Peens nine and ten are elaborate photo-realistic renderings of dick shots painted onto each end zone of the John Wayne High School football field. Or, as some kids immediately label them: "dueling peens." Seriously, what's with the ability of teenagers to coin nicknames and labels? It's almost as if everyone is auditioning for a career in advertising. 

Dueling Peens.

Danny Ding Dong.

Peter's Little Peter.

Still, the real creativity belongs to Audrey. Although I'm horrified by her subject, I can't fault her artistry. I don't know how she plans to present her peen-folio, but I'm certain that her work will gain her admission to every school she's applied to. Nevertheless, as the rest of the school awaits the eleventh and final peen, I find myself questioning Audrey's actions. 

On the one hand, Free The Peen has been a masterful exercise in revenge. I'm not sure of the exact circumstances that led Audrey to choose her targets, but over the course of three days, she's pretty much made life miserable for the boys who, Elroy insists, made her life miserable in the months and weeks leading up her expulsion last year. 

On the other hand, Audrey's actions strike me as cruel. Sure, the boys she targeted have spent their entire high school careers targeting others students, making their lives miserable. In that sense, they deserve what they get. But there's something off about Audrey's tit-for-tat approach.

"OK, tit-for-tat was a bad choice of words," I say. "I've got boobs on the brain."

"You should be clear to, um, clear the pipes," Elroy says. 

"And I plan to," I say. "Just as soon as that final bell rings. I'm running home to take care of business."

"What are you going to do two minutes after that?"

"Funny," I say. "Fact is, I haven't gone this long without jacking it, so my guess is I'll probably be good to go a few minutes later."

"That's another two minutes of your life you'll never get back."

I don't mind Elroy teasing me like this. For one thing, we're both laughing. For another thing, it's just the two of us at lunch, going over the same topic as yesterday - Audrey and the mysteries of my subconscious. But mostly, I don't mind because Elroy is right. I'm in greater need of a jerk-off session than any boy in the history of puberty. 

"Is it just me, or are the hairnets on the food servers super erotic?" I ask.

Elroy glances at the food servers.

"It's just you," he says. "My guess is they remind you of fishnet stockings, which remind you of lingerie-"

"Which reminds me that we shouldn't go there," I say.

"Stay strong, Peter. Just a few more hours."

Elroy sips from his water bottle, and I eat a soggy French fry. I want to get back on topic, not just because talking to Elroy about the ethics of Audrey's project is a good distraction from the throbbing three inches in my pants, but because I'm genuinely concerned. It seems to me that Audrey isn't all that different from the bullies she has targeted. Sure, she has a reason, and I suppose you could say that the football players deserve their comeuppance. But isn't Free The Peen just another example of the endless bullying at John Wayne High School?

"My sister once said that High School is like The Hunger Games," Elroy says.

"I never read the books," I say.

"But you saw the movies?"

"The first one," I say. "To be honest, I was kind of grossed out by the idea of kids killing each other."

"That's high school in a nutshell," Elroy says. "At least, that's what my sister said."

"That high school is just a brutal place where we all kill each other?"

"Not literally, of course. But it's like how you're afraid that sex with Audrey will destroy the image you've built up of yourself as a desirable male. Each of us has an idea of who we are, but when we come to school that idea is challenged. Maybe the group reinforces our identity. Or maybe the group destroys it. Or maybe we get a new identity, one we never wanted or even knew we had. The point is, everyday at school we redefine who we are, sometimes for the better, often for the worse. The jock, the nerd, the pretty girl."

"Please don't mention pretty girls," I say. "Actually, don't mention girls at all."

"Sorry," Elroy says. "Anyway, the point is, these identities are created and destroyed over and over again. But just like The Hunger Games, there are no winners, there are only survivors." 

"There are no winners, there are only survivors," I repeat. 

"That's Haymitch Abernathy, just FYI."

I shoot Elroy a puzzled look.

"The character played by Woody Harrelson," he explains.

I've never thought about The Hunger Games as a metaphor for high school. The truth is, I usually try and liken everything to Star Wars. Of course, as Yoda says, there is no try. And although it pains me to admit it, maybe Star Wars isn't the right way to explain what I'm going through. After all, Star Wars is about good and evil. But the more I get to know this school, the more I'm convinced that none of us are good, and only Becky Spade is evil. 

"We are all part of a system," Elroy says. "It's not a perfect system. Actually, high school is a terrible system. But each of us is responsible for our actions. Just like the kids in The Hunger Games, we don't get to make the rules, but we do get to decide who we are in the arena."

"I thought you said the group decides," I say.

"Well, we all label each other. But those labels come and go. Most people stopped calling you Little Peter after you confronted Nick Spears, right?"

"Sure."

"That's because you made a decision, Peter. You looked around and you decided that you didn't like the system. You hated the fact that you were being made to apologize to your bully. So you stood up to him. Actually, you stood up to Principal Boone, who's basically a buffoonish second cousin to Seneca Crane."

"I don't get that reference."

