Flexing My Pecker for the Freckled Hippo

There was this odd woman who worked for the same company I did. We both had a habit of showing up very early for work.

I never knew her. I never even learned what her name was. I just remember that she was very quiet, red-haired, freckled, short, immensely fat and either very shy or socially maladjusted.

Because we both kept the same early schedule, I often found myself riding up on the elevator with her. At first I tried to be pleasant by making small talk with her, but this only seemed to make her more uncomfortable so I stopped. From that point forward, the best she got out of me was a faint smile and a feeble nod of my head acknowledging her presence.

Then one morning on the long elevator ride I noticed that she seemed to be staring at my crotch. I wondered why.

Were my pants not fully zipped? Did I fail to flick my pecker dry and end up with a pee-spot on my trousers?

For no good reason I suddenly decided to flex my vital statistic as mightily as I could.

She immediately averted her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, blushing noticeably as the elevator doors opened and she exited the elevator on her floor.

I never caught my red-headed, freckled, low-slung hippo pal staring at my crotch again.

Ever.