I can hardly believe that Lexi ate all the fugu. I can’t believe I gave her a warning. I’d been so pissed with her; I was certain I was going to watch her eat the damn thing and tease her afterward. Jesus, have I become that immature?

As I open the car door for Lexi to get in I realize that whatever happened on television during her interview, I need to let it go. Lexi wasn’t trying to expose me to the world—if she had been, she would have made sure she got good coin from it. I walk around the car and sit in the driver seat. God, I feel so damn stupid.

“Brett, there’s something I’ve got to tell you. Something I’ve been trying to tell you.” She gives me a worried look. “My friend Clarissa’s art is political. She’s trying to make a statement. She’s exposing a lot of men to do it, too.”

“How do you mean?”

“Her art features the interview we had with Dion … which became about your dick.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me? Didn’t you try to stop her?”

“Here’s the thing; she’s basically trying to point out that though I had no control of the direction of the camera, I got the blame for the whole cockgate thing.”

“Ugh. Would people stop calling it that?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” she says sympathetically.

My expression softens, “It’s only a drawing, right?”

“Yeah.” She looks down to her feet. “I promise you it doesn’t look like an exact replica. Don’t forget there were all sorts of censors on you. Besides, your dick isn’t what the art show is about. She’s making a political point.”

“Well, so long as my dick isn’t the talk of the town afterward. Suppose everyone has seen it already,” I say with a huff. I look over as she tosses her hair back and her pretty, blonde waves sway across her black lace dress. I’m tempted to rake my hands through her beachy locks.

“Brett, you can’t walk around New York thinking that everyone has seen your dick and that everyone cares. This is New York. Your dick is yesterday’s news.”

“Ha ha.” I realize she’s right, and it’s the first time I can see the lighter side of the cockgate incident. “Shall we go reminisce then?”

“Why the hell not? I like your dick.”

My mouth twitches and I start the car.

“Another warning,” she says as we drive off. “You may find that Clarissa smells of weed.”

“She’s an artist. Don’t they all do that?”

When we arrive at the gallery I see loads of people entering and my nerves stand on end. I wasn’t expecting it to be a big show. I might have to consider buying the piece Clarissa has made. Ugh.

I park the car and go around to help Lexi out. She blushes as I open the door and she takes my hand. As we walk hand in hand, I note how formally dressed the attendees are. Though I’m not in a suit, I’m glad I wore dress pants. “Have you ever been to an art gallery?” I ask as we move toward the large glass entrance doors.

“No. This is the first one I’ve ever been to. Anne has tried to convince me to go to several, but I think I’m going to have a hard time tonight.”

“Oh? Why did you decide to come?”

“Clarissa gave me some weed. Couldn’t say ‘no’ after that.”

I chuckle.

She smiles weakly. “What I’m actually worried about is if someone starts talking about art as if I should understand or interpret the pieces. If they start talking about other artists, I’ll have no idea what to say.”

“No worries sports bunny, I got you covered.”

She gives me a funny look, “I didn’t think you were serious when you said you were cultured. But you’re interested in art?”

I press my lips together, “No. But I made sure to study up on it before we came.”

She giggles and it’s the sweetest sound. It’s then I notice that her laugh doesn’t sound the same as it does on television; she sounds more genuine and carefree. It’s light, airy, like wind chimes. We stand in the lineup. “Did your friend mention how much it costs to get in?” I ask.

“I’m not sure if going to an art show costs anything.” She surveys the lineup of people around us. “It shouldn’t if she wants people to buy her work.”

“Should be interesting to see who buys our piece.”

She lifts her brow, “I was thinking you might try to buy it for yourself—keep it out of the public eye.”

“Yeah,” I say. “The thought has crossed my mind. But then again, where the hell would I hang it?”

“Above any trophies or Super Bowl rings you have or will receive during your career,” she says, teasing.

I snigger, “Not a bad idea, Driver.”

“I would if I were you.”

We enter and there is a fee, but the money is being donated to charity, which I like. We walk down a dark wide corridor, then turn a corner. Boom. There is a sculpture of a huge dick with a strange bend in it—not mine. There’s a banner next to it with the title emblazoned in a red racy font.

“Bitch Slapped by Cock?” I ask, my hand covering my mouth. I lean onto the wall next to me, howling. I wish I could keep myself together. But I can’t, and people nearby are staring.

