Chapter 10: An Argument
The night could have gone so much worse, but at least her gamble with Evan had worked out. Evan had come to their rescue. And Jason was doing his best, rummaging around in the dumpster for their stolen and discarded things. Cathy couldn't see him, but she could hear him, rustling through the bin, pushing the bags apart. She could hear the clack of bottles and metal things as he pushed and pulled and dug. He would find her things. It would all work out.
"What's wrong with his dick?" Evan asked, grinning. "Seriously."
The question hung in the stagnant cab air, sharp and ugly. Cathy stiffened beside him, the borrowed t-shirt suddenly feeling like a thin, useless barrier.
“I mean, it's obvious he tries to hide it, but it's like a baby dick” Evan pushed, slower, leaning back against his door to look at her fully. His smile was a familiar, taunting curve. “I’m just curious.”
A hot flush crawled up Cathy’s neck. She stared straight ahead, through the windshield at the dumpster’s hulking shape. The truth was the best answer.
“He has a micropenis,” she said, the clinical term feeling absurd in the reeking dark. “It’s a medical condition. There’s nothing wrong with it. It works just fine.”
Evan barked a short laugh, a dry, cracking sound. “Works fine? Come on, Cath. Be for real.” He shifted, the truck’s seat creaking under his weight. “Are you actually satisfied with it like that? With his little balls and everything? Seriously.”
His voice was a low, intimate prod, laden with a grotesque mock-concern that made her skin prickle. It dragged her back to the alley, to the hot sting of urine on her skin and their echoing laughter. The memories tightened her throat. She turned her head, meeting his gaze in the dim light. His expression was one of amused, genuine disbelief.
“You sound just like those guys back there,” she said, her voice quieter now, stripped of its earlier tipsy energy. “The ones who were so mean to us. You sound exactly like them.”
Evan’s smirk faltered, wiped clean by a flash of genuine offense. His jaw tightened. “I’m nothing like those assholes,” he snapped, his eyes flicking toward the dumpster. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m the one who got the call. I came.”
From outside, the rustling from the dumpster had stopped. A profound, waiting silence pressed in from the alley.
Cathy held Evan’s defensive glare, the hum of the truck’s engine the only sound. “Jason lets me do what I want. He doesn’t grill me on who I talk to or where I’ve been or what I wear or what I don't wear or what I drink or what I don't drink. He’s not possessive.” She adjusted the large shirt, pulling the neckline away from her skin. “He lets me try new things. Actually lets me. He likes it. There’s a difference.”
Evan digested this, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the steering wheel. The patronizing amusement was gone, replaced by a colder, more analytical curiosity. “Okay, fine. He’s a sweet, permissive little cuck. Congratulations.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “But let’s be real for a second. With a guy like that, with a 'micropenis' or whatever, are you actually satisfied? Like, physically? Does it even work?”
She could hear Jason moving again, a soft, shuffling sound from inside the metal bin.
“You wouldn’t get it,” she said, finally looking away, out at the orange-lit brick wall. “It works better than anything I had before.”
She didn’t say 'with you.' She didn’t need to. The words vibrated in the space between them, sharp and unmistakable. Evan’s lips pressed into a thin, white line. The dashboard lights glinted in his eyes, which had gone flat and hard.
From the dumpster, there was a sudden, wet scraping sound, followed by a muted curse. Evan’s didn't look away. He absorbed her words, his expression shifting from anger to something more calculating, a cold speculation. He glanced toward the dumpster, then back at her, a new, ugly smile forming.
“So he lets you do what you want,” Evan said, digesting this. “That’s the trade-off. He gets a girlfriend, you get, what, exactly? A guy with a micropenis who doesn’t complain when you do what you want? I'm asking, Cath, if his dick even works. Not if your relationship works.”
Cathy felt a strange calm settle over her, the fuzziness of the beer clarifying into a sharp, defiant point. It had been long enough that she was starting to sober all the way up. She turned fully in the seat to face him, her plain features set.
“It works perfectly,” she said, her voice low and clear. “And having a special size means I can get as kinky as I like with him. Did you know, I can suck him off all the way to orgasm while his balls are in my mouth?”
Evan blinked, his smugness faltering for a second at the graphic, unvarnished image. Cathy didn’t stop.
“I can lick the bottom of his balls with my tongue and make him squirt against the roof of my mouth. I always have his full attention, and he’s always grateful, Evan. And unlike some people, he’s never critical.” She let the statement sit between them,“You asked if I’m satisfied. That’s your answer.”
Before he could muster up a savvy reply, they were interrupted--it was Jason. He had crawled, unnoticed, out of the dumpster, empty handed, and was standing by the driver's side window, which was cracked. How much of the conversation he had heard, Cathy couldn't say for sure, but he was standing unguarded, his flaccid penis protruding from his body at Evan's window.
How much of the conversation he had heard, Cathy couldn’t say for sure, but he was standing unguarded, his flaccid penis protruding from his body at Evan's window. He’d given up covering himself, one filthy hand resting on the door’s frame, the other holding Evan’s phone limply at his side. The phone's flashlight illuminated him without mercy.
As if summoned by their conversation, Jason was unusually exposed, a circumcised nub of pale, soft flesh no longer than the first joint of a man’s thumb. In the shadows, it looked less like a penis and more like a tense, wrinkled olive stuck to his groin, with a tiny, perfect slit at its tip. Below it, his scrotum was a tight, underdeveloped purse of skin, barely larger than a walnut, clinging high and smooth against his body with a pathetic sparsity of light brown pubic hair that seemed to have given up growing before it even started. The overall effect was infantile, a permanent pre-pubescent state plastered onto his adult frame, now streaked with dumpster filth.
