Captain Long Dick

Lowell Jackson was an intelligent man, but he didn’t feel it at the moment. He was hot, tired, cranky, and more than a little aggravated. He knew going into this, the lake's going to be crowded. That there would be drunk, half-naked college kids, screaming and dancing with the kind of ease and loudness only the obliviously arrogant achieved. As well as off-duty recruits from the local army base begging for fights, girls, and the opportunity to ruin their careers. He used to be one of those kids. He could remember it clearly. He was at the age where he could dismissively call them kids and still feel uncomfortable saying that out loud. It's a magic number close enough to the big forty mark that you could still ignore it.

Although the insult of kids was still a bridge too far for him, Dumb ass wasn’t, and it remained his chosen speech impediment as he did his yearly pilgrimage to this accursed lake. The imagined quiet morning, drifting off into the deep side of the lake where the sun would rise and reflect the water in a golden hue, never happened. It never did. Instead, he spent the morning **** down overpriced hot dogs while almost getting into a fist fight with a boy half his age over a twenty-dollar parking spot. Then he had to get a rental boat, which cost more money. More lines. More headaches as they made him fill out more paperwork than his enlistment forms. Probably a consequence of how many drunken accidents had occurred, which did nothing to calm his boiling rage as he finally got out onto the lake to mourn.

The memories of her smiles, her laughs. The way her back shook every time she sneezed, or how she had a perfect ratio of honey and lemon juice in her morning tea. It was all so painstakingly specific that if he tried to explain, he would sound like a crazy person, but the best kind of love was like that. He was crazy, though. It’s been four years, and he’s still doing this masochist trek every anniversary. He should move on. Live his life. It's why he worked his ass off. It’s why he went through the full twenty fucking years of bullshit for that beautiful pension that probably wasn’t worth it. Twenty years of yelling and being yelled at. Of messed-up knees and the permanent scowl of disgust that seemed etched into every officer.

He both loved and hated the army. It was a complicated relationship that he would need a shrink to untangle. He didn’t go to the sandbox. He didn’t kill people or blow anything up. He was a radio specialist, and he didn’t hide or spread classified information either. Most of the time. His entire job was to help coordinate recruits truthfully. It was letting each base know the exact number of people they were getting at the time, place, and if there were any delays. Yes, it could’ve been done by cellphone, and many times was, but there's value in having an alternative mode of communication that’s a lot less fragile. Plus, the fact that it required hideously expensive equipment meant it wasted money, which is a national pastime for the Government. Yet, while it wasn't fun being stuck in an office talking to five different people through a grainy radio left over from the Cold War, before you moved through the chain of command enough to find the right person to yell or be yelled at. It wasn’t the worst.

It was twenty years of being called Captain Long Dick Jackson that nearly killed him. He would love to say some line about grass being greener, but every single time he tried to explain why his cock was too big, people would get mad or laugh at him. They didn’t understand that the average woman can only stretch so much, and once you’re past the ten-inch mark it gets painful. At that point, to fit you're punching up against the cervix. Something as pleasant for the woman as getting kicked in the balls. Once you're past fourteen inches, you move on from really painful to a trip to the hospital if you get an inexperienced partner. Vaginal tears are as disgusting and horrible as they sound. Yes, it’s over fourteen inches. He’s had it measured many times without his consent.

What’s worse than the lack of viable partners was the reputation it came with. Army barracks have public bathrooms, and despite managing to hide it all through basic training, the truth came out in the worst possible way. See, his "comrades" noticed his embarrassment over his privates and thought it would be the funniest thing in the world if they stole his clothes and dumped him outside. You can probably imagine how that went with the overgrown manchildren we call the nation's finest. It meant so many jokes, remarks, pranks, and worst of all, propositions from the real trashy bunk bunnies. The kind that you wouldn’t trust a condom to protect you from the diseases she was carrying.

Then he found her. The one girl at the lake, smack dab in a party, reading some book with her own angry scowl on her face to match his own. The one girl who hadn't propositioned or teased him. Who wouldn’t care that he was a virgin. The man with the elephant trunk-sized cock and the girl with a pussy that didn’t work, it sounded like a crude joke. The plot of some B-movie polluting dollar stores, a coked-up comedian would dream of, then regret for the rest of his life. But Vaginismus was a real disease that caused the muscles down there to contract painfully and made normal sex incredibly painful.

It was the lack of judgment and expectations. Of having to be something. Of always being seen as the big stud or the biggest man. In all actuality, Lowell was a nerd. He liked reading World War battle reenactments or repairing cheap ham radios. He ran away to the army looking for that manhood and purpose, but he found it with her. She found simplicity in him. A guy who was somehow more scared of sex than she was, and just wanted a connection. Who loved a quiet book by the fireplace or to snuggle when watching a favorite movie. The simplicity of intimacy seemed so far away without sex as the key or glue to bring it together was finally theirs to share. But she’s gone now.

She’s gone and all twenty years of jokes to get the retirement money, to build that dream cabin out in the woods, to live the life they wanted. It was wasted. It was for nothing. He could’ve spent that time with her instead of at the job he hated. He should’ve. He should stop feeling sorry for himself and ask for directions because he was officially lost. He just had to get away from the noise and people, and used this river cutting in as the landmark. Trying to think. Trying to bitch at the unfairness of the world with the privacy of his thoughts and a few beers he technically shouldn’t have on the rental boat. Now he was lost, and a naked girl was shivering on a dock in front of him.

