At the time I considered it the best fifty dollars I had ever spent, now it was clear it was the worst. That’s not even considering shipping. “Get a Clone-a-Willy,” they said. “It will be fun,” they said. Yeah, it was fun. But what now?
Helena broke up with me last week. At first, I was crushed. I still am. We were together for almost two years. The possibility of her being the one had crossed my mind once or twice. But lately, things weren’t as they used to be. The laughter wasn’t there as much, and the compliments to each other had become a rarity.
So yes, I was still sad about the breakup, but there was no time to focus on that. As soon as I remembered the Clone-a-Willy I had given her, I realized I was screwed.
If you don’t know what I’m talking about, a Clone-A-Willy is a kit you buy where they give you everything you need in order to make a plastic replica of your penis. In other words, you can gift your partner your piece and they can use that instead of a boring, way-too-big, traditional vibrator.
When I gave it to Helena she laughed at first. But after trying it I think she changed her mind. Yes, it was a novelty item, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to have her think about me while she was horny and we weren’t able to be together.
I first remembered its existence when she dropped off a box of my stuff this morning. She left it with my roommate. She knows what time I go to the bathroom every day and she used that as an opportunity to avoid seeing me.
When I got out, obviously feeling lighter and ready to start the day, I saw the box and a new knot formed in my stomach. It was tough going through it because most items had history. The ticket stub from our first movie date, the Black Keys t-shirt from our first concert, the toothbrush from our first try at anal play. It was all there, the things that belonged to me, and even the things that didn’t, but reminded her of me, like these ugly Christmas sweaters. I always loved the Holidays.
The only thing missing in the box was the dildo. When I bought it I didn’t think about what would happen to it if we broke up. I see that as a good thing. I did not consider us no longer being together. If I did, I would have never tattooed her name on my shin. But now it was over and I was left with the tattoo and her with incriminating evidence on me.
Not that I was embarrassingly small. I mean, I’m not big, but not small either. To put it another way, when I was young and would go skinny dipping with a group of friends, I wouldn’t be the first to drop my trousers. I would wait until most people had their backs to me and were trotting to the water before I undressed. It would be a double win because I would get the best view of all of them. But I would still do it. I would get naked and go in, because as I said: it’s not embarrassing. Just not as big as anyone would wish. When buying this online I saw a comment from a guy recommending buying the extra silicone refill to make sure there would be enough product and the thought did not even cross my mind. I am probably right in the middle of the average range. I just wouldn’t want Helena to show how average to anybody.
You know, women talk. Specifically about their partner’s penis. They give descriptions and details, which is fine because it still leaves most to the listener’s imagination. But having them see a diorama of it is a whole different story. And I don’t think Helena would be the type of woman to parade my plastic penis around, but why did she return everything but that? I mean, if she wanted to keep enjoying the D she wouldn’t have broken up with me. But there is only one thing I could do to make sure nothing bad would happen: to break into her apartment and steal my penis.
So now you know why I’m crouching behind a bush across the street from her apartment. I’m pretty sure a homeless man was sleeping right here not even six hours earlier. The smell is putrid. But this was an impromptu mission and I have no idea if she’s at work already or not.
Helena is the Diversity Coordinator at a big Hollywood agency. Whatever that means. She’s white, and not even the “diverse” type of white. Both sides of her family trace back to good old Great Britain, and they named her Helena because they like Greek literature. Not that that’s bad per se, but I just never understood what she did. Just like she never understood my job as the Creative Director of this pretty dope start-up… But anyway, I’ve been sitting on this street for about twenty minutes staring at her window and it doesn’t seem like there’s anybody home, so I’ll try to get inside.
Last I saw, she kept my dick on her bedside table. Top drawer, behind the Bible, behind the nail files and tweezers, behind the lube. All I need to do is get through the building’s entry door, her apartment door, and through her miniature pinscher, Argo. But not after the Ben Affleck movie I was told. He never liked me, but that’s why I brought a piece of old bread.
I look at both sides of the street and there’s nobody in sight. On the way over I thought about the ways of getting into the building: breaking in – bad idea; ringing every apartment’s intercom until somebody lets me in – only works in the movies; waiting outside the door until somebody comes in or out – possibly my best chance, but could take all day; and lastly, I could use the keypad to type in the passcode. The only problem? I don’t remember the code. She would always just ring me in.
