The Sunday Scaries
Volume 1, Number 36
Microfiction by Pat Harrigan
Content Warning: Language and Horror

Everybody Loves Sock

Bill stared at the writing above the urinal for a long time. EVERYBODY LOVES SOCK. Eventually he figured it out. It was supposed to read COCK, but someone had added an extra curve to the C and now: SOCK. He zipped up, flushed, washed his hands and returned to the table.
          The conversation, now several beers in, had moved on to sex. Carl was whispering: She likes to do this, and this, and can you believe it, she likes…
          I haven’t gotten it in a long time, Zach rued, but you can’t be surprised. If they’re not a lesbian, they all love it. In the front, in the back or in the mouth, it’s all good, they all love the sock.
          Bill ordered another drink. It was risky maybe, but he didn’t have to work until noon. When the waitress brought it over she gave him a look. Oh it was a look.
          Zach never needed much excuse to talk dirty. Now, I don’t have the biggest sock in the world, he said (for what must have been the thousandth time), but I know how to use it. It’s the secret weapon. First you deploy the tongue, then you get flanking with some fingers, and then when she’s ready you slip in the—
          Bill asked, Did you say sock?
          They looked at him funny.
          That’s fine, said Carl, but that’s like a one-night stand.
          Zach objected. Not a—
          Okay, whatever, but it’s different when you’re married. You got to keep—
           Giving her the sock, insisted Zach.
          Now wait a minute, said Bill. What are you talking about, sock?
          What, don’t you have one? asked Zach, dropping his hand to his crotch and giving it a lurch in Bill’s direction.
          There’s no wrong time to talk about sock, said Carl, getting into the spirit of the thing.
          Bill didn’t know what to say. All of a sudden he noticed the smell. Not beer and spirits, not even urinal cakes from beyond the toilet door. Not a bar smell at all, more of a laundry room smell.
          Zach pontificated: I never understood why socksucker is supposed to be an insult. It’s a noble profession with a long history.
          It is a truth universally acknowledged—, began Carl.
          Zach completed the thought: That everybody loves sock.
          Gingerly, Bill reached down under his waistband to feel around.
💀