Peanut
A Fictional Story by DudesNude.
Except this year, Megan and Michelle were back.
I hadn’t seen both of them at the same time since college. We’d all been around thirty-five now, and life had pulled us in different directions. Megan had married a guy named Kevin—broad-shouldered, quiet type who worked in construction. Michelle had married Derek, a loud guy with a good sense of humor. Both women had kids running around somewhere in the chaos.
Megan had gotten thicker in the hips, her dark hair longer, her laugh deeper. Michelle had always been the sharper one, quicker with a joke, and fifteen years hadn’t dulled that. She was still lean, still had that glint in her eye that meant she was about to say something devastating.
We’d fallen right back into our old rhythm, the three of us. Sitting together at the end of one of the long picnic tables, plates piled with burgers and corn, beers sweating in our hands. Kevin was on Megan’s other side. Derek had gone to check on their kids. My older sister Tara had pulled up a chair across from us.
The conversation turned to the heat.
“God, remember that night at the river?” Michelle said, fanning herself with a paper plate.
Megan’s eyes lit up. “Oh my God, I haven’t thought about that in years.”
“What river?” Tara asked.
The three of us exchanged a look. I felt a warm flush that had nothing to do with the temperature.
“We went skinny dipping,” Megan said, keeping her voice low. “Fifteen years ago. The 4th of July after our freshman year.”
Tara’s eyebrows shot up. Kevin looked over with mild interest.
“Wait—all three of you?” Tara said.
“Just swimming,” I said quickly. “It was so hot none of us could sleep, and the river was right there—”
“It was so hot that night,” Michelle confirmed. “Like, stupid hot. And we’d been drinking.”
“There was nothing to it,” Megan added, though she was grinning. “We just jumped in.”
I remembered it clearly. The three of us stumbling down to the riverbank with a six-pack, peeling off our clothes in the dark, the cool water hitting my skin. I’d been aware of them in the water—Megan’s pale breasts breaking the surface, Michelle’s silhouette against the moonlight—but it hadn’t been sexual. Just three drunk kids cooling off.
At least, that’s what I’d always thought.
“Well,” Michelle said, leaning back and looking at me with that dangerous smile, “I bet I know one thing that hasn’t changed since that night.”
She looked right at my lap. Then up at my face.
Megan followed her gaze. Their eyes met.
They both erupted.
The laughter was loud and sudden—Megan covering her mouth, Michelle throwing her head back. Kevin looked confused. Tara leaned forward.
“What?” I said. “What’s funny?”
Michelle was wheezing. She held up her hand, pinching her thumb and index finger together so they were barely touching. The universal gesture. She wiggled her fingers at me.
“Your dick, dude. I bet it’s just as tiny as it was that night.”
My stomach dropped. The words came out at full volume—there was no missing them. A couple of my unles at the next table glanced over. My cousin Brian looked up from his plate.
“Michelle—” I started.
“What? It’s true!” She was still laughing, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “Megan, tell him. Was it not the smallest thing you’d ever seen?”
Megan pressed her lips together, clearly trying to stop laughing and failing. “I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “But… yes. It was.”
“We talked about it all night in the hotel room,” Michelle said, still pinching her fingers together. She turned to Kevin and Tara. “We get out of the river, and I swear to God, I thought it was a thumb. Like, I actually looked twice because I thought maybe he was covering it up with his hand. Nope. That was it.”
“Stop—” I said, but my voice came out weak.
“Megan, what did we call him?” Michelle asked, slapping the table.
Megan closed her eyes, still smiling. “Oh God. Peanut.”
“PEANUT!” Michelle practically shouted. She said it so loud that my grandmother looked over from her lawn chair. Several people at the surrounding tables turned. I could feel faces swinging toward us, curious smirks forming.
“And honestly?” Michelle added, catching her breath, “that might be generous. Peanuts are bigger.”
More laughter. Not just from them—Tara had her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Kevin was staring at the table, trying not to grin. Even Derek, who’d just walked back with a kid on each hand, caught the tail end and said, “What’d I miss?”
