Steve Grogan is an ongoing contributor to Writer to Writers. He has published several short stories on the site, which can be found on the main page under the heading “Steve Grogan’s Fiction.” He has had several poems and short stories published over the years, some of which are available on Amazon. (See the announcement at the end of this post.)
He is the writer and creator of the ongoing, zombie, post-apocalyptic, Romero-meets-Dungeons-and-Dragons webcomic REDemption. Alternatively, Steve describes the comic by saying, “It is to zombie fiction what KILL BILL was to kung fu movies: everything I love about the genre housed under one roof and mixed with my voice.”
October 11, 2008
I decided to treat myself for dinner tonight and ordered some Chinese food. General Tso’s chicken, for the record. The last time I ordered take-out food must have been over a year ago. Although I don’t normally wear anything from the waist down, I put on a par of boxers once I heard the delivery man arrive. My penis decided to remain at its normal length, so I could open the door completely to take the food from him. Then I sat down on my couch while I ate my delicious meal.
It wasn’t long before I was forced to remember the reason behind my Chinese boycott. I wasn’t even halfway done with my meal when a rumbling sensation started in my belly. Then came the gas: too painful to hold in, too smelly to let out.
This wasn’t going to have a happy ending.
Despite my best efforts to hold it in, one of those farts managed to escape my buttocks. It came out with a SPLAT, and I knew what the scene looked like in my boxers. It probably resembled a Picasso. Then again, maybe it was closer to a Rorschach blot.
I ran for the bathroom, stripping off the soiled garments on the way. Another bubbly blast hovered inside my backdoor, and I sat on the toilet just in time to let it explode. With all the contents of my chute voided, I was finally able to relax.
And then the unthinkable happened.
My penis decided to grow.
I heard a soft splash as the head touched down in the muddy water. A bolt of revulsion shot through my body so fast that I jumped off the toilet. I twisted as I leapt through the air. My balls touched down first, which gave me a whole other problem to deal with, namely a pain the likes of which I would not wish upon my worst enemy.
My penis stopped growing at my ankles. I gathered it up to see the damage. A couple smears of poo. Nothing too bad. I started the tub and ran the head of my cock under the water. Then I tried to scrub it clean, but the enlarged nerves were so sensitive that my dick immediately got hard. Now it extended a good three feet out in front of me, way beyond the reach of my arms.
Having encountered situations like this before, I’d seen fit to purchase a hand-held showerhead ages ago. I grabbed the device and sprayed my dickhead for a good ten minutes, getting the water as hot as I could stand it.
These are the types of days I have now. Why? When did I ask to be given such a horrible fate? I still have no answers.
As I was saying before my discussions on racist roommates and poopy cock, life followed a steady routine once Mr. Washington and I agreed to live and let live. I worked tons of overtime, from the moment the servers went online (6AM) until they went down for overnight maintenance (8PM). Of course, the irony of all that overtime was that I couldn’t do much of anything with those huge paychecks. Couldn’t go on that cruise to Jamaica if I never knew when my penis would become the size of a V-2 rocket.
There was one other form of around-the-house activity I considered on the day that I noticed my arms were wobbly. By that I mean there was no real muscle. I also had a Buddha belly and man boobs. Getting workout equipment seemed like a good idea at first, but I had to stop and think. I never knew when my penis was going to change size. It always took me by surprise and startled me. If I were bench pressing 250 pounds, the last thing I needed was to be startled.
I could pay my landlord and pretty much all my bills online. My paycheck was deposited right into my checking account. Eventually I called Price Chopper and gave them the information they would need to start delivering my groceries. The only time I had to leave my apartment was to get my mail from downstairs and to take out the trash. If garbage night came around and my penis was noticeably long, then I’d suck it up and not take the garbage down. It would sit on my back porch until the following week. (Somehow I was lucky enough to never miss two weeks in a row. Figure that one out!) In other words, it wasn’t that hard for me to switch over to my shut-in life.
I can tolerate it, for the most part. There are some things about it that still drive me crazy though. For example, there was another email invitation from work today. Our department was having a birthday party for one of the new hires, a kid named Dan Herrick. Even though I couldn’t attend, I decided to at least email him back.
Dan, sorry I can’t make it in for your party, but I have family coming in from out of town. Hope you enjoy the cake and whatever other goodies they bring in for you.
He wrote back an hour later:
Thanks for the birthday wishes, man! We may have never met, but I have heard a lot about you.