Chances are the code is her birthday, but… could be the third, the thirteenth, or the thirtieth of September. I’m just not that good with dates. My modus operandi in relationships is always to say I don’t like giving gifts on specific occasions, and rather give them at random, “because this way you don’t see them coming.” Which means, this way it’s okay for me to forget and I don’t have to overpay for chocolate on Valentine’s day. I actually gave her the Clone-a-Willy in late January, so she took it as my Valentine’s day gift, even though it was my Christmas gift.
Let me try September third.
BEEP BEEP.
Nope. I know for a fact that you can only do three failed attempts before it alerts the resident’s phone. So, I can still try the thirteenth and the thirtieth, except I’m only ninety percent certain it’s September and not March. But it’s definitely one of the two.
BEEP BEEP.
Well, it’s certainly not September Thirteen…
RIIIIIING.
Fuck it, I try hitting a random apartment doorbell. Maybe my life is a movie and it will work.
“Hello? Who’s this?” asks the resident of unit 104.
Fuck… They’re not supposed to respond. They either let me in or ignore it.
DRRRRR.
And just like that, the door opens, and a really hot blonde walks out. Like, really hot. Like, why did I never see her before? I wonder if Helena knows her.
My gaze lingers too long on her behind and as I turn to the door it is about to shut. I make the calculated decision to shove my hand in between the lockset and the wall. Luckily, the door is not too heavy and I’m able to hold it open before it guillotines my fingers.
“Hellooo? Are you still there?” asks the unemployed person at 104. Doesn’t he have anything else to do?
“Sorry, wrong unit,” I say, as I step inside the building. But on second thought, I shove my head back outside, “Actually! Any chance you know one of our neighbors? The tall blonde girl, skinny built, keen nose, timid smile, unabashed breasts, and what seemed like a Mickey Mouse tramp stamp?”
“Yeah, that’s my daughter!” he responds.
“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s another girl.”
“Listen to me–” he starts.
I walk away. But 104. 104. 104. I’ll keep that in mind for later.
I approach Helena’s door and I check under the mat. Nothing. She used to keep a key under there, but after one of her neighbors got burglarized she stopped. I asked for my own key “in case I ever want to put together some surprise or something,” but she didn’t want to give me one yet. After two years!
But that’s fine. I expected this. So I knock on the door and run down the hallway. Just to be certain nobody is home.
Nothing. Nothing other than the fucking annoying barking from Argo. I swear she had no right to break up with me ipso facto of my patience with this stupid dog.
It’s time for plan B. Ergo, I open the hallway balcony door. It’s right next to Helena’s balcony. Probably five feet apart. Manageable. And worth it to keep the sanctity of my penis private.
I haven’t even figured out what I’ll do to the dildo once I recoup it. I guess the logical thing to do would be to keep it. But that seems pretty gay. Some might even say it’s self-absorbing. But I think it’s just gay. I could trash it. But I would feel weird about somebody finding it. I know most likely they wouldn’t know it is mine, but what if? What if after the start-up takes off and I get promoted to chairman and I’m doing all these interviews for Forbes, FastCompany, and the Wall Street Journal photos of my plastic penis leak? That’s risky. OR if a homeless woman finds it and starts using it. I know it’s just a piece of polymer. Polymer? I think so. But anyway, it’s just a piece of polymer, but I feel a particular connection to it. I think if a homeless person used it, I would probably feel it. And what if they’re ugly? I could try to melt it, but that would probably take so much work.
The hallway balcony door is locked, but it’s just a little latch anyone can open. So I do it. I step outside and take a look at the balcony. It seems a little more than five feet now that I’m here, but still doable.
I GOT IT! What if I just keep the toy for my next serious girlfriend? I mean, she might be the one. I’ll sterilize it of course, but I see no reason why someone else can’t enjoy it. But maybe I’ll wait until we get married. Make sure she’s actually the one, so I won’t have to go through something like this again.
There is one thing I can’t do right now and that is to look down. But I have an entrepreneurial mindset. I’m a risk taker. So I make the mistake of peeking… It’s only the third floor, but man oh man. This shit is high.