Evan’s eyes dropped, and his breath hitched, not in disgust but in pure, astonished appraisal. A slow whistle escaped him. “Holy shit,” he murmured. "You weren’t kidding."
Jason didn’t flinch. He just stared through the glass, his expression unreadable behind a mask of grime and exhaustion. “Our stuff isn’t in there,” he said, his voice hoarse and flat, ignoring Evan’s comment entirely. “It’s just gone.”
“Forget the stuff, man. Look at you,” Evan said, leaning closer to the window as he rolled it down. His earlier anger was now completely subsumed by fascinated ridicule. “I’ve seen bigger clits. I mean, does it even get hard? Does it, like, become an inch?”
“Evan, stop it,” Cathy said, but her voice lacked its earlier fire. She was staring at Jason’s face, trying to read it.
“What? I’m just asking a technical question,” Evan said, not taking his eyes off Jason’s groin. “It’s a miracle of nature. I’m fascinated. So when you get a boner, what happens? Does it peek out over your fat pad, or does it just get really firm while staying completely buried?”
Jason finally moved. He lifted Evan’s phone and tapped it against the window, a sharp, tap-tap-tap that made Evan jerk back an inch. “Do you want your phone back or not?” Jason asked, his tone dead, transactional.
Evan powered the window down halfway, the mechanism whirring. The alley’s ripe smell flooded in, mixed now with the sour, metallic scent of garbage on Jason’s skin. He took the phone, his fingers careful not to touch Jason’s. He wiped the screen on his jeans.
“Thanks, champ. Sorry about your… situation,” Evan said, not sounding sorry at all. He looked from Jason’s groin to his face, the cruel curiosity still bright in his eyes. “So, what’s the plan now?"
Jason ignored him again, turning his gaze to Cathy. In the dim, split light, his eyes were hollow. “Can we go home now? Please.”
The ‘please’ did it. It was a small, broken sound that cut through Cathy’s defiant posture. She nodded quickly. “Yeah. Let’s go home.” She turned to Evan, her voice firm. “Take us home. Now.”
Evan looked between them, the spectacle apparently over. He shrugged, putting the truck in drive. “Your loss,” he said, pulling away from the dumpster. “I had more questions.”
Jason walked slowly around the front of the truck, his naked, soiled body moving through the headlight beams before he opened the passenger door and folded himself silently inside. The truck filled with a thicker silence, miles away from the bickering tension of minutes before. Evan cleared his throat, the humor gone, replaced by an awkwardness that was almost worse. He drove, the city blocks passing in a blur of darkened shops and streetlights. No one spoke. The only sounds were the engine, the tires on asphalt, and Cathy’s shallow breathing. She kept her eyes on Jason’s profile, on the rigid set of his jaw. She wanted to reach for his hand, but it was balled in a fist on his filthy thigh.
After ten eternal minutes, Evan pulled up to their apartment building. He left the truck running, a clear message. “Here you go,” he said, not looking at either of them.
"Thanks for the ride,” she muttered.
Jason spoke up too, his voice a gravelly monotone directed at the dashboard. “Yeah. Thanks, Evan. For coming out.” He didn’t wait for a reply, pushing the heavy door open and swinging his legs out onto the pavement. He didn’t look back, simply began walking toward the shadowed staircase at the side of their quiet complex. His shoulders were hunched, a study in utter defeat as his dimpled ass cheeks carried him up the stairs.
Cathy moved to follow, fumbling with the door handle on her side. “See you,” she said, her words automatic and empty.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll see you,” Evan said, his tone regaining its familiar, teasing lilt. “I’ll think of a way you guys can pay me back sometime."
As she slid out his hand landed on the curve of her ass, giving it a firm, familiar pat that was more possession than farewell. Her entire body went rigid, a wire pulled taut. But she said nothing. She didn’t slap his hand away or even glance at him. He'd earned that much. She just closed the truck door with a solid thud and turned toward the stairs, where Jason was already ascending, unaware. The truck’s tires crunched on gravel as Evan drove off, his taillights vanishing around the corner.
The relief was immediate and profound. The courtyard was desolate, the only light spilling from a single fixture above their own apartment door. No curious neighbors smoking on balconies, no dog-walkers, no one to witness their reeking, naked shuffle of shame. The silence was a gift.
She hurried to catch up, her bare feet slapping softly on the cold concrete steps. Jason was already at their door, fumbling with the hidden key they kept under the welcome mat. He waited for her and held it open until she slipped in behind him. The familiar scent of their home—old books, dust, and yesterday’s coffee—felt safe, even undercut as it was by the smell they brought in with them. The overhead light in the small living room was painfully bright, exposing every streak of grime on their skin.
"I'll deal with the car in the morning," he said.
Jason was already walking down the short hall toward the bathroom, a silent, soiled ghost. The water started in the pipes, a rumble in the walls.
Cathy was standing in the living room and had only just started to peel the AC/DC shirt from her body, which was sticking to her skin in odd places, when she froze. There, in the middle of the couch, tossed in a haphazard pile of torn garments and odds and ends, were their things. Jason's ruined clothes.
Her phone.
His wallet.
"Jason!"
He hurried out of the bathroom and stood, silent, still dripping on the carpet. He stared at the mess on the couch for a few minutes, then rummaged through it all. His keys were there, buried under his torn shirt. He seemed to sigh. He looked at her.
"I'm surprised they even took the time," was all he said. He let out a long sigh. "I guess I'll lock the door."