Take-Out Dick

By Holly Day

Layla didn't know she'd brought the dick home until the next evening. The woman at the restaurant had been so nice to offer to pack her leftovers for her that Layla hadn't even thought of opening the little white boxes to check on the condition of the food inside. All she knew is that she had left the restaurant in a happy haze, happy at having had such a wonderful meal, happy that the waitress had packed her an extra box of white rice to accompany her leftovers, happy to know she wouldn't have to cook anything for dinner the next day.

She wasn't nearly so happy when, after a hard day at work, she'd come home to find the dick tucked away in the box that was supposed to hold her crispy duck. It had been so artfully packed in the box that she stood there for almost a whole ten seconds, staring at the folded-up limp penis nestled inside the Chinese takeout box, pubic hairs curled artfully against the surprisingly clean shaft and balls, whatever blood that hadn't been drained before packing neatly absorbed by the extra pat of white rice lining the bottom of the box.

Of course, after she realized what the thing was, she dropped the box and screamed. She immediately regretted having dropped the box, because, of course, now the dick was half-in-half-out of the takeout container, and looked even worse than it had nestled in its protective container. She decide not to try to pick the box back up for fear of touching the thing, or worse, having it fall completely out of the box, and decided to call her best friend, Megan, for advice instead.

"That's so much worse than a finger," said Megan when Layla told her the story over the phone.

"So much worse," agreed Layla.

"So whose dick do you think it is? Was?" amended Megan.

"I don't know," said Layla. "One of the cooks, maybe?"

"Yuck. I hope he got to go home after that. Urg, do you think he cut it off himself while he was cooking? Like, maybe he was pissed off at you because he was making your dinner when it happened, so he put his dick in your leftovers as sort of a ‘look what you made me do' statement?"

Layla snorted. "That seems really unlikely," she said. "You think we would have heard it when it happened, you know, some scream from the kitchen or something. It would take an awful lot of control to be quiet after cutting your own dick off."

"That's probably true," said Megan. "I know the only time my brother ever swore in the house was when he got his dick caught in his zipper." She added, "Of course, you were eating in a Chinese restaurant. The guy could have had some sort of zen presence of mind when it happened, enough so to keep from screaming, or feeling pain, or whatever."

"No, it was probably the waitress," said Layla. "I think she was so nice about packing up my leftovers because she had this dismembered penis to get rid of, and didn't want anyone else to find it. I made the perfect patsy," she finished, sighing.

"Well, I think you ought to call the police about it," said Megan. "Call the police, then call the restaurant to complain. That guy who found a finger in his Coke got thousands of dollars from Coca-Cola—you should at least get a complimentary dinner for finding a whole penis in your food."

"I don't think I'll ever eat there again." Layla groaned, remembering the wonderful roast duck that she had been expecting to eat for dinner, the roast duck that didn't get packed into either of the tiny white origami containers. "Never, never, never."

© Holly Day 2012

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