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Tall, dark, and handsome.

Cliché? Yes.

Yet it harmonised the young man who had no qualms eyeing Lou with a petulant glare, bringing forth the intensity lying within his deep brown eyes and furrowed, thick brows. The jock shuddered, only for a moment, before recouping his aplomb. No longer was Tristian the thin, awkward fellow of high school. Standing opposite them was a guy dedicated to physical training. His arms, legs and chest threatening escape from his fitted, midnight blue and virgin wool three-piece suit.

Alex took his place by his buddy, giving a curt nod to the bully-victim-turned-billionaire.

“Tristian!” once more exclaimed the effervescent Debbie Morgan.

She coursed through the grey hardwood floors and embraced her long-time friend. Tristian chuckled, returning the hug, his rich dark yet rubescent chestnut skin engrossed by Lou.

Since when were Debbie and TC this close?!

Lou gritted his teeth, his racing mind hashing over amatory signs between the two he never noticed. Doesn’t help that TC grown much taller and brawnier contra himself. The contrast made him appear younger.

A little boy.

A quick glance at TC’s groin called to wonder whether these changes came across ALL parts of his body. Before he further consider the thought, Tristian and Debbie walked towards the room’s centre.

“Well shit. TC grew up,” spoke Alex, after some pause before producing another chuckle. “Think he earned his BBC title yet?”

They returned to their table.

“I mean, wouldn’t it suck to get that swole, but still have a baby dick?”

Lou flinched, knowing far too well that answer.

“Debbie’s all over him, man. If you’re still considering shooting your shot, you better do it now.”

Alex and Lou watched the two--Debbie giggling like a schoolgirl from Tristian’s jokes.

“She looks this close to getting TC’s BBC,” added Alex, gesturing a little less than an inch with his index finger and thumb.

Knots formed in Lou’s chest and abdomen. Being caught between a rock and a hard place disconcerted him for sure. If he worked at it, he could get Debbie in half a heartbeat, but his perpetual fantasy would end in ridicule rather than anything else. No way he would endure that. Thus, leaving him with the alternative of renouncing this pipe dream.

Pipe dream...

The raffle!

With winning the raffle, he would have a chance. After surgery, concerns about size would be non-existent!

Just as Lou gathered his response, the interior dimmed with a singular spotlight illuminating the room’s centre. There Lou saw Debbie sitting with Tristian, who stood and quickly bowed before the audience before strutting his way onto the stage.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” he declared, entertaining the zealous fervour surrounding him.

A muted, stock-still tenderness cultivated Lou’s visage. How did they give this stranger overt ardour? Was it his money? Or did Tristian really make an impact beyond him? Beyond his title of TC? He looked up to find the eyes of his empowered victim on him. Though only a quick second, it transcended adequacy in exhibiting his clandestine bravado.

As if to say “I won and you lost.”

Lou gripped both fists, which did not go unnoticed by Alex, who remained quiet.

“I am here today to discuss a matter that impacts all in this room. A matter often warped by our bias and judgement. So ingrained within our psychology, we think it’s normal. I am here today to discuss body positivity...”

For the next half-hour, Tristian canvassed his enterprise through a cogent, albeit long-winded, declaration of his business’ mission: addressing the multifaceted ways body image impacts mental health, inclusivity, diversity, and one’s welfare.

Lou spitefully admitted the spiel made him feel a dab of validation about his micropenis, but he ultimately knew it was just talk. Especially in a society where your confidence or diffidence equated to the number of inches you had in your pants. I mean, how many times he had heard “small dick energy” as a descriptor for a man showcasing his masculinity through good-natured self-assurance. He rolled his eyes while Tristian continued.

“...such I wanted to give back to my community. To provide hope for those who felt even a smidgen of doubt about whether their bodies were good enough.”

Two men, dressed similarly to Tristian, began walking through the room with raffle tickets in hand.

“Now let’s get to the part I’m sure you lovely ladies and gent came here for. As a shameless measure to promote my business, we are hosting a game of chance. As I discussed before, each ticket will be $50. But with each ticket you buy, your chances increase at winning $40,000. The drawing will take place after the banquet.”

A slackness emerged atop Lou’s face, watching people purchase several tickets without abandon. $50 was inexpensive to most here, but it was a costly contrivance for even a decently paid man like himself. In truth, his only chance at winning would be to buy an inordinate number of chances.

He will surely lose buying one. The entire town appeared crammed inside with him and Alex. Even half the guests taking a singular ticket placed him at a loss.

Maybe he should consider buying five. Few would ponder spending $250 for pieces of paper. But then again, each piece was another chance at appropriating over a hundred times that amount. They would reconsider if they could.

Damn.

At this point, he would only succeed if he bought ten or more tickets. $500 may not seem much different compared to $250, but people would be more wary of spending half-a-grand on a low probability pay out.

Besides, it was all he could afford if he ended up losing and needed to get back home. Lou sighed, watching Alex pay for five tickets before Tristian’s employee approached him.