To which I replied:
Don’t believe what people at Value Scripts say…unless it’s all good. LOL
Bob called me. This is my favorite thing about my landlord: sometimes he calls up just to shoot the breeze. I have never heard of any other landlords doing that. Not only does this set Bob apart from his fellow landlords, but it even sets him apart from everyone else in my life, except bill collectors of course. Aside from work, my phone never rings for social calls. It’s very rare that there is ever anyone on the other end of the line asking how my day/week/month/year was. Sometimes I get the feeling Bob is the closest thing to a friend I have.
“So how are things going for you?” Bob asked.
“All right, I guess.”
“Tried going outside at all?”
“The furthest I can manage to go is the sidewalk on garbage night,” I said. “I tried walking down the block, but I got only five steps and panicked.”
“That’s tough. Listen, I have the name and number of a therapist who could help you out, if you’re interested,” Bob offered.
“Wow, that’s really cool of you. Let me get pen and paper,” I said.
Once I was ready, he gave me the information for a psychotherapist named William Mitchell. I didn’t have agoraphobia, but I still took down the therapist’s name and number. After all, I certainly had my share of issues. Maybe this person could help me sort some things out.
“Thanks, Bob. I’ll give him a call,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. “How are things otherwise?”
“Not bad. I work a lot of overtime because there’s nothing else for me to do,” I said. “So you’ll never have to worry about me being late with the rent.”
He laughed. “Well, that’s a good thing. Hey, I got a question for you. What does your condition make you miss the most?”
I paused and gave this some serious thought. After a couple seconds of silence, the answer came to me.
“I think contact with other people. Sometimes my coworkers email me about going to a happy hour somewhere, and I have to turn them down,” I said.
“Don’t you still talk to friends on the phone?”
“Yes, but that’s not the same as being out. Being able to mingle and meet other people. You know, maybe even make more friends,” I said.
“I know what you mean,” Bob said. “Actually, you know what…it just hit me. You work from home on a computer, right?”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“Couldn’t you talk to people on there?” Bob asked. “My granddaughter was telling me something about that. I don’t remember much of what she said, but she told me you could talk to people from all over the world in these…uh…”
“Chat rooms?” I guessed.
“Yeah, that’s it!” Bob exclaimed. “That might not be the same as meeting people in person, but it’s better than nothing. If you go in there and talk to lots of people now, you’ll have lots of friends to hang out with once you recover.”
Naturally I had heard of chat rooms ages ago, but for some reason it had never dawned on me to use them as a cure for my loneliness. Would it work? The only way to find out was to test them, so I said thank you and good bye to Bob. Then I got on the computer to look for online conversation.
I tried Yahoo and MSN chat rooms. The firewalls on my work computer had them blocked. AOL, Yahoo, and Myspace had messengers you could download, but I knew better than to install anything on my work PC. Whichever way I turned, there was a roadblock. No matter. At least now I had a plan to change my lack of a social life.
The solution was obvious: I had to order my own computer, so I went on a site called New Egg and did just that. Didn’t take long to find a model I liked either. After that, all I had to do was wait out the seven-to-ten business day delivery.
Speaking of things I’ve done online, I forgot to mention someone bought my car only a day or two after Chris turned in the plates for me. I’d put an ad on Craigslist, and it wasn’t there more than an hour before someone wanted to come see it. This was a nerve-wracking experience because I had to go outside while this person checked the vehicle out. Luckily the guy made up his mind in three minutes flat. No public penis growth incident to report. The guy even paid my asking price of $1,000 without any haggling.
His money is in my top dresser drawer. I don’t know anyone I could trust well enough to deposit it for me, and I’m sure as hell not going outside, so in that drawer it will stay until my size curse has been lifted.
If you like what you have read and would like to purchase this serialized novel as one complete PDF, then please send $3.50 to Steve via PayPal: firstname.lastname@example.org
Also, don’t forget to check out his other writing at the following links below:
Author: Redemption Comics
Steve Grogan was born in the often-filmed city of Troy, NY. He has written in a variety of formats (novels, short stories, poems, screen and stage plays, blogs/articles) and genres (horror, science fiction, fantasy, mystery, drama).
Steve is also a father, a boyfriend, a musician, a fitness fanatic, and a martial artist. He has been studying Wing Chun Kung Fu since 1995, and he maintains a blog/YouTube channel that describe his training habits, epiphanies, and advancement. It also candidly discusses his stumbling blocks, such as his struggle with nutrition and mental health issues.
He is no relation to the New England Patriots quarterback from the 1980’s.