The Case of the Missing Genitals

I woke up that morning and discovered my dick was gone.

I leaned back into my chair and rested my sleek black shoes on the shoddy desk of my tiny office. The peeling wallpaper and tiny window showing the streetlights below did little to illuminate the square room. In the dim lights cast by a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, I thought back to that morning, casually lighting a cigarette as I did. I had woken up the way I slept, poorly. Kicking off the covers of my bed, tangled to my legs like a jealous lover, I head pounding like I'd just gone ten rounds in the ring with Ali, I stumbled blearily to my bathroom sink.

I brushed slowly and absentmindedly, the better to get rid of the taste of bad whiskey and regret. I could scarcely remember the previous night, lost amid a haze of cheap booze and cheaper women. I could remember playing a hand at poker at some point; I did poorly, if my empty wallet was any indicator. It was at this point my bladder made a pest of itself, and I did as any man would. I dropped my boxers and hobbled over to the toilet, swaying like a branch in the wind. But when I looked down for that familiar lump of flesh, only smooth skin remained. Shaft and stones, gone, just like that. Nearly bit my toothbrush in half with surprise.

I let out a pained sort of moan then, exploring the area gingerly. It was a queer sensation, no mistake. I could feel my dick in my mind, sure as if it were attached and in its usual home. But when I moved a hand to my crotch, I felt only bare skin and air. There was even a gap of hair where it had been. A few more minutes of frantic searching in my apartment hadn't borne fruit, pardon the phrase. After ten more minutes searching, the strain on my bladder became overwhelming. Terrified of the consequence, I let loose those muscles on the dick that was no longer attached.

As urine rushed out of me, relief poured in. In my head, I could feel the urine leaving the end of my dick, pressure easing by the second. The urine itself was nowhere to be found, though. It didn't puddle on the floor or stain my boxers. Near as I can tell, it went wherever my dick was. Seemed just because it was on vacation didn't mean my dick couldn't still work.

A delicate knock on the door woke me from my reverie. I glanced at the door, my pride and joy. Solid oak, a glass pane set on it with the words DOMINIC DENTENE, PRIVATE EYE inscribed in reverse. It had cost me a pretty penny, but worth every cent. Always have a good door, my father had said, it's the first thing someone sees about a man. Through the frosted glass I could see a blurry silhouette outlined by the hallways lights.

"Mr. Dentene?" A voice called, dark and dusky as a good bourbon. "May I come in?" She was asking, which was a good sign. If it was one of Scholl's goons, they wouldn't have bothered knocking. Whoever this was, she came to play nice. Without moving my feet off the table, I slid open one drawer on my desk, revealing my trusty revolver and a half-empty bottle of rye. Playing nice didn't mean I was safe. One way or another, the stuff in that drawer could save my life.

"Come in." I said warily. I rested my hands in a nonchalant manner that put my right hand close to the open drawer. I had debated not coming to the office today, given my current situation, but I needed the money, or soon I'd be out a dick and a bed both. Rent was late as usual, and my landlord was giving me grief, as usual. I'd have to search for my dick in my own time, on my own dime. My office door swung open, and in she came. My jaw dropped, and I nearly lost my cigarette in the process.

First to enter were her legs. Long and shapely, they must've had a full minute to enjoy the office before the rest of her arrived. When she did though, I was glad they'd taken their time. Those legs ended in a rear that made me curse and praise the sleek red gown that clung to it at the same time. Up and up, that gown went, wrapping itself around every curve, hugging her chest to thrust it forward heroically. A valley of cleavage was topped by the ends of her long red hair, falling like waves about a heart shaped face. Clear blue eyes, the same color of the dress, pierced me, pinning me to my seat with their intensity. She quirked a red lipsticked smile at me. Incredibly, I felt my disembodied dick get hard, wherever it was.

"May I sit?" she said in that husky contralto, setting my ears afire. I gestured for her to sit with one hand, feigning cool and calm. You don't get far in my line of work by falling for every pretty face that walks by. Or every pair of legs. Or breasts that are so pillowy that they just beg you to hold them, support them, caress them. Ahem.

"Help yourself." I said, voice even, not revealing a trace of the arousal I felt in my pants. Or, well, not in my pants anymore. As she took one of the two seats in front of my desk, I gave her another look. No ring on her finger. Some jewelry, but nothing too fancy. The dress, though perfectly tailored, was worn at the ends. The handbag she clutched in both hands was of good quality, with conspicuous bulges in the sides. Seems this dame came prepared. "What can I do for a fine woman such as yourself?"

She blushed at the compliment, her cheeks matching her fiery hair. She fiddled with the clasp of her handbag nervously and shifted in her seat. I pegged her as here about an unfaithful husband. She was a pretty gal. Men always cheat on pretty gals.

"I need your help, Mr. Dentene, but it is a bit of a...delicate nature." She said, eyes speaking of a fear her calm voice couldn't mask. I nodded comfortingly. I was already deciding how to nab this cheating