Grower or Shower
One Saturday night in April, Woody's holds a "Grower or Shower" fund raiser.
Twenty-five members of the Cleveland Gay Men's Synchronized Ice Skating team are traveling the country in support of this event. This is how it goes:
The guys line up on stage naked. The audience has to guess the length (to the half inch) of each guy's dick when it's fully aroused. The only clue the audience has is the length of each guy's flaccid member.
It costs $1.00 per dick and there is a three dick minimum. All proceeds go to "Prosthetics for Dickless Fags International". The winner gets a t-shirt that says, "I know dick."
Brian says he's seen more cock in his life than all of them combined, and for them not to waste their beer money.
Ted says it was his "job", at one time, to size up dicks and his healthy profit margin spoke for itself.
Ben is relying on a Zen-induced trance to become one with the universe, and therefore to become one with the dick.
Emmett is going with women's intuition.
Michael claims the whole idea is stupid.
Hunter says, "Fuck that. Bring on the pussy!" He's kicked in the ass repeatedly by everyone within hearing range before being heaved out the door like yesterday's panty liner.
Justin smiles coyly and doesn't say a word. He's going to guess them all correctly, and blow their minds.
Last week, Justin went to Boston to visit Daphne for the weekend. On Friday night, they went to "Gladiator's" to dance and inadvertently stumbled onto the very same charity event. He got 80 percent correct. He found out that the event would be in Pittsburgh the following week, and had, with his artist's eye, committed each contestant and their respective aroused dick size to memory.
Tonight, he'll be a hundred percent.
Two hours later, he's on stage surrounded by twenty-five ice-skaters, the emcee, the owner of Woody's and the group's mascot - a guy in a penis outfit on skates, sporting red earmuffs.
He's roundly hailed as a dick connoisseur and presented with his t-shirt. Cheers fill the club and Justin positively glows.
Brian is at the bar, with his back to the stage, knocking back another shot. He guessed 23 of the 25, and the whiskey tastes bitter.
He hears Justin clear his throat at the mike, and his eye twitches. Fucking little shit is going to make a speech. It's not enough he out-guessed him. No! The twat has to crow about it.
Justin's voice fills the air. "Like many here, I like dick. I like to smell dick. I like to hold dick. Stroke it, squeeze it, suck it. Tonight, I proved that I also know dick." More cheers and laughter fill the bar. Justin waits for it to quiet down. "And for that, I'd like to thank my partner, Brian Kinney. He taught me everything I know about dick. I couldn't have done it without him. Brian, if anybody knows dick, you do!"
Brian swivels on the bar stool and looks at the stage. Justin is grinning like a fool, and the six foot penis is doing the bump with one of the contestants.
Fuck it. He may not have guessed a hundred percent, but he "is" fucking the guy who guessed a hundred percent. And, not only is he "fucking" the guy that guessed a hundred percent, no one "else" is fucking that guy. And, he "was" the first guy to ever fuck the guy who guessed a hundred percent. Brian decides that's all gotta count for something.
He lifts his glass in a toast and smiles back.
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