“Brett! What the hell?” Lexi says through gritted teeth. “You can’t do that! This isn’t a joke! It’s art!”

“Does Clarissa seriously expect anyone to walk through here and not lose it? That’s a twenty-foot shlong!” I guffaw. “Christ, Driver, don’t tell me you can hold a straight face.” I look up and notice that her straight face has already begun to crack. Then she starts giggling next to me. “I don’t think that is her desired effect.”

I give her a look.

She smirks, “Okay, don’t forget she was high when she did all this.”

I fall back onto the wall, feeling warm tears trickle from my eyes. “Did she seriously have to use a dick with a bend in it for the first piece?”

“We got to get it together, Brett.” She regains her composure. “We cannot walk through this gallery acting like a pair of immature school children. Look around you.”

I lift myself from the wall and watch all the other spectators casually stroll in with their snobbish expressions. They don’t see the humor. “Whatever. There’s something wrong with those people.”

“Don’t disagree with you, Brett. But do you want people staring at us for the entire night?”

“Won’t they be anyway? Your face and my cock are in there somewhere, Driver.”

“Right,” she says in frustration, “let’s get going.”

She takes me by the elbow and we begin to make our entrance into the gallery. As we walk in, we are surrounded by cock.

“Don’t they usually serve wine and cheese at these things? Or little hors d'oeuvres?” Lexi says uncomfortably.

“Anything from having to actually look at these dicks, eh, Lexi?” I elbow her side gently. “Thought you would have been in your element having gone into so many locker rooms.”

“That’s different, Brett. I discreetly sneak peeks. This show makes me feel as though someone is shoving one down my throat.

I’m about to lose it again, “Not fair, Driver, quit with the jokes.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. Honest.”

We begin to circle around the room looking at the pieces. I’m hardly interested in any of the others. Surrounded by so many dicks, I feel as though I’ve been assaulted. Too many dicks. I look around as a bunch of artsy types look up at the paintings making comments about the work. A girl spots me across the room. Ugh, the last thing I need is some girl hitting on me during a date. Girls get so jealous of that. The frizzy-haired woman approaches me. I wrap my arm around Lexi’s waist, hoping she takes the hint. I see a nearby server with a tray of wine.

“Right here,” I call out, waving him over. He comes up to us and hands both Lexi and I a glass.

“Thoughts?” the server mumbles beneath his breath.

“I feel violated.” My lips press into a hard line.

“Me too. Wait, are you Brett Brock?” he asks in astonishment.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry to tell you this, maybe you already know, but your cock is over there.” He points to the other side of the room.

“Yes, I know it’s here somewhere,” I murmur. He is then summoned by some other guests.

“Seriously, man, you should sue this bitch,” he says as he walks away.

I look over to find the frizzy-haired woman is standing next to Lexi and I.

“Thanks, Lexi! I had no idea you’d bring Brett!” Have you seen my piece yet?” The woman looks at me wide-eyed. This must be Clarissa.

“Your piece? I think your work is displaying my piece.”

Lexi’s eyes gloss over as she looks about. “I got to be honest with you, Clarissa, I felt it the night I was in your apartment—being surrounded by so many dicks makes me feel vulnerable and assaulted.”

“Yeah. I think everyone here feels uncomfortable,” I say.

“That’s the point.” Clarissa smiles. “I’m glad that I achieved my aim.”

A puzzled look comes over me as she walks away, holding her head high.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

Lexi shrugs, but I have a feeling she knows the answer. “Don’t worry, Brett, maybe one of us will get the message once we see all the paintings.”

“I’d like to see the one she did of me.”

I take Lexi’s arm and we walk toward the other side of the gallery. There are a few walls filled with works. “Ugh, this is so uncomfortable. This is not art, Driver.”

“I think she’s trying to make people feel uncomfortable. This is a man’s world. I think the feeling of vulnerability is what she is trying to convey.”

I roll my eyes, feminist commentary, great.

Finally, the piece with Lexi and I is in vision. The canvas is huge. It looks like all the magazines that have been hitting newsstands, with headlines claiming Lexi has ‘exposed’ me. There are only two differences; my dick doesn’t have a black rectangle on it and Mike is on the canvas, holding his camera on his shoulder. Why the hell is Mike there? From the corner of my eye, I can see Lexi blushing, “At least you have a nice cock.”

“Shuddap.”

