In the locker room after practice Hans walks up to you totally naked with an uncircumcised unit, a flaccid kaleidoscope jangling between his legs. The first time you see it you don’t know what it is. You think it is infected. You think you should tell Coach. You are sure it is serving as an anatomic anchor. You are sure it is slowing him down.
You have never seen an uncircumcised penis before. It looks like an ice-cream push up frozen to the tip of a freshly peeled banana; a pair of late-70’s tube socks mated and rolled into a fist placed over the nose of an autumnal gourd. It dangles. It looks like the trunk of something wooly salvaged from the last Ice Age taking snorts between his lost loins.
Everyone in the shower is wearing flip-flops to avoid garnering athletes foot. The shower looks like a the stem of a chrome palm tree. Water hisses and sighs. It is almost impossible to get lathered up. We are all naked with are units dangling like ebony and ivory upside-down gourds between the geometric drywall pyramids of our thighs. We are showering. We are completely naked even though we are wearing flip flops clopping across the locker room, showering naked together.
You walk out naked, penises hung flaccid, clamps to an unknown bell.
You try not to make eye contact with Hans.
You open your locker and slip out of the pair of Umbros you have been wearing. Inside your locker are pictures of Kim Zmeskal and World 1500 meter champion Noureddine Morceli. You wonder if the petite gymnasts you drooled over all summer float around naked en masse after they kick off their one-piece leotard into a puddle, vaginas blinking in the center of lithe frames like a elevator button to an unknown world.
Hans’ locker is directly next to yours. Hans has one flip-flopped foot raised on the enjoining vertical bench in the front of the lockers. He is toweling in a fashion that looks like he is jerking off.
“So, Dave, how was your first day of classes?”
I am trying not to look at his unit. I am trying not to think how it looks like a damp Homecoming tulip bowed in the direction of our fungal infested floor.
LaGrotto says nothing. He seems content to be naked far after every one else is clothed.
“Oh, and my English teacher. Mr. Reents. He is just amazing. He may be the most brilliant human being I have ever met.”
Hans lights up when I say the name of Mr Reents.
“Yeah, he’s really cool. He’s like my mentor. You should do really well in his class indeed.”
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