important thing right off the bat. My first girl, she took my hand and put my finger right where it feels best. I never had to figure it out. Most of the girls in those early years – I was sixteen – wanted to do it with me a second time, and then some, because I knew how to touch them. Actually,” he said with genuine seriousness, “a lot of time we didn’t have intercourse. We just fondled each other to a satisfying completion. It was great, not having to worry about pregnancy and diseases.”

Well, fuck. Jim didn’t have a track record anywhere near that admirable. But he could still get Blair. Smugly, he said, “Then how come you have so much trouble getting – let alone keeping – dates now?” 

“What do you think, man? The other guys finally caught up to where I was, so my ability was no longer so special. A woman looks at somebody like you, and looks at somebody like me…. well, who do think she’s going to choose on looks alone?” 

Now Blair was wanting sympathy? Jim wondered why he was falling for it so easily. “What do you mean? You still get more dates than I do.”

Blair snorted. “That’s because you hardly ever ask. I ask a lot and get turned down a lot. But the leftovers I get are still going to be more than somebody who never asks anyone out in the first place.” Now Blair shook his head and said with amusement, “Geez, Jim. You can be so dense sometimes.”

Jim glanced at him, wanting to make a retort, but he couldn’t come up with anything. Finally, he nodded toward the newspaper on the floorboard, “So, what did they say about penises today?” 

“They had an article on piercing.” Blair squirmed. “Like I’d ever let anyone put a needle in my dick.”

Jim glanced over at him, grinning. “Your schlong?”

“Yeah. My schlong. My looong schlong. Dong. Wong. My long schlong dong wong.” 

“Wang,” Jim corrected.

“If you’re going to say wang, you may as well say wong.”

Jim glanced at his watch before turning his attention back to the motel. Their replacements should be showing up soon. “And if you’re going to say dick, you may as well say prick.”

Soft chuckle. “Funny, you know, that no matter what word you use, people know what you mean.”


“That’s because the penis is the most powerful symbolism there is. It gives life.”

“Not by itself,” Jim reminded.

“It also gives enormous pleasure. And that it can do by itself.” Pause. “Unless you don’t have one.”

Feeling smug and educated, Jim said, “The clitoris is the female equivalent of a penis. It provides a lot of pleasure by itself, too.”

“I’ll take you’re word for it. I mean, I assume you aren’t speaking from experience, Jim.”

Jim didn’t bother with an answer.

“I mean, Jim, you weren’t born a female or something, were you? And you had one of those sex-change operations?”

Jim heard a motor behind them and glanced in the rearview mirror. “Rafe and Brown are here,” he said thankfully. “Our shift is over.” He started the motor.

“So, Jim, did you used to be a female?”

Jim put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb.

“Hmm,” Blair mused. “Silence. That gives a guy lots of food for thought.”

Jim debated on whether he should threaten to smack Blair, or just play along. Finally, he said, “My little red fire engine has been with me from the moment of birth.”

Blair burst out laughing.

Jim straightened in his seat and puffed out his chest. “Of course, now,” he said with masculine boldness, “it’s my big, red, firm, powerful fire engine that successfully quenches the flames of any desire, no matter how ablaze.”

Blair laughingly reached for his backpack. “Oh, man, I have to write this down.”

Jim mused, “The stout hose gushes life-producing fluid into the hot, smoldering womb of creation.”

Blair tried to hold his pen over a notepad. “You’d better ease up,” he laughed as he attempted to write, “or my schlong is going to go bo-oi-ng.” He said the last with a vibration in his throat.

Jim wondered how they’d ever started this conversation.

Blair let the pen drop, still laughing. “I can’t even remember what you said, it was so ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who thought it worthy of writing down.”

Blair waved him off and put the supplies away. He gazed out the window for a moment. Then, “Bo-oi-ing.”

Jim was tempted to cross his legs, but he couldn’t while he was driving.


“Chief,” Jim threatened.

Blair held up a hand and made a little vibrating motion with his forefinger. “Bo-oi-ing.” The bent finger straightened as he said the word.

“You want to lose that finger?”

Apparently so.

“Bo-oi-ing,” Blair said again, repeating the motion. He seemed genuinely fascinated with watching his finger as it rose. 

Jim’s armpits started to sweat.

This time, the vibrating sound didn’t accompany Blair’s finger motion. Instead, he said, “Isn’t it amazing that your cock can get more erect than my finger, and it doesn’t even have a bone inside of it?”

“Yes, it’s an amazing organ,” Jim said impatiently. Two more stoplights before they got to the nearest Wonderburger.

“Powerful and pulsing,” Blair said in a deep voice. “Creator of life and pleasure. Smooth skin over incredibly firm tissues, and yet with amazing elasticity to flex as necessary to plunge into any hole it can.”

