The Downside of Being Up by Alan Sitomer

Author:Alan Sitomer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2011-07-25T04:00:00+00:00

14

Now, everyone my age knows there is really only one place you are not allowed to get a boner. Nope, it’s not church. I’ve sported wood on the pew a bunch of times. And no, it’s not the swimming pool, either. Although I do admit, bathing-suit boners are the worst. Ain’t no backstroke when you have one of those woodies going, I tell ya that. No, the only place you are not allowed to get a boner is in the boys’ locker room. It’s like an unspoken rule of life or something.

Of course, it’s not really fair that they make all the boys get naked with one another at the same time. I mean, just because I’m in eighth grade doesn’t mean that I’m as big as some of the other eighth graders.

Not that I’m a pecker peeker or anything.

See, when you’re getting naked in a room full of other naked people, as I happened to be doing the next day, it’s kind of like driving by a car accident. You don’t want to look to see what the damage is, but you kind of can’t help yourself either, and most of the time you do end up catching a glimpse. But to do that in the boys’ locker room is strictly off-limits.

Me, I strip and I dress. No small talk. No extended towel drying. No allowing my wanker to flop around in front of other people. Strip and dress, that’s the rule.

“Hey, Bobby, want to hear my latest poem for English class?”

Arrgh!

“Finkelstein!! Put on some clothes.”

“What?” he said. “We’re all men here.”

I turned away from Finkelstein’s hairless bologna. Jeez, the kid didn’t even have a sprout of pubes yet?

“Finkelstein,” I ordered. “Put on some clothes and stop staring me in the face with your dinglehoffer, ya freak.”

“Okay, you don’t want to hear my poem for English class, fine. Let’s hear yours,” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

“I haven’t done it yet,” I said, looking away. Still no towel.

“You know you can’t pass English this quarter without having recited a poem in front of the class, Bobby,” he informed me. “And if you don’t pass third quarter English, they automatically make you go to summer school.”

“I’ll do it,” I said.

“When?”

“I said, I’ll . . .”

Just then, while trying to avoid looking at Finkelstein, I noticed Tommy Williams.

And he had the hugest schlong I had ever seen!

My God, it was the thickest, beefiest, longest, down-to-his-knee pecker I had ever witnessed on an eighth grader. And I bet that when he got a boner, it grew to be the size of a big-league baseball bat.

“Uh, Bobby . . . ?” Finkelstein asked.

I didn’t respond. Tommy possessed the most mammoth tube ever attached to a thirteen-year-old boy in the history of children. Elephants had less reproductive material.

“Um, Bobby . . . ,” Finkelstein said again.

How did Tommy even walk?

“Hey, Bobby, snap out of it! What are you doing, staring at Tommy’s penis?”

Suddenly, every boy in the locker room froze . . .

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