Squirt: A Conversation With My Penis

I was sitting on the beach in Maui, looking out over the endless, black water. I was alone and there were only a few minutes until midnight. Leaning my head back, I filled my lungs with the tangy, floral breeze. Above me, the sky was heavy with galaxies and a billion pinpricks in the universe.

“God, it’s so beautiful,” said a little voice.

For a moment, my blood went icy and I stopped breathing. Did I just think that really loudly? Or had I really heard it?

I spread my knees and looked down at my crotch, expecting to see a talking hermit crab looking up at me. Shit, I thought. I’m about to meet a fucking talking hermit crab. And then I’m going to have to take care of it for the rest of my life. I lifted my butt and looked over both shoulders, but I didn't see anything. Then I ripped open the Velcro fly of my swimsuit, just in case a magical sea creature had crawled up my thigh. But nothing. Just my penis — flopped over as if it were relaxing on a chaise lounge. “Did you say something?” I asked it.

I felt the presence of an uncomfortable silence between casual acquaintances, which I knew was weird because I was by myself. Then suddenly, my penis slid along my pelvis and rose about half an inch to face me, like someone sitting up in bed. “Yeah, that was me,” it said.

My first thought was not, how is my penis talking?! It was, why is my penis talking now?!

“Sorry,” said my penis. “I just couldn’t help myself. I was marveling at how pretty everything is here and it just came out.” His voice was small and squeaky and he spoke with a lisp, just like me.

“You’ve been attached to me since birth," I said. "You want to tell me why we’ve never had a conversation?”

“You make me nervous!” he squealed. “You only take me out to piss or beat me up!”

“So you’ve never spoken before?” I asked.

“Well,” he said. “Sometimes when you’re asleep, I sing.”

“What do you sing?” I wondered.

“Oh, I sing all kinds of stuff!” he said excitedly. “I’m really into Father John Misty right now, but I love Ryan Adams, Wilco, Springsteen, Neil Young. My tastes are all over the place.”

“No female singers?” I asked.

“I can’t get into girls,” he said.

“You can,” I said. “You just won’t.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said.

A breeze picked up and my penis shivered and tucked itself down like it was hiding. I pulled my fly up and cozied it around him.

“So how did you know the beach and sky were beautiful?” I asked. “You don’t have any eyes. Just a peehole mouth.”

“I see what you see,” he said. “That’s how boners work.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

It got quiet again. There were so many things I wanted to ask, but I didn’t know what would be appropriate. I didn’t think there was much that could offend a talking dick, but he seemed really sensitive. Then suddenly, he broke the silence.

“You’ve never taken the time to name me,” he said. “Why is that?”

I thought for a moment. “I used to call you The Irish Spring when I was a little kid,” I said. “But I guess I never said it out loud. It just made me giggle.”

“I like that name!” he squeaked. “Makes me sound powerful and fresh. What was wrong with it?”

“I’m not all that Irish.” I said. “I just have red pubes and my mom’s maiden name is O’Reilly.”

“She’s my mom too,” he reminded me. “And can’t you just name me right now?!”

“Do you really need a name? You’re 24 years old and you’re Ryan Rogers’ Dick. Why confuse people with a rebrand?”

“Maybe a rebrand is exactly what I need,” he said under his breath.

“Oh,” I said. “Why’s that? Do you feel like you need to change your image? Not happy with your reputation?”

“I don’t know,” he said pitifully. “A little.”

“Ouch,” I said feeling slightly wounded. “I didn’t know I was embarrassing you. What am I doing wrong?”

“Well,” he said leaning back against my scrotum as if it were a beanbag chair. “You introduce me to people all the time, but I never get to know them. Then, you put all kinds of pressure on me because you want me to make a good first impression, and five minutes later, you’re done with me and you’re moving on to the next guy. All I want to do is make you proud, but I feel overwhelmed sometimes.”

I nodded to show him I was listening.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I really value our alone time. I like it when we’re watching TV and you hold me. It makes me feel safe. Or when you get home from a jog and you dance around the bathroom while the shower runs. That’s my favorite thing in the world! Just bobbing my head to the music while you shake your hips. But when you start taking me out to meet other people, I don’t always enjoy myself.”

He made a kind-of half smile and I could tell he felt relieved to get all that out.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t always know what I want, but I’m going to need you to share some of the blame. I follow your lead quite often. Remember that time we fucked that LSU cheerleader on the floor of Alex’s bathroom? You totally influenced that! Or that time we banged that 40-year-old because you liked his military uniform? You made that decision, you prick!”

The tide came in and the cold water rushed over my toes before quickly receding back over the sand and into the sea. Up until then, I didn’t know a penis could look unhappy. But mine did.

“Hey,” I said giving him a soft nudge with two fingers. “Remember when we went to that dance club in Playa del Carmen and I climbed on top of the bar and pulled you out for everyone to see?”

“You were drinking tequila and Red Bull,” he said bitterly. “You weren’t in your right mind.”

“Fuck me, is that true?!” I said. “Jesus Christ, that sounds terrible. Anyway, I pulled you out that night because I was proud of you and I wanted everyone to know that you were mine.”

“Really?” he said affectionately.

“Of course,” I said. “You’re not the biggest wiener and you don’t always hulk up when you need to, but I love you. And of all my appendages, I’ve shared some of my greatest memories with you.”

He finally looked back up at me.

“Can we get back together with Thomas?” he said. “He showed me a lot of attention and his bed sheets were some crazy high thread count.”

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

“Maybe not,” he said looking back at the waves. “I guess I just want you to settle down again. I’ve met a lot of assholes lately, and I’m ready for an asshole I really care about.”

I patted him on the head and said, “Of course, squirt.”

We both looked up at the stars and then I blurted out, “Hey! What about Squirt? I can call you Squirt if you like. That’s a good name, isn’t it?”

“That’s gross,” he said. “But I like it.”

I tucked him inside my swimsuit and gave him a playful punch with my fist saying, “Good talk, Squirt.”

I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, everything was still dark and beautiful. And nearly twenty feet away was a police officer, marching towards me through the sand — pointing and yelling as if I’d done something obscene.