"The idiot game-maker from the first movie," Elroy explains. "It doesn't matter. The point is, you chose to push back. You didn't end the game, because you couldn't end the game. But you changed the way the rest of us think about the game. That's what I meant by Big Dick Energy. You have it. Anthony Bourdain had it. And Katniss Everdeen had some serious Big Dick Energy when she chose to defy the game-makers and eat the poisoned berries."

"I think I need to watch those movies again," I say.

"Read the books. The books are way better. Then again, that's almost always true."

"So what about Audrey?" I ask. "How should I judge her actions in the arena?"

Elroy considers this question for a moment before answering.

"I think you need to ask her about her art."

"Ask her about her art?"

"Sure," Elroy says. "You've made some assumptions about Free The Peen. Subconsciously, you assumed Audrey was taunting you. On a more conscious level, you've assumed that she's as much of a bully as Nick Spears. There might be some truth to that. There are always tricky ethical implications whenever an artist uses real people as her subjects."

"Exactly!"

"But what's the point of Free The Peen?" Elroy asks.

"To humiliate those guys," I say.

"Is it?"

"It's not?"

"I don't know what Audrey's point is, Peter. But my guess is that humiliation isn't her goal. For one thing, that's not Audrey's style. But also, think about the title: Free The Peen."  

"Yeah?"

"The title suggests that it's a work of liberation," Elroy says. 

"I really don't follow."

"The point is, Audrey has a goal here. Perhaps her execution is a bit careless, when you consider the owners of the peens. But she has a larger point."

"Which is?"

"Ask her."

I sigh.

"Let me guess," Elroy says. "You're afraid that talking to Audrey about her art will inevitably lead to the truth about your penis?"

"Yes!"

"Face your fear, Peter. It'll be good for you."

And with that, Elroy gets up from the table. I clear my tray and head off to class. But I can't think about math or history - the final two classes of the day. All I can think about is what Elroy said. I need to have a talk with Audrey. But first, I need to take care of my throbbing three inches, so I can think straight. 

The final two hours of school are a painful endurance test. Actually, they're pure hell. No matter what I do, I can't stop mentally undressing my math teacher, Mrs. Jacobs. She's super old and she smells like mothballs and chalk, but all I can think about is seeing her in her granny panties. Needless to say, the lesson totally escapes me, although I'm pretty sure Mrs. Jacobs - silver-haired, sagging boobs Mrs. Jacobs - will find her way into my spank bank.

History is even worse. Our teacher, Mr. Stewart, is yammering on about the American Revolution. I think he's talking about how our nation wouldn't have beaten the British without help from the French and their navy, but all I can think about is Martha Washington and what a fox she was. Except I'm pretty sure Martha Washington wasn't a fox, because it's impossible to be a hot Martha. But it doesn't matter. Because there's a picture of Martha in our textbook, and I every time I look into the eyes of our very first First Lady, I can't help but think about her boobs. George was a lucky man, I conclude.

Finally, the bell sounds.

I gather my books and race for the door.

Normally, I'd drop off the books I don't need at my locker, but I'm in no mood to waste time. I navigate the hallways like a man on a mission, weaving between crowds of kids.

I reach the main door in record time. But as I descend down the stairs and ready myself to sprint home, a familiar face catches my eye. 

It's Audrey. She's standing there next to her car.

"Need a ride?" she asks.

Suddenly, I'm frozen. I do need a ride. In fact, the sooner I get home the better. But I know that's not what Audrey has in mind. 

I'm not sure what to say, but before I can respond I notice that we have company. As students file out of John Wayne High School, a crowd has formed on the front lawn. This is normal. But today's crowd seems focused on Audrey. It's as if everyone is suddenly aware that she's the one behind Free The Peen. Like a ghost who has come back to haunt her old school, Audrey's presence reminds the students here of what happened previous year.

"Dick shots!" someone shouts.

"Free the peen!" someone else yells.

I look at Audrey. The more the crowd yells, the wider her smile gets. Then someone shouts, "Eleven."

Eleven peens were supposed to be set free. But so far, we've only seen ten. 

"Eleven!" someone else shouts.

And then all of a sudden, everyone is chanting.

Eleven!

Eleven!

Eleven!

And that's when I realize that I'm number eleven. 

"Hop in, Peter," Audrey says. "I promised you we'd go skinny-dipping when I was done with my project."

Every rational thought I have in my head tells me not to get into the car. But at this moment, those thoughts are outnumbered by about a billion to one. The chanting crowd behind me makes the thought of walking away seem impossible. But it's the sight of Audrey - tight jeans wrapped around her legs, a V-neck t-shirt giving me a glimpse of her boobs, her sweet smile beckoning forward - that pulls me in like a tractor beam. 

"I didn't bring my swim suit," I sputter over the din of the crowd.

Audrey giggles. 

"You don't need it," she says. "We're swimming naked."

Then she presses her lips to mine, and for a moment the world goes quiet. Then the next thing I know, I'm sitting in Audrey's car, and we're heading toward her favorite skinny-dipping spot, where I will meet my fate as the eleventh peen. 

🙌Thanks for reading!🙌

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