Meet the Diddler
“Johnny! You’d better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there! Open this door right now!”
Johnny froze, dick in one hand, and a tattered, splattered copy of “Big Booty Babes” in his other. And just when he was about to cum! His balls turned dark blue, like the night sky outside.
“How many times have I told you,” shrieked his mother. “You’ll go blind! Your palms will turn red! And grow hair!”
Johnny’s dick deflated like a sausage-shaped balloon. Just like every night, his mother seemed to hone in on the exact moment to cock-block him from himself. So, once again, he tucked his wilted cucumber back into his pajama pants and sighed. He was about to pry up the floorboard to hide his porno mag when his window opened. The magazine dropped from his hand. Through the window, in flew an orange-haired woman in a pink bodysuit. The bodysuit was covered with exclamation points, a bandoleer belt filled with double A batteries was slung across one shoulder, and a utility belt hung from her hips.
“Now, wait just a minute there, Johnny!” the woman shouted, planting her hands on her hips and thrusting her tits out heroically. “Don’t lose your spunk for spankin’! None of what she said was true!”
“It’s not?” Johnny asked. He glanced the woman up and down. If it weren’t for the whole flying thing, he’d guess she had just arrived from a science fiction convention… or a BDSM club. He had seen a number of the devices on her utility belt in magazine ads, but there were many more whose purpose eluded him. A giant, bulbous-headed wand was attached to a metal pack on her shoulders which bore multiple radiation-hazard stickers. Pink furry handcuffs hung next to a riding crop with a heart-shaped tip. His jaw slacked as the self-pitching tent in his pants pitched itself without his permission.
The woman glanced at his campsite briefly, then met his eyes. “It’s not. First of all, your reproductive system is in no way tied to the optical centers of your brain, nor are the nerves directly connected to those of your eyes.”
“Really?” Johnny said, his eyes widening.
“Furthermore, hair on your palms? Really? You haven’t learned this in your biology classes yet? Your palms don’t have hair follicles on them, nor will fapping cause them to form there. Don’t you think that if whacking it caused hair to grow, that bald dudes wouldn’t be paying top dollar for guys to jizz on their heads? They would have to add lotion dispensers to the Hair Club for Men.”
Johnny finally was able to make the muscles in his jaw work again. “Well… yeah… I guess…”
“And that whole thing about rosy palms… Well, on that one, she ain’t wrong, but there’s a solution for that, too.” The woman reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a packet of coconut oil. “Lube your fuckstick, and no more rosy palms! Also, coconut oil is great for your skin. Hell, your mom probably has a jar of it in the kitchen.”
“She does!”
The woman smirked. “Just make sure you keep the Whackin’-D-40 apart from the cooking stuff, because, eww, gross.”
Johnny’s face lit up. The tent in his pajamas bobbed happily. “So… It’s OK if I…?”
“Absolutely. Spank proudly!” She reached into another pouch, grabbed a few tissues, and handed them to him. “Good luck, and happy jackin’!”
The woman held up a fist, but her thumb was tucked between her index and middle finger. She kicked one foot on the ground and floated up and away, toward the window.
“Wait,” Johnny shouted. “Who are you?”
“I’m the Diddler,” she said. She soared out the window. The last thing he saw before she flew up away was her smile.