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this mess. He winks and I feel just a smidge better. Not that I’d ever tell him. Or anyone, for that matter. When a stripper’s wink makes you feel happier about being a penis photographer, you can’t even tell that shit to your diary , know what I’m saying?
    “All righty roo. We want to showcase your length and girth.” I nod and pretend I’m not a horrified dorkface. “Not a problem.”
    “Did you know Peter once won a contest for the largest dick in KC? True story.” Rob plops down on an empty chair and sips his beer. “Yep. A few of the clubs had a big shindig thing, and it turns out that when strippers get drunk, they start measuring their units.”
    I stare hard at Peter so I don’t accidentally stare at Rob’s crotch while I idly wonder where he fell on the scale.
    But Christ on a cupcake. Now that I’ve looked at the other guy, my eyeballs nearly fall out of my head. Peter Rodman (obviously a stage name) is terrifyingly huge. Like, could break you in two huge. Should be declared a lethal weapon huge. I mentally wince in pain for his future co-stars, because they may need stitches.
    Also, I suddenly understand why he’s looking into porn, because normal girls would nope that in a hurry.
    “Broad lighting, that’s what you called it?” Peter breaks my concentration from staring at his gargantuan dick. Rob’s laughing again. “That sounds like the way to go.”
    “Yeah. It’s a posing position to ensure optimal lighting on the targeted area, pulling it to the forefront. It’ll help emphasize your, um, assets.”
    “He won a bottle of Johnny Blue for that monstrosity,” Rob volunteers. “That was one hell of a weekend.”
    “The curse of being huge.” Peter sighs and looks downtrodden for half a second, then perks up. “Can you fluff me?”
    I freeze. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he was still flaccid. Hard, he’d be the Hulk of hoses. Also, a beejer was not in the fine print on my cocktail napkin. “Fluff off. Go fluff yourself.”
    “Burn!” Rob jumps up and claps his hands. “You owe me twenty bucks!”
    “What?”
    “Oh, Elephant Man here thought for sure you’d die for the chance to swallow that thing, but I told him no way in hell.”
    “Great minds,” I find myself saying. Rob winks at me again. It’s becoming a real habit of his. Peter starts jerking off in the corner. I’m officially dying of embarrassment. Time to change the subject. “So, do you accompany Peter’s dick to all its photoshoots?”
    “You’ll be happy to know this is his first. You’re popping his dick pic cherry.”
    “Oh, I’m so honored.” I catch a glimpse of Peter pumping himself up, and I have deep regrets about not spiking my morning coffee. This is far too much to ask of a sober person.
    “Hey, you’re going to do great. I did a pretty intensive Google search on you yesterday and found your school portfolio. You’ve got a great eye, so this should be easy.”
    “You stalked me?” I stare, aghast. And then I’m disappointed, because I should have done the same thing to him, but then I remember I don’t even know his last name. In my mind, it’s Stripper, middle name The. “Creep!”
    “I had to know my boy was getting what he was paying for. It’s a week’s worth of tips.” Rob shrugs nonchalantly and takes another sip of his beer. I can’t help myself, I snap a quick shot of him doing it. He looks so relaxed, so content, so hot. Surely he didn’t notice.
    “See? You know when things look good. You’ll rock it.” He noticed.
    I roll my eyes but thank him and turn back to my subject.
    “Shall we?” Peter is completely nude, standing in a Captain Morgan pose. I crack up. If I dressed his dick up like a pirate, that would be hysterical. But this is a “serious” shoot, so I get down to it.
    Then something even crazier happens. I know, but— even crazier. I actually get really into it. Okay, the first few shots were super awkward, but eventually the fact that it’s