“Cock!”
“Penis!”
“Dong!”
“Ding Dong the Witch is Dead!”
“Dick!”
“Moby Dick!”
“Limp Dick!”
“I’ve got a tiny dick!”
The last two guesses were from Teddy and Gerald. We ragged each other a lot.
Still, I was getting frustrated. It was Christmas night and “The Usual Suspects,” as we'd called ourselves back in high school, had reunited at Patty’s folks’ house after we had spent time with our families. We had the place to ourselves.
“How the hell,” I asked, “ is “I’ve got a tiny dick’ a four-word popular phrase?”
“It’s something you have to say all the time to warn your dates,” laughed Teddy.
We were drinking, and our game of Charades was getting pretty raunchy.
Earlier, Gerald had grabbed me from behind and dry-humped my ass to convey the movie “Brokeback Mountain.” Jessi had pulled off her shirt—wearing a lacy bra that accented her very nice breasts, but still—for the song “Milkshake.” Patty dropped her skirt during her riotous attempt at “Pussy Galore.” Teddy had taken off his tee-shirt for the movie “Magic Mike,” and had stayed bare-chested.
I was having a tough time with my turn. Pointing at my crotch just wasn’t getting it done. The group was laughing so hard, I couldn’t get them to concentrate, and my team—it was guys versus girls—was behind.
Motioning them to shoosh, I pointed again at my crotch, and then put my hands on either side of my bulge.
(Oh, there was a bulge. Our little group had never been the cool, best-looking kids growing up, but the girls had recently matured into some desirable ladies. I think the first semester of college, away from the old neighborhood, had done them a favor.)
Then I flipped my hands out like opening a door.
“Open for business!”
“Opening night!”
“Look at me, I’m a pervert!”
I was still getting nowhere, so I dashed into the kitchen and came back with a skillet from the wall rack. “No fair,” protested Dawn. “You can’t use props!”
“Oh, drop it,” said Patty. “Let’s see where this goes.”
I set it on the coffee table, then unzipped my fly, dug my dick out of my shorts, and plopped my cock and balls on the non-stick surface.
After a moment of silence, followed by riotous laughs, the guesses started again.
“Sausage!”
“Sausage and eggs!”
“Eggs over easy!”
“Wieners!”
“Fried wieners.”
“Fried eggs and links!”
Aaaugh! By now, we were way past my given time for this round, but we were having too much fun to quit. Everybody, on both teams, was guessing now. Again, I motioned them to shoosh and started over with my signals.
Phrase.
Four words.
I zipped up my pants, turned away, then with a crazed look on my face, turned back, unzipped my pants and proudly waved my junk around like it was an Oscar, an Emmy, and a Grammy all in one.
I again placed my semi-hard cock down in the skillet and signaled that I was doing the whole phrase.
“I’m a pervert!”
“Do NOT go in there!”
“Stay the fuck back!”
Dana said, “You’re a flasher,” and I signaled she had it right, but shorter.
Patty called out “Flasher?”
Shorter.
“First word is ‘Flash,’ right?”
Right.
“Flash being cooked?” asked Teddy. “Flash on the range?”
“Homo on the range?” laughed Gerald.
“Flash in the pan!” yelled Patty.
“Yes,” I called back. “Finally!”
“What does that mean?” asked Jessie.
“It’s an old saying,” explained Patty, “A person who stands out briefly; like someone with fifteen minutes of fame.”
“In the early days of photography,” I continued, “before flashbulbs, they’d literally set off magnesium powder in a pan to light up the people for the picture.”
I started zipping up my pants, but Patty stopped me, saying, “Wait. I’ve got one.”
She knelt in front of me, and fondled my cock, which was rapidly expanding.
Woof!
------------
I “flashed” back to a camping trip the six of us had taken the previous summer. Teddy was in charge of providing the gear and had brought three two-man tents, which we discovered only as night approached. We were not a sexually intimate group.
"Ted,” I pointed out, “we’ve got three girls and three guys. One tent for two guys, one tent for two girls, and the other will have to be . . . co-ed. It’ll be chilly, but I suppose I could sleep outside.”
Eventually, after a few drinks, the girls all declared that each tent would be co-ed. I slept with Patty, and although we didn’t have intercourse, we did do . . . hand stuff, with an orgasm for her in the dark. I was too nervous to have one of my own.
I don’t know what happened in the other tents; nobody discussed it afterward.
------------
Now Patty had my cock in her mouth. After a moment of stunned silence, Dana, ever the practical one, asked quietly, “What’s the category?”
Without releasing her oral hold, Patty signaled for movie title and pushed her mouth deep onto my rod. I think the girl was trying to make up for not bringing me to orgasm in that tent.
She was doing good. She must have learned stuff at college.
I think the girls had planned this, because Dawn and Jessie now grabbed the hand of her partner from that summer night and led them to one of the bedrooms. Perhaps all the girls had learned stuff while away from home.
I tapped Patty on the side of the head to get her attention and guessed, “Deep Throat?”
“Yeah,” she said, with spit running out of her mouth. “That’s what they call it.”
“I mean, the title of the movie.”
“There’s a movie called ‘Deep Throat?’”
Never mind. The guys had lost at charades, but were the real winners on this Christmas night.
