Unpacking the junk.

Welcome back, friends to ROOM WITH A VIEW OF A PENIS. Today I’m posting the exciting conclusion of my first ever serial essay, the amazing true story of several weeks spent in a Harlem apartment bordered on all sides by weirdos. If you haven’t yet, please catch yourself up with Chapters One, Two , Three, Four, and Five, before forging ahead to…

Chapter 6: Things Come to a Head

Several weeks later – weeks during which I had been preoccupied by my job, my social calendar, and my acquisition of a fantastically gay new roommate named Stephen, but which had been very quiet on the “seeing an unwanted penis” front – I was washing dishes in my kitchen. It was summertime, the air was warm, I was happily scrubbing out the remains of a tomato-and-mint sauce from my saucepan, and my rowdy teenaged neighbors were nowhere to be seen.

I like it here, I thought to myself. I think I’ll live in Harlem for another three years.

Then, across the alley, I heard a sound. The skritttt of a window sash being raised, the whisper of curtains against the sill.

“God damnit,” I muttered, turning toward the sound and expecting to be bombarded any moment by two 14 year-old boys, hanging out their window and shrieking, “Hey, mami!!! NICE ASS!!!”

There was movement behind the curtains, but no yelling. A shadow materialized just beyond the fabric. And then, through the gap between the chintzy panels, something emerged.

The saucepan slipped from my hand and clattered into the sink.

Across the alley, all that could be seen of my neighbors was a disembodied penis, sticking amiably out the window.

Stephen dashed into the kitchen.

“Honey! What was that noise?!”

“I… I…” I stammered, then regained my composure. “I mean, look,” I said disgustedly, waving my hand in the direction of the window, where the penis continued to salute from between the curtains.

“Oh my god, it’s a cock!” yelled Stephen.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, it is.”

“Is that for you?” he said, delightedly.

“I guess so, but I mean, I’d kind of prefer that it wasn’t.”

“It is kind of small.”

“That’s really not what I meant.”

“Oh,” he said. He looked out the window. The penis was still there.

“I think I’m going to leave the room now,” I said.

“Don’t worry, hun,” said Stephen. “I’ll take care of this.”

Moments later, from my new location (lying on the living room couch, in the fetal position, whimpering), I suddenly heard a rapid succession of sounds:

Thudthudthudthud.

…and then:

Thwap!

…and then, from outside:

AAAAAAAAAGH!

I leaped off the couch and bolted toward the window. Across the alley, the new penis had disappeared. Stephen came running into the living room, grinning and giggling.

“What was that?” I said.

“Nuthin’!” he replied, gleefully bouncing up and down.

“Oh my god, what’s going on? What did you do?”

Stephen stopped bouncing.

“I took care of the problem,” he said indignantly.

“What problem?”

“Your neighbors! They won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because,” he said, beginning to grin and giggle again, “I showed them MY cock, and now that they’ve seen it, I don’t think they’ll show you their cocks ever again.”

And they didn’t.

The end.