“Look at the piece she’s put it next to.” Lexi points to the artwork on its left. It’s a smaller piece with some nude celebrity women and a hacker. Surrounding the women is Internet commentary, some calling the women, whores and sluts, others begging the hacker for more pics as well as some saying the women shouldn’t have been so foolish to put the pics on their phones.

I close my eyes. Christ this is so humiliating. I want out of here.

Clarissa has made her way to us again. My eyes drop to the floor. Don’t want to hear it, Clarissa.

“So, I must know, what do you think, Mr. Brock?” Clarissa asks in an innocent voice.

“Well, you certainly pay attention to detail. I noticed you didn’t put the usual black censor rectangle.”

“Well, the Internet didn’t put one there, either.” She puts her hands to her hips. “Besides, when women are exposed, so often it’s made much more public. And, women are often shamed for their own humiliation. You on the other hand weren’t. No one said, ‘Oh he shouldn’t have been changing in the locker room while they were doing an interview.’”

My blood is boiling, and I know I could get into an argument with Clarissa. But I don’t want to offend Lexi. Clarissa is her friend. “We will agree to disagree. But in my opinion, exposing someone in this manner is not art.”

“Don’t take it personal,” Clarissa says. “It’s only commentary about how our society works. It is meant to get people to reflect and think on the standards we set for women compared to men.”

Whatever. You don’t need to use my dick to achieve your ends. Get off the weed.

I can see the tension written all over Lexi’s face. She tries to diffuse the situation from escalating, “You know, though it does make an excellent point. And standing in a room filled with life-sized cocks makes us all feel … uncomfortable and vulnerable—”

“That’s how women feel in society,” Clarissa quickly answers.

I’m appalled. She is trying to steer the conversation toward her feminist perspective.

“I totally understand that,” Lexi says. “However, when feminists first started to promote rights they were fighting for the right to vote, take out a mortgage, and equal pay. They wanted to break down the barriers of double standards for women and men. I mean think about it, being a sole provider for a family is extremely stressful. Back in those times, if a man wasn’t capable of that, he wasn’t considered ‘a man.’ My impression has always been that true feminists want rights not only to help women, but to help men from their masculine role that oppresses them, too.”

I smile widely. Thanks, Lexi. Don’t want to be made out the villain of all women when there’s a huge picture of my dick on the wall!

“Here’s the thing, Lexi,” Clarissa says, “look at Brett—he makes several hundred thousand dollars a year. If a woman were to do his job, she’d make peanuts. Do you think that’s fair?”

“No, I don’t,” Lexi replies. “But at the same time, I can’t hold Brett directly responsible for the subjugation of women in society that has existed for centuries. I mean, Brett is only one man. He can’t snap his fingers and change what’s wrong with the world. Heck, all the men in this room couldn’t do that. The first step to equality is making both sexes realize that there are double standards on both sides. Putting Brett’s dick up on the wall, won’t change that. If I were him, I’d think I’d be pretty resentful.”

They both look over at me. Clarissa seems apprehensive. I swallow hard, “Well, it’s only a drawing. Everybody has seen it, anyway. But it’s true that I don’t particularly like to be used in this manner.”

“Ha!” Clarissa wags her finger. “That’s how women feel every day; used in some manner or another. It’s either by their boss that pays them less, an asshole that thinks they are somehow ‘owed’ sex, or some jerk boyfriend posting revenge porn for money. Should I go on?”

“Hm. No, Clarissa. I agree that women are treated unfairly. There is a double standard. But I don’t like the way you decided to express that.”

“Well, the beauty of art is you’re entitled to your opinion.” Clarissa turns on her heel and walks off.

“Thanks for not making a scene, Brett.” Her round eyes gaze up at me, softening me.

“Right. Well, thanks for trying to make her understand how I feel.”

“There’s a difference between feminism and misandry. Right now, I’m trying to figure out in my mind if she crossed the line. I don’t know. When I went into her apartment and looked at the art, it didn’t affect me that much.” She shrugs. “But once she put it in a public space like this, well, it feels different.”

“Should we continue walking about perving on a bunch of dick pics?” I ask, trying to make light of the situation.

She snorts, “I suppose that’s why we’re here. That, and the wine and hors d'oeuvres.” She looks about, “Come to it, why haven’t I seen someone walking about with a tray of food?”

I look about, trying to spot a server, but see none.

“Meh, no worries.” She begins to lead me about the gallery. “Suppose if we walk about, we will run into one.”

