The erection came from nowhere. So hard, so fast that the 15-year-old boy reflexively grabbed his backpack from the floor and held it on his lap, pretending to dig around inside looking for a pencil or a book or something.

At his age, unexpected wood had become a familiar occurrence, but his boners usually subsided after a couple of minutes. And his dick with a mind of its own usually cooperated enough to lay flat against his belly, pointing due north toward his belly button in an easy-to-conceal fashion. But today, as he sat in the first yearbook committee meeting, preparing to stand up and introduce himself to the committee members, his penis had somehow caught itself in the crease of his underwear and, without a manual adjustment, would continue to grow in proud splendor, creating a pup tent in his loose-fitting dress slacks. At the moment, his erection stubbornly pointed at a 90-degree angle from his body. It wanted to be seen.

He said a prayer. Please God, he pleaded, make it go away—but just this once! Please. As he would discover years later when begging God for the opposite favor (Please God, let me get it up!), God ignores all prayers involving the deflating or inflating of penises. He and his hard-on were on their own.

With a mixture of pride and horror, he realized that what he had in his pants right now was probably the biggest, hardest, longest erection in his young life. Under other circumstances, he would have been quite pleased with it, and even now he felt an insane curiosity driving him to touch it and marvel at its size.

He stared hard at the teacher who was in charge of the yearbook staff; she was, by far, the most unsexy object in the room. He pictured her licking her thin, wrinkly lips and winking her watery yellow eye at him, inviting him to kiss her and taste her dentures. Yes! It seemed to be working. So he pictured Mrs. Krensch unbuttoning her floral polyester blouse and revealing her saggy, floppy D-Cups that draped down across the wrinkled flesh of her abdomen. With a leer, she showed him her lipstick stained teeth before using her gnarled fingertips to pinch her nipples and lift her tits into the air toward him. She gyrated her bony hips and spread her thighs encased in their baggy brown pantyhose.

The images he created in his mind were so powerful, so frightening, that not only did the pup-tent in his pants go away, but he feared his sanity went with it. He felt a wave of actual nausea sweep over him as he imagined Mrs. Krensch straddling him and forcing his face into the stringy gray hair of her crotch. He threw up a little bit in his mouth.
Mrs. Krensch was looking at him now, expectantly, and he understood it was his turn to stand up and introduce himself. He swallowed hard, cleared his throat and mumbled a few words before falling back to his chair with relief.

“Welcome to the yearbook staff,” Mrs. Krensch said to him, her thin red lips pulled tight in a smile. “If there’s anything at all I can do for you,” she dropped a pointed glance to his crotch and winked, “just let me know.”

Sudden Fiction: a visit from the Untouchable

The ringing of my cell phone woke me; it was 2:00 am. From the ringtone I could tell who was calling before I saw his name and face on the phone's display. Why is he calling me?

Answering it seemed like the best way to find out. I was aware of my heart thumping around, tripping over the furniture in my chest. "Hello?"

"I'm sorry to wake you," he said. There was something about his voice. It sounded tense. Tightly packed. Spring-loaded.

"What's wrong?"

"I needed to talk to you."

"Why?"

No answer for three heartbeats.

"I needed you."

"Come here, talk to me then. Where are you? Want me to come to you?"

"Outside your apartment. Down here."

I peeked through the blinds, as he knew I would, and in fact he was sitting on the curb of the street two stories down, beneath my bedroom window. He held his cell phone to his head with one hand and gave a clumsy wave with the other.

"Well come on up, silly."

I peed and brushed my teeth. Splashed some water on my face and tried to remember if he'd ever seen me without make-up. I wore pale boxer shorts and a beater tee-shirt, which glowed in the light of the fat glowing full moon that shone through the window. As I opened the door, my mind was possessed with a strange formality, wondering what I should offer him to drink. I had beer in the fridge. I wondered if perhaps he'd already had too many.

Good manners became moot when our eyes met. Like his voice, there was something tense and urgent about his face, a tightening in his jaw, determination in his eyes that barely concealed the soupy desperation floating beneath it.

His lips twitched an ironic smile before he crossed the threshold and reduced the distance between our faces to zero. Just before his lips took mine, his hand found my hair; it seemed he would stroke it but then he gripped it firmly at the back of my head and tilted my head to the side so that our mouths fit most perfectly together.

This was no "first kiss" kind of first kiss. This was not tender and sweet. This was an all-consuming explosion that burned and blazed as we lost our minds in the intrigue of the other's mystery. I had no time to wonder why this was happening. I had no time to think at all, I could only react, I could barely breathe.

I'm not a fool; I know. Intense the pleasure may be, but the consequences of lying in the arms of a desperate man come drifting in like a heavy fog on the rays of the morning sun. And yet I could no more stop myself than I could stop the beating of my heart.

In spite of that night—probably because of that night, he would never be mine.

But that night, he was mine.