“Are you okay, miss?” Lowell asked as he shielded his eyes from the sun with the palm of his hand, while conveniently covering up how much he was blatantly staring at the work of art in front of him. Long golden blond hair trailing down to her fat butt and thick thighs with enough muscle mixed in to flex her stomach. More bottom-heavy than top, perfectly matching Lowell’s preferences. It ended with a button nose and blue eyes partially hidden by the bright star-studded red cowboy hat she wore proudly. Her pink lips turned upwards in a smug smile at his reaction to her show.

“I’m Bobbi and I’m peachy. Even if my friend fucked me over.” The girl answered with a noticeable southern twang. Not bothering to get up from the spot where she was sunbathing. A single foot lazily kicking at the war, and exposing her coochie every time she raised it too far. Lowell swore he wasn’t trying to stare. He, of all people, understood how humiliating this was, but when you can see a pair of lips, a cotton candy pink just as thick and glistening as the pair on her mouth, it's hard not to peek.

“You must not have good friends. Any clue why she did this?” Lowell asked as he handed her his shirt, trying hard not to blush when she took it and gave his abs an appreciative look herself. Lowell hit rock bottom a couple years back and was starting to get back in shape, He wouldn’t give her his jeans on account of the currently very hard elephant dick and the fact he was several sizes bigger, but once they got closer to shore he rented a locker near the boat rental with a towel and a change of clothes he could give her.

“I fucked her over. Her boyfriend specifically,” Bobbi causally mentioned as she stood up awkwardly, always making sure to face him with her butt pointed in the opposite direction. Apparently, her pussy and boobs were fine, but seeing her butt was a big no-no as she wrapped his shirt around her backside like a skirt rather than her chest. The pair of rose nipples still freely and distractingly bounced. “He was a cheating asshole, and she didn’t believe me.”

“Why did you slip and fall on his dick then?” Lowell asked a little more meanly than he wanted. He didn’t like cheaters. He’s had too many married women approach him and seen the aftermath far too much for one lifetime. Thankfully, Bobbi took it in stride and laughed loudly at his question.

“Because I’m a slut, and if he’d sleep with me, then he would sleep with anyone.” Bobbi shouts proudly, spreading her arms and legs eagle spread to show the world her body. Lowell would’ve enjoyed the view more, but her words made him more than a little uncomfortable. That girl seemed far too comfortable and was way too young to feel this low about herself. She's a kid, for god sakes. She should be enjoying her weekend away from school and not exposing herself to strangers as if that’s all she’s good for.

“You're pretty mature. Most of your peers wouldn’t have owned up to shit, would’ve lied. That counts for something.” Lowell complimented, getting a giggle from the girl as if what he said didn’t matter. He didn’t try to say she had more value than being a slut, despite how much he wanted. That would’ve been taken as an insult, so he ignored his inner gentleman for the time being.

“The nice thing about being dumb is that you don’t feel bad for calling yourself dumb.” Bobbi snapped her fingers and pointed them in his direction with finger guns. Only making him feel even more crumby despite her bubbly attitude.

“You got somewhere quiet where you can get your clothes and dignity back before you confront your friend?” Lowell asked as he held onto both sides of the boat to keep it from tipping over as Bobbi settled in. Her hand was holding her cowboy hat rather than covering anything as she snuggled closer to him for warmth. Something Lowell tried very hard not to call attention to.

“Was anyone looking for me?” Bobbi asked, not surprised at all by Lowell's guilty glance away. Sluts were to be used for your fun and nothing else. If they were hurt or it was something serious, that was her problem, not theirs. That frustration caused Bobbi to rant as she started giving Lowell directions back. “I’m cold, tired, hungry, and blueballed. I don’t want to be anywhere near Claire’s cabin.”

“You’ve got money on you?” Lowell asked, earning himself a raised eyebrow from the self-proclaimed slut as if asking if she had money, would she be in this predicament. Grumbling to himself about dumb ass kids and their even dumber pranks, Lowell quickly spat out before he could change his mind. “The hotel room I booked is a double bed; you can stay there for the night.”

“If you're worried about security, it’s super crowded and there’s a police station nearby.” Lowell quickly and awkwardly supplied once he realized how propositioning a naked girl for a trip to his hotel room might be skewed. He was genuinely trying to be chivalrous, and the police station nearby was something he specifically chose when planning the trip so his hotel would be quieter. Drunk party goers obviously stayed far away from that building. That and it was one of the few places with free reservations.

“Do you need me to suck your dick for being a hero?” Bobbi asked, completely unbothered and in fact drooling more than a little at the prospect. He was a handsome enough guy. She didn’t usually go for daddies, and even though his messy black hair and fuzzy five o’clock shadow had more than a little silver mixed in. It worked well on him between the hard muscles and disinterested scowl. Between that and the camo hunting vest he wore like a second pair of skin, he was obviously a veteran. Something Bobbi had experience playing with, and was more than happy to take his mind off whatever was bothering him without the offer of a boat ride.

“No. My name is Lowell, and my wife died recently. I’m not interested in any of that right now.” Lowell quickly lied. It was too embarrassing to admit he was still this torn up even after four years. It was too much to admit he didn’t want to get better despite how much he needed to; that the pity party had gotten too comfortable after all these years.

“Really? It sounds like the perfect time to get your dick sucked.” Bobbi reasoned as she snuggled closer into his back for warmth, getting a chuckle from Lowell despite the situation. Today sucked and tomorrow will probably be worse, but for a brief moment this trek finally felt nice.