Maybe it doesn’t matter if she has it. I mean… I don’t think she would show it to anybody and so what if she has it? Let her enjoy it. It’s kind of sad that she can’t let go like that, but I guess my dick is hypnotizing. Or, she forgot to return it. It just wasn’t on top of her mind… Naaah, it was probably the first scenario.
And just like that, I’m about to give up. But I see a Tesla parking across the street. A Tesla. That’s a sign. Elon Musk is one of my biggest inspirations. Would Elon give up? Never.
Thus, I take a step back, a deep breath, and do a little spiritual chant, just like Matthew McConaughey on The Wolf of Wall Street. I’m ready to do this. I step over the edge and take a leap of faith. I reach out and grab the railing on the other balcony.
Maybe it wasn’t that far away. Maybe it was three feet, not five? I don’t know, I’m not good with distances. What matters is that I’m in. Helena always leaves her balcony door open because she likes to have the air circulate. I guess that’s something women like.
I enter the room and immediately little Argo comes running toward me.
“Hey, buddy… You little shit-head who likes to poop on the carpet right before she’s about to suck me…”
He growls at me with his buggy eyes. I know he’s ready to bite me, so I reach for the old piece of bread I found in my pantry and I throw it far away. Deep into the living room. He falls for it like the idiot he is.
That should buy me plenty of time.
And just like that I’m in, and I’m clear. I walk to the bedside table, open the drawer and–
Nothing! Even worse than that, she has a different toy in there. Behind the Bible, behind the women’s shit, and behind the lube – and some condoms… Never seen those – is a different dildo. One with ridges and what seems to be a vibrating mode.
I sniff it. Just to make sure it’s used and not something she just bought to get over the breakup. It’s been used. For a while. So I sniff again. Just to make sure it belongs to her and not one of her friends who maybe has an insecure boyfriend so asked her to keep it for her. It’s hers. I think.
Whatever… if it’s not there maybe it’s in her underwear drawer. It’s not. However, she did buy some new pairs. Interesting. She knows I don’t like green panties, but I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.
Where the fuck could this be?
I look around. If I were Helena, where would I keep it? The closet! She keeps all sorts of junk on the top shelf of her closet.
There are three boxes on the shelf, two transparent ones with what look like journals, and one fluffy pink one. So I reach for the pink one, but it’s kind of high. And if I think it’s high, it’s high. People usually assume I’m 5’8”, but actually I’m almost 5’10”.
My fingertips tap against the box, trying to move it towards me, but…
IT FUCKING FALLS. On top of me. The lid opens, and A BUNCH of sex toys flies everywhere…
The dog comes in barking, my forehead aches from what seems like at least ten inches of whiplashing against my face, and I’m covered in everything from handcuffs to whips. Plural. There are different colors and different models of whips.
She never showed me any of these toys. And there’s no way she just bought all of these in the past week. This is a collection. One that has been in the works for years, building item after item. Just glancing, I can see seven butt plugs. WE NEVER DID ANAL.
Wait. Do you hear this?… Silence. Argo is no longer barking. He’s not chomping away on my shin. Where is he?
I turn around and he perks up. We look deep into each other’s eyes and I see it in his mouth. MY PENIS! He runs into the living room. I run after him.
He probably thinks it’s one of his toys because it’s purple. I chose purple because pink would be too emasculating. Black would be just sad, anybody would look at it and think there’s something missing. And the glow-in-the-dark one was ten bucks more expensive. So it was between white and purple.
My penis has a lot of veins and what looks like a couple of stains. Stains that are under the wrong light make it seem… spotty. So I didn’t want the white. I knew the stains wouldn’t show in the replica, but I just figured purple was cool. And her favorite color is orange so I figure those two match.
Argo dives under the couch. I push the couch against the wall, exposing him. He runs across the center table. I run around, but so does he. We keep running in circles for a second. He finally stops and runs to the kitchen, but I take the other side of the counter and bump into him.
“Gotcha!”
He runs right into my feet, drops the dildo, and tumbles backward. It’s kind of funny actually. He makes a move to go for the toy again, but I jump forward, scaring him. He goes to his bed.
Finally! I grab the dick. It’s disgusting. Super wet and slimy from the droll. But wait.
This is not mine… It’s not my penis. It’s the same tone of purple, but it’s actually much bigger. I could have sworn that it looked like mine from a distance.
