Places I’ve Seen a Penis Without My Consent

It’s time I finally said something

I’ve seen a penis on the playground.

When I was still in elementary school, I saw a penis while I was sitting on the swings. I was minding my business, trying to keep a low profile because I was a frequent target of bullying.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. I heard someone speak, but I didn’t hear what was said.

There was a boy playing on the monkey bars. His name was Brian. He wasn’t talking to me, but I made the mistake of looking at him. We made eye contact.

“Do you want to see it, too?” he asked.

I didn’t know what he meant. If I had, I would have looked away. Instead, I was subjected to the view inside his shorts as he parted his thighs and held one leg open. He wasn’t wearing underwear.

I didn’t say anything.

I’ve seen a penis on my parents’ front porch.

When I was a pre-teen, my family lived on the first floor of a multi-family home and rented out the top two floors to tenants. The man who lived on the second floor with his wife and children would frequently sit on the front porch wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.

His penis and his testicles regularly escaped from beneath the hem of his shorts to rest directly on the cement wall where he liked to sit and chat with me and my mother.

I don’t know how many times it happened, and I only noticed it after I overheard my mother complaining about it to another family member. She still mentions it occasionally even though it’s been decades since it last happened.

Is it possible that he didn’t feel the cool, rough surface of the concrete against the heat of his skin, time after time? I don’t think it is.

I didn’t say anything.

I’ve seen a penis at a college campus.

I was sitting in a secluded corridor outside a classroom where I was scheduled to take a test for which I hadn’t studied. An old sofa tucked into a dim corner would serve me well as a study hall, I reasoned.

There was a handsome young man sitting directly across from me on another sofa. Even with my gaze focused on the notebook and stack of index cards on my lap, I still registered something strange about his attire.

For a moment, I thought he was wearing plaid pajamas. Upon further inspection, I saw that he was wearing a plaid bathroom that was tied at the waist but gaped open above and below the belt.

Our eyes met.

He stood. “I have something to show you,” he said, turning to face away from me.

I could see his arm moving vigorously. When he turned around, his robe was entirely undone. His penis was erect and entirely exposed. He looked at me expectantly.

When I simply shrugged and went back to my studying, he became frantic. His face fell. “Please,” he begged as he tied his robe shut. “Don’t report me. I’m a model for the art class across the hall, and I don’t want to lose my job.”

“Fine,” I said. “I just want to study for my test.”

I didn’t say anything.

I’ve seen a penis at a bar.

The penis in question belonged to a coworker named Billy. Although he had a girlfriend, and I had a boyfriend, there was a mutual attraction. He was a blue-eyed blond who reminded me of my first serious relationship, and I thought he was cute even though he was a bit of a jerk.

During our 30-minute lunch breaks at work, we would walk to Burger King together for a Whopper Jr. and a small order of fries. After work, we would frequently drive to a nearby restaurant, sit at the bar, and order drink after drink until we ran out of money.

On the night I saw his penis for the first and last time, he asked me for a ride home from work. Instead of our usual restaurant and bar, we stopped by a place closer to his home.

The bar was packed. I sat on a bar stool, while Billy stood beside me. Between drinks, we shared wet and sloppy kisses that drew jeers from the other drinkers. They shouted, “Get a room,” every time we went in for another drunken kiss.

That’s when Billy hunched forward like he was shielding a cigarette from the wind and showed me his penis. He stood there holding it for my inspection, huddling close to me in an attempt to hide it from nearby bar patrons.

I didn’t touch it despite his invitation. We left the bar, and I drove him home. He invited me inside for sex, but I declined. I kissed him anyway.

The next day at work, I noticed people exchanging looks and whispering behind my back. Even the deliverymen got into the act. I knew something was going on, and Billy wouldn’t even talk to me.

I found out later that he’d told everyone I performed fellatio on him. That never happened, but I didn’t have a chance to confront him. He quit the following day.

I didn’t say anything.

I’ve seen a penis at work.

Although I did see my coworker Billy’s penis, I never actually saw it while at work. That distinction goes to another coworker, whose name was Ronald.

He was engaged to be married, and he spoke of his bride-to-be only in the most glowing terms. Although we developed a close at-work rapport, I felt completely secure in the fact that he had eyes only for his future wife.

Ronald showered me with compliments about what a cool girl I was, and I accepted his admiration gratefully but without surprise. I thought I was pretty cool, too. It was all in good fun. We were “just friends.”

One day, he paid me the highest of compliments. “I would never cheat on my wife,” he said, “but if I did, it would be with you.”

I still didn’t get the message until he started walking too close to me in my workspace and nudging my breasts with the sides of his arms as he passed. One time, he nudged me so hard in the chest with his elbow that I lost my balance and fell to the dirty warehouse floor.

He just laughed.

I started taking my breaks outside to avoid being alone with him in the breakroom, and that’s where he finally cornered me and showed me his penis. “Touch it,” he pleaded. “Come on. Touch it.”

I didn’t touch it. He was fired shortly after that incident, but it was unrelated to his penis.

I didn’t say anything.

It’s time I finally said something.