Chapter 3

We had only been snowbound for five hours, and somehow the conversation had devolved to masturbation and circle jerks. It was so disorienting that I was off balance, which was the strangest part, since I was in the place I usually felt the most calm and in control.

But off balance I was, which might explain why I did not pause to reflect on how my shy, retiring, librarian niece was completely comfortable with the fact that the conversation had devolved to masturbation and circle jerks.

I didn’t take her question seriously. No fifteen-year-old girl seriously wants to know which man gave a cry of exultation as his penis erupted, before any of the other four penises in the circle erupted. Especially since she only knew one of the men in the circle. That would be me. Except that boy was a whole lot younger me. She remembered her father, but only his appearance. She knew almost literally nothing about his personality.

Even if I had thought she did want me to answer the question, I would have equivocated. My brother had dragged me, kicking and screaming, into the world of adolescent contests, circle jerks included. He was the one with all the confidence. He was the one who enjoyed showing the rest of the guys how long and strong he could get. And he always won the circle jerks.

Not that he had even a whit of homosexual proclivities. He wasn’t interested in looking at anybody else’s cock. The whole purpose of a circle jerk, from his perspective, was to re-establish who was the alpha male in the pack. His cock was bigger, longer, faster.

The first few times Chuck made me push my pants down and “play” the game, I couldn’t even get hard. I was too embarrassed. Then, when I did get hard, I was embarrassed about that, too. I was afraid the guys would think I was hard for them. They all had fantasies they closed their eyes and thought about. Not me. I was pretty sure no girl would show me her breasts, or pull up her dress to flash me, or make out with me on a date. That was what the older boys did, not the puny runts in the litter, like me.

Chuck was as comfortable with his sexuality as it’s possible to be. He was the one who peeked at our parents, in their marital bed. Being a voyeur didn’t bother him at all. He tried to get me to watch with him, saying, “Dad’s got an okay cock. Mom’s pussy is really hairy. They always do it in the missionary position, but it’s still fun to watch.”

I was not going to tell an adolescent girl that her father basically had no morals and that she was better off with the runt of the litter.

I had a sudden fleeting vision in my mind, wherein I was at my brother’s house. His wife was sipping a cocktail and Chuck said he needed to check on something. I followed him in this vision and found him peeking through the partially opened door to his daughter’s room. He turned his head, saw me, grinned and beckoned. “Come see. Emma’s naked and she’s rubbing off. Her tits are okay, and she’s got a really hairy pussy, so you can’t see her pussy lips, but it’s still fun to watch.”

“Uncle Bob!“

I blinked as Emma’s voice chased the vision away. I looked at her.

“What?” I said.

“I asked you who usually won the circle jerks?”

I blinked. Apparently an adolescent girl did want to know which man gave a cry of exultation as his penis erupted, before any of the other four penises in the circle erupted.

“I did, of course,” I said.

“Really?”

“I just said I did,” I said, a little defensively.

“Okay. It’s just that you don’t seem like the kind of guy who would enjoy flashing his privates to a bunch of other guys. I mean I don’t know that much about guys, but I do know you, and it just doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d get off on.”

“There’s lots you don’t know about me,” I said. “Now, enough of that. Let’s talk about something else.”

“That just illustrates my point,” she said, doggedly. “You’re even uncomfortable talking about it. I’m trying to imagine you in a circle with a bunch of guys, with your pants at half mast, and it just isn’t working. And I’ve read about the ego, and how important a man’s penis is to him, at least according to Freud, so is it possible you’re lying to me because it would embarrass you to admit that you lost?”

“Why do you want to know this?” I groaned.

“Because I love you, and I want to know everything about you, the good and the bad. I’m trying to grow up, and you’re the adult in my life who is my measuring stick for whether I’m doing okay or not.”

“You’re doing fine,” I said. “I couldn’t be more proud of the woman you’re becoming. But talking about circle jerks I was in so long ago won’t teach you anything worthwhile. In fact, there’s a lot about that time of my life that you’d do well to avoid.”

“How can I avoid it if we don’t talk about it?”

“Sometimes I wish your IQ was a lot lower,” I said.

“Well, it’s not, so you’re stuck with me. Now, would you please answer my question?”

I thought about it. This made no sense at all. Why was she even interested?

“Okay. I’ll answer your question, if you’ll explain why a modern day young woman of your breeding and caliber could possibly be genuinely interested in who won a circle jerk twenty years ago.”

“I am genuinely interested in the circle jerk as a sociological aspect of growing up as a boy. From what I can tell, the boys I know are almost pathologically disgusted by the idea of a male exposing himself to them. Some of the guys I know won’t even take a shower after gym, because they don’t want to be seen naked. But if what you described was common, then a lot of the men I know who are your age or older, including most of my teachers, may have had an entirely different perspective when they were my age. That could be really important, because the two outlooks are diametrically opposed.”

“Okay, but who cares if boys today have different body issues than boys used to?” I asked. “What difference does it make?”

“If that difference is so big, what other differences might there be?” she asked. “How could boys today see men as role models, if their values are opposed?”

“You’re reading way too much into this,” I said. “Adolescent males always compete with each other. It’s part of evolution. Back then, it was the circle jerk. Nowadays it’s who can do the most stupid thing on a skateboard. It’s not what they do to compete. It’s that they always find a way to compete.”

“Maybe. So. Who usually won?”

“That’s it? Just ‘maybe’?”

“I answered your question,” she said. “Now you have to answer mine. A deal’s a deal. You always tell me how important it is to honor one’s promises.”

I closed my eyes. I’d been outsmarted. Her whole little speech might have been complete nonsense, but it checked all the boxes on the contract I had unwittingly made.