As we do, I begin to realize what an awful person I’ve been. I don’t like the manner which Clarissa is showing the double standards in society, however I’m exactly the man she described—the guy that would post revenge porn. I feel like shit. I never thought I would be that guy. Ironically, Lexi came to my rescue when I had felt objectified. Deep down, I know cockgate wasn’t her fault. Then it hits me—it was Mike’s fault. Surely, the network had told him at some point that swiftly turning the direction of the camera in the locker room was a big no-no. How did I not come to that realization earlier?

As we tour, Lexi tries to distract herself from looking at the pieces. She looks about the crowd. “Oh my God. Jimmy Schnell is here.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I ask.

“I don’t like the guy.”

“What? But you did an interview with him?” I ask.

“I find him obnoxious. Trust me, he came here tonight not to objectively look at art. He’s here to stare at a bunch of cocks.”

My eyes watch Jimmy and the enthusiasm on his face as he talks to the person next to him. Naturally he has pulled out his hands extending them as far as his arms can reach. I would think that he was telling a fishing story, but given who he is and where we are, I’m doubting that’s the subject matter. Then I realize something— he’s looking up at our painting. Gross. I want to leave; I’m hoping Jimmy doesn’t spot me. Last thing I need is to have a conversation with him about my dick pic. Lexi looks at me sympathetically, “Well, at least he can’t buy it.”

“Why not?” I ask, confused.

“Didn’t you see the price?” She gives me a curious expression.

“No.”

“It’s twenty-thousand dollars.”

“What?!”

She giggles. It’s the same sweet laugh that reminds me of wind chimes. “I thought you might buy it to save the rest of the world from seeing it.”

“Maybe I should.” I take a quick sip of wine. “The idea of Jimmy Schnell having it at his apartment gives me the creeps.” She and I continue to watch as Jimmy points up at my cock, his cheeks red.

“I know that’s not an actual picture of my penis, but somehow I still feel degraded,” I say, bitterly.

“Don’t worry about it. Jimmy is a total hack—I don’t think he’s got twenty thousand dollars lying around to spare. Even for your fine self.”

Her words relieve my fears. “You’re probably right. Maybe by the end of the night I can buy it from Clarissa at a discounted price.”

Lexi looks at me scrunching her face, “Since when do artists give away work at a discount?”

I see Clarissa stand next to Jimmy and the two begin to talk. Ugh. God, Clarissa please don’t sell it to that prick. A worried look comes over Lexi’s face, “Or maybe he does have twenty thousand to spare?” She rubs her arm.

“I’m not going into a bidding war on my own dick painting, Lexi.” I bite my lip, watching.

“Hey, I don’t much like the idea of my face looking down at all the dirty things that go down in Jimmy’s home either.”

“Should we go buy it?”

She raises her brow. “Who’s going to keep it? I’d feel weird with that thing hanging on my wall.”

“No one. We’ll destroy it.”

She huffs, “Pay ten-thousand dollars each to destroy something I’m sure Clarissa would have no problem reproducing?”

“Right, she can do that, can’t she? Jesus, do you think she’s had prints made up?”

“Ah, what difference does it make, Brett? It’s only an illustration anyway.”

I know she’s right, as horrible as the situation is, my cock has already been plastered on the Internet. It’s only a drawing. But then I see a red sold sign being placed next to the painting. Jimmy claps jumping up and down, overjoyed. Jimmy has given the word ‘queer’ a whole new meaning for me. Who jumps and claps when they publicly buy porn?

Jimmy spots me and Lexi, “Look, Lexi!” Jimmy calls out from across the room, “I found a way to get closer to Brett Brock’s cock!”

“Great job, asshole,” I say beneath my breath as everyone in the room turns to look at us.

“You should be flattered, Brett. I mean, we both know that as soon as he gets home he’s probably going to take an X-acto knife and cut my face out of the picture.”

I smirk, “Yeah, there’s no way in hell Jimmy bought that for its political commentary.” I sigh, “No offense, Lexi, but I’m feeling uncomfortable. We should go.”

“Sorry for bringing you here,” she says sheepishly.

“Don’t apologize.” I wrap my hand about her waist. “You want to go back to my place?”

“Sure. But I need to head to the ladies’ room before we go.”

“In that case, I think I’ll wait for you outside.”

“All right, see you in a bit.”