Size Issues In the Pursuit of Love

Baker Deason approached the woman, his face was buttermelt under his huge nose and tall forehead. He rehearsed the conversation at least a dozen times, but his hands still were sweat faucets. His upper lip twitched a little. “I have something to tell you, Mera,” he stammered.

The love of Baker’s life stood at only three and a half feet, three and a quarter barefoot. Growing up, she was called the Silver Mop of Mayfield, and the average-sized boys would dip her long, ashen hair in a bucket of soap and those gray curls would clean the sticky auditorium linoleum. She only changed clothes on Sundays, and she smelled of sulfur and baked potatoes, but Baker found the little troll irresistible. “Baker!” She squeaked. “What’s on your mind?” Her golden teeth shined behind strawberry lips.

“Well, you remember how I told you I really like you?” Baker winced at the awkward inquiry, but embarrassedly he moved on. “Well, there’s something you have to know about me.”

“You’re an alcoholic,” Mera replied matter-of-factly.

“What? No-”

“You’re gay.”

Baker shook his head.

“You’re a wanted criminal, responsible for the deaths of your sister Sarah-Beth and father.” Then, after a bout of uncomfortable silence: “Hey, it happens.”

The words didn’t want to leave Baker’s mouth, but they accompanied chunks of last night’s Chicken Marsala dinner. “I’m a werewolf.”

“Seriously?”

Suddenly it all came out like blood from a stuck pig. “Only partially – if I wasn’t an incest baby I would have received the full-fledged wolf gene. One part of me is wolf, and since I’m a fucked up werewolf, it’s permanent – it doesn’t simply turn under a full moon like my parents. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

Mera gave the outed wolf a sympathetic pat. “You realize you’re talking to the Silver Mop of Mayfield, right? Trust me, Baker, yourembarrassing is my usual. So what is it? A cute doggy tail?” She squeezed his ass.

Baker’s face burned, his back was soaked with perspiration. “It’s my…,” he blinked, “private part.”

Ripping the bandage off, Mera muttered, “You’ve got a dog penis?”

“I hope it doesn’t change the way you feel about me. I love you, Mera.” Baker’s eyes sparkled. Sure, he was no stud like the class president, Rafa, was, but if he could accept Mera’s flaws, surely she would reciprocate.

To his dismay, the troll woman snapped a finger and turned away, her hair slapping Baker’s knee. “No fucking way, Baker. That shit is just too much for me. What do you think I am? A carnival of crazy?” Her voice carried as she walked away. “God, why am I such a magnet for weirdos?”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s