“Kyle? What the fuck?”
Shit! I turn around and there’s Helena.
“How did you get in here? And why are you holding my dildo?” she asks.
“I can explain…”
She reaches in her purse for her phone, “I’m calling the cops.”
“No! I’m serious, I can explain.”
She stops dialing, but she does not put her phone away. She holds it up in the air as if it were a weapon keeping me at distance.
“Why are you even here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” I ask.
“It’s Saturday, you moron.”
Fuck… I knew traffic was too good to be true.
“Okay, I’ll come clean. I was in the neighborhood and–” She starts unlocking her phone again.
“Okay! Okay! You dropped off my things this morning, but you never returned the replica of my dick I made you. I don’t know why you didn’t, but I needed to get it back before you could go around humiliating me to all your friends, aka, possible future dates for me, by parading my organ as some sort of laughing stock.”
I guess it was best to come clean. We did have two good years under our belt. I’m sure she would be understanding. Not call the cops. Give me back the toy. Maybe even have breakup sex since we didn’t have a chance last week. But instead, she started laughing.
“Are you insane? You broke into my house to steal a sex toy you gave me?” she questioned.
I nodded.
“Dude, you need help. And I already showed the dildo to all my friends.”
“What?!”
“Yeah, I Snapchatted it to everyone the day you gave it to me. Next to a battery for comparison,” she exaggerated.
“Double or Triple A?”
“I did it ’cause it was a hilarious and weird gift. You gave me that as a joke right?”
I just nodded again.
“I mean, sure, I used it a couple of times, but the material sucked. It created too much friction and it didn’t react well to lube. And it didn’t vibrate. You know all my fun comes from the outside.”
I’m puzzled.
“You do know that, right?”
I nod again. With some confidence. I mean, I’m not an idiot, I know most women can only come through clitoral stimulation, but I didn’t know that was the case with Helena. I just always did a little bit of everything. She seemed to like that.
“So where’s my dick?” I asked.
“I trashed it. Like three months ago. I thought you knew. I mean, we never used it when you were over, so I figured you put two and two together.” she responded.
“So you went sub rosa on me and trashed my gift? Did we break up because I wasn’t satisfying you enough? In bed.”
She laughed. “The only reason why we were together for so long is that you’re surprisingly good in bed. I mean, I wouldn’t have guessed by looking at you. Much less by talking to you. And your penis is on the lower end of the spectrum in terms of size–”
“It’s more in the middle, I would say,” I interjected.
“–but props to you. You know how to use it.” she finished.
“So why did we break up?”
“Because your penis was the best part about our relationship. And that’s very small in the totality of things. We broke up because you’re extremely pretentious, not very smart even though you try to sound so, you’re incredibly annoying and astonishingly self-absorbed,” she blabbered.
“Okay. Okay. So if I understand you correctly, you are saying I’m pretty good in bed.”
She blankly stared at me for a long second.
“Sure dude. That’s what I’m saying.”
“SWEET!”
And just like that, as if there was a magnet pulling me in, my body got close to hers, and my mouth started approaching hers.
“Get the fuck out of my apartment or I’m calling the cops, Kyle.” she interrupted our moment.
“Got it! You don’t want to have sex because you might want to get back together. Capito!”
With my head held high, I walked out of the apartment. I mean, I knew I was good in bed, but not that I was like a God. I didn’t know of the effect I had on women.
And as if God was trying to tell me something, who do I bump into on my way out of the building?
“104?” I ask.
And the blonde girl from early stops and takes in my face.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“No. But wouldn’t you like to? Maybe over dinner? Or a movie? At my place?”
She gives me another look and walks off. She probably has a boyfriend or something. Either way, I learned an important lesson today. Not everything is about me.
I had thought that giving girls a plastic model of my penis was no longer a good idea, considering we might break up. But why? Because a couple of her friends might see my size out of context? This is not about me. I should start giving each of my new girlfriends a Clone-A-Willy, because it’s a gift for them. Although, some of them might react as Helena did and have to throw it away. I guess to have the exact replica there and not be able to enjoy it the way they do when I’m there, might be too depressing for some girls. But that’s their choice to make.
Overall, it was a good day. I mean, to learn a lesson like this? That’s priceless.