“Peanut!” Michelle called to him. “That’s his name now.”
“Oh, come on,” I said, my face burning so hot I thought my skin might blister.
“What? You earned it.” Michelle took a long sip of her beer, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Fifteen years, and I bet you’re still packing a peanut. Some things don’t grow, babe.”
I looked down at my plate. My burger sat there, untouched. I could feel the heat radiating off my face. Around me, the party continued, but there was a new current running through it—people glancing my way, little smiles, whispered conversations.
—
Later, I found Megan alone by the cooler, fishing for another beer. The crowd had thinned as people went inside to escape the heat. She saw me coming and her expression shifted to something almost guilty.
“Hey,” she said. “Look, I’m sorry about all that. It got way louder than I meant it to.”
I leaned against the porch railing. “You still laughed, though.”
She bit her lip.
“Was it really that small?”
She looked at me. A blush crept up her cheeks. She opened her mouth, closed it, then let out a small breath.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “It really was.” She paused. “I’m sorry, dude. It’s… tiny. Unless it was a really bad day for you, but I don’t think it was that cold on the 4th of July.”
“It wasn’t,” I admitted.
“Yeah.” She gave me a sympathetic smile that somehow made it worse. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be mean. It’s just… yeah. It was small.”
“Like, how small?” I asked, not sure why I was pushing it.
Megan looked around to make sure no one was listening. She held up her pinky finger.
“Like this,” she said. “Maybe less.”
She grabbed her beer and headed back inside, leaving me standing there with the image of her pinky finger burned into my brain.
—
Michelle, by contrast, showed zero remorse.
For the rest of the day, every time she addressed me, it was “Peanut.”
“Hey Peanut, pass the potato salad.”
“Peanut, you want another beer?”
“Kids, say hi to Uncle Peanut.”
Her kids—six and eight—thought it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. Within an hour, they were running around the yard chanting it.
“Peanut! Peanut! Uncle Peanut!”
Michelle watched them with a grin, sipping a beer. She caught my eye across the yard and raised her can in a little salute.
“What?” she called out. “It’s a term of endearment.”
Derek, standing next to her, put his arm around her shoulder. “Babe, you’re brutal.”
“I’m honest,” Michelle said. She looked at me again. “If he’s got a problem with it, he can prove me wrong. Go ahead, Peanut. Whip it out right now. Show everyone I’m lying.”
Silence. A few people were watching.
I didn’t move.
Michelle shrugged. “That’s what I thought.”
She turned to Tara, who was standing nearby. “I’m telling you, in the river, in the moonlight, I literally thought he had an innie. Like a belly button. Just a little dent.”
Tara snorted beer through her nose.
I walked inside and closed the bathroom door behind me. I stood in front of the mirror, looking at myself. Thirty-five years old. Decent shape. Good job. Normal life.
And my own cousins had just told everyone I knew that I had a peanut for a dick.
I could still hear Michelle’s kids outside, chanting my new name.
—
The fireworks started around nine. The whole family spread out across the yard on blankets and lawn chairs. I sat on the far end, away from most of the crowd. The sky lit up in reds and whites and blues.
Michelle dropped onto the grass next to me. She smelled like sunscreen and beer.
“Relax,” she said. “I’m not gonna call you Peanut for a second.”
“Thanks.”
“I lied.” She paused. “Peanut.”
“Jesus Christ, Michelle.”
She laughed and leaned back on her hands. We watched a burst of gold explode overhead.
“It really was small, though,” she said, her voice softer now. Almost conversational. “I’m not even being mean. I’ve thought about it, honestly. Like, randomly, over the years. I’d think, remember that guy at the river with the tiny dick? And then I’d remember it was you, and I’d laugh.”
“Great.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” she said, which was clearly a lie. “It’s just… memorable. You know? Most dicks are forgettable. Yours is memorable because it’s basically not there.”
A firework burst in a shower of red. Her face was lit up, grinning.
“Happy 4th of July, Peanut,” she said.
Somewhere behind us, her kids were still chanting.
The End.
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