Richard Popper had just settled into his chair—briefcase tucked between his two short, fat legs, a glowing tablet nestled on his stomach, sunflower seeds clutched in his sweaty fist—when another passenger on the train, a tall, dour man in gray, approached him and put an end to his bliss.

“Sir,” the man winced, evidently reluctant to begin conversation, “Your. . . penis is showing.” Richard raised his head at the word ‘penis.’ What? Surely not. How could he have missed that? But he soon grew red as he recalled: standing elbow-to-elbow at the urinal, the strong, resonant streams cascading on either side; moving deftly through the station, crowds parting into open paths before him (he presumed out of respect); and, despite it being rush hour, effortlessly gaining first a seat, then an entire row as its former occupants fled to the opposite side of the car. “No,” he thought, “could I really have been such a fool?” The train had come to a stop. The doors opened and inhaled a gust of wind that whistled down the aisles, tickling his . . .

“My God!” Richard yelped. He was frantic—why was it erect?—and fumbled with greasy hands for where it hid under his stomach. Sunflower seeds scattered across the floor. His tablet fell on its face. An indignant woman gripping her two children soldiered past him to the exit. Hisses and boos came from all sides.

“Pervert!”

“He’s drunk!”

“Put your cock away, grandpa!” Someone in a baseball hat threw their hot dog and hit him in the side of the head. He kept still as the mustard dribbled down his chin.

“So you see,” the man in gray smiled weakly, attempting again to intervene, “it’s in all of our best interest if you would. . . wood. . . would, um, zip it up?”

But Richard was no longer listening, for a pleasant realization had flashed through his mind, soothing completely the former sting of humiliation and buoying his drowning spirits: Why was it erect? He was approaching seventy and it hadn’t risen on its own in years. He remembered when his wife began setting the pill on the bathroom counter before bed. Now it stood tall, of its own strength, for all! Yes, all to see! He was a man once again! A horny, hairy, beat-your-chest, maiden-slaying colossus of a man! Find that in a pill. If only he could make it home before he lost it. . .

“Excuse me,” the man in gray coughed for attention. “I think I’m being quite generous in my position. Will you make yourself decent, rapidly, or will I have to call the conductor?”

“The conductor?” Richard glanced out the window. “He-he! Call away! My stop’s next!” He levered himself out of his seat, feeling increasingly confident. Crumbs fell from his body as he gathered his belongings. He rested his hand on his hip: it was now on open-display. “I think the conductor should get a fine look at that, don’t you?”

“Pig!” he yelled, and dashed to another car. Richard swung his wide hips as he sauntered towards the door. No one spoke or stood in his way. A woman was praying with her Rosary. He had an urge to make one final remark, to fire one last sally at his enemies before he left, but as the train came to a halt the sliding doors opened on the other side of the car.

“That’s him!” the man in gray pointed as a blue conductor sprinted ahead.

Richard bounded off the landing and hit the platform running. His cock thwapped about, his scrotum clapping steadily with each stride. The cries from the train faded as he escaped across the street and ran down the sidewalk to his house. Pedestrians gaped in horror as he passed.

“That bitch better be home,” he panted, wiping his mouth, “I’m going to give it to her.”

He arrived at the foot of his house and hurried indoors. “Honey! Honey!” he staggered upstairs in a daze. His wife was in the bedroom. “Honey,” he stood in the door. “Look what I have for you.” He chuckled and spread his legs. “Now show me those wonderful titties.” She lowered her reading glasses and squinted. Then she got out of bed, went to the dresser, and tossed him a pair of underwear and flannels.

“Change,” she said. Richard entered and saw himself in the mirror. Ejaculate was smeared all over his crotch. He sat on the edge of the bed, biting his fist. Tears rolled down. For a long time he was silent.

“I didn’t even feel it,” he shook. “I didn’t. . .”

“I’ll go get some paper towels,” she concluded. Alone, Richard lay splayed across the comforter, and waited for his wife to return.