Jim swore under his breath.

Blair looked over at him. “What’s the matter? You got a boner?”

Jim kept his eyes on the windshield. “If you don’t change the subject right now, I’m going to tape your mouth shut.”

“Ooh,” Blair said with a chuckle. Then, “Bo-oi-ing.” The vibrating noise was back.

Jim wondered if he committed a murder, where he might hide the body.

“Talking about restraints always makes me go bo-oi-ing.”

Frantically, Jim said, “I’m going to stick a big, fat needle in your dick if you don’t stop that.”

Blair squeezed his legs together. “Ouch. No piercings for me down there. Hard to believe it could ever again go boing after that.”

Jim pressed the accelerator, since the second stoplight was yellow.


Jim slapped his hand over Blair’s mouth. “If you say that one more time, you’re walking.”

Saliva hit Jim’s sensitive flesh as Blair sputtered.

Jim removed his hand. “I mean it.”

Blair drew a breath as he looked out the side window. “Sounds like a man in the throes of frustration. I had no idea you were so easily auditorially stimulated.”

Jim wasn’t sure what that last sentence meant. At least now, for the moment, there was blessed silence.

“Bo…” Blair closed his mouth with a glance at Jim, and then shifted his eyes innocently to the windshield.

Jim turned sharply into Wonderburger. A cold soda pressed against his crotch was badly needed right now. So was something to shove into Blair’s mouth.

Thankfully, there was only one car ahead of them in the drive-thru lane and it quickly moved on. 

Blair started to tell Jim what he wanted, but Jim ignored him and said sharply into the microphone, “Two Wonderburger Meals, one with Pepsi, one with water.”

“I want a chicken sandwich,” Blair said.


Jim gunned the truck to the pick-up window.

While Jim tried to scrounge up the money, Blair leaned across the seat and tried to catch the young female worker’s eye. “Bo-oi-ing” he said with feigned casualness.

Jim handed her the money and was glad that she ignored Blair completely.

“Bo-oi-ing,” Blair said a little more loudly.

Not so casually, Jim elbowed Blair in the ribs. “Get back, Romeo. You’re worse than a bitch in heat.”

“Ouch!” Blair said as he sat back.

The young lady handed Jim his change, frowning sharply at him, having obviously heard the b word.


She then handed him their food, without a thank-you or a smile.

Jim drove to a parking space beneath a tree providing a large degree of shade. He turned off the motor, and then handed Blair his burger, fries, and water.

“How come you wouldn’t get me a chicken sandwich?” Blair was looking at Jim with that piercing gaze that said he knew all of Jim’s secrets.

“Because a bigger burger will keep your mouth busy for a while.”

Blair snorted. “Geez, Jim, lighten up.” But he bit into it appreciably.

Jim felt better now. The soda between his legs had helped.

But, dammit, he couldn’t get that stupid bo-oi-ing word out of his head.

At least there was peaceful silence while they ate and drank. Though Blair kept looking at him through the corner of his eye.

“What?” Jim finally asked, then shoved a group of fries into his mouth.

“Just wondering if your senses are what make you particularly sensitive to auditory stimulation.”

“I don’t need hyper senses to be sensitive to auditory annoyances.”

Blair laughed softly. “I can’t believe I gave you a hard-on just by using words.”

“I never said you gave me a hard-on. You just assumed that you had.”

Snort. “What’s that cola doing between your legs?”

Jim gave him an irritated glance. “Where else is there room for it?”

Blair glanced at his water. “My drink is just fine on the floorboard.”

“You know something, Chief? Some days I wonder why I even let you ride with me. Let alone stay with me.”

“It’s my irresistible charm, good-hearted soul, and fun-loving nature.”

Jim snorted.

“Oh. And the minor fact that I help you with your senses.”

Well, all right. He’d let the kid have that without a retort.

Brief chuckle. “It’s certainly not because of my long schlong dong wong.”

Jim tried not to laugh. “No, it isn’t.”

“Of course, now I’m starting to think that it’s my mouth. You like my mouth, Jim. My words. They have the power to stimulate you.”

Jesus Christ. He’d really hoped Blair had let that subject go.

Blair pushed his trash into the Wonderburger bag. He looked out the side window, and then said in a sentinel-soft voice, “Bo-oi-ing.”

Jim had to make an effort not to grind his teeth. “Chief? Just so you know….” 


“When we get home, I’m going to kill you.” Jim started the motor.

“Okay. Unless you can think of something more satisfying to do instead.”

Nothing was going to be more satisfying than killing Blair. Really.

Apparently, now that death was imminent, Blair didn’t see any reason to restrain himself. “Bo-oi-ing,” he said loudly, with a deep vibration in his throat.

Jim put the truck in gear and tore out of the parking lot.



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