Spike Magazine

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me out. I felt like an object. A specimen. And there was
something missing from my life, a yearning. I tried to
have conversations with girls, in the coffee bar say, but
all the time their eyes would be flicking to my crotch.
Their tongues would run over their lips, their eyes would
glaze over. I would make a hasty excuse and leave. It
was about this time I began to get really upset about it.
Everyone had started calling me Hob Nob.
I say everyone, it’s not quite true. Some people called
me Willy Wonka.
Hey, it is NOT funny! I was a person! I was more
than a sexual organ that just happened to be flavoured
like confectionery. Everyone stared at me. All the girls
laughed when they saw me. I overheard them talking
about me. About it! I think I had a bit of a breakdown, I
couldn’t take it. All through my third year I stayed in. I
saw no one. The only person I even said Hi to was Sally
Hughes, a pretty girl with breasts so huge she seemed to
look faintly embarrassed all the time. I had overheard
a guy bragging to his friend one day, in the sports hall,
about what he’d done to them the night before.
Did you shag her? the friend asked.
No, the guy said, but I didn’t care. They were the
best breasts I ever came across. Sally Hughes used to
smile at me softly whenever we passed each other in
the square.
I had given up on my little university world. Everyone
knew everything. Because I didn’t have anything to
BUY Adam Baron books online from and
do I studied all the time. I got a First and went to New
York, Columbia, for a Masters. I took a deep breath of
fresh air. Fantastic! It was great! Nobody knew me! If I
hadn’t been for the lousy beer it would have been perfect.
I met Laurie a few months later and we started to
go out. I’d seen her around in the cafeteria on campus,
but it was only when I heard her give a paper on radical
feminism that I really noticed her. She wrote about the
politics of oral sex. She stood at the lectern in black
jeans, white tee shirt, her hair tied back severely, her
little fists clenching to emphasise a point.
Oral sex, she concluded, is degrading. The worshipping
of the phallus only serves to enforce the enslavement
of women. No woman should ever do it, and I
certainly won’t do it ever again. Ever. Thankyou.
She stepped down from the platform to rapturous
applause from a room mainly filled by women. I was
enraptured, entranced. I had to get to know her.
Well, eventually we got it together. Having no chocolate
penis to rely on, I had to be myself and for a long
time she wasn’t interested. But then it all happened.
Nights discussing politics, poetry, walks in the park,
old Cocteau movies. Love, smooth and slow, calm as
an angel. About a year after we met, she was lying in
my bed, naked, her black hair blooming like an impossible
rose against my sheets, her flawless skin almost
as white as they were. I was so happy. I started to kiss
her, to cover her with kisses. I wanted to adore her, to
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