By the side of the road, it lay there. Forlorn. Dirty. In the gravel and leftover salt from the brutal winter that was giving way to spring. Discarded, a piece of trash. Left to rot, alone, uncared for, unloved.
I was running. Not quickly, just at my usual lumbering pace, heavy footed and slow. Shoulders hunched, hands loose, thumbs tucked under fingers. Home in two miles. Able to rest my weary body after a chilly 8 mile run.
I had just crested a hill, turned around, and was enjoying the descent, as only a middle aged mother runner can. Less heavy breathing, less effort from my knees, less strain on my aging joints. Imagining a glass of red wine in my hand as I prepared dinner, after showering and removing the dirt of the road from my aching body.
And that is when I discovered it. My mind took a moment to register what was before me. I’m a wife and mother to three boys. I see these things all the time. But still, my brain took an extra second to process what was there, lying limply on the shoulder of the country road.
A big penis.
A big, rubber penis. A vibrator that had had its battery compartment savagely ripped from its base. Painful, no doubt.
It lay there. Alone. Cold and sad.
I stopped. I had to. My mind raced…where had this member come from? What was it doing here?
Had it somehow been kidnapped from its home and cruelly discarded out of a passing car window?
Had it ceased to fulfill its duty and been thrown in the trash, only to escape the plastic bag in which it was encased and fall from a garbage truck?
Perhaps it had been thrown from a car window by a woman, angry that her lover had cheated on her, and she had to rid herself of their shared toy.
Maybe a man, unsure of his sexual tastes, had tossed it to the roadside, questioning his choices.
Perhaps a car full of teenage girls – one of them finding it in her mother’s bedside table – giggling and passing the phallus amongst themselves until one just couldn’t imagine her mother – her mother – with this thing and threw it in the dirt.
It will remain a mystery. With answers only imagined.
Farewell, lonely dildo. Until we meet again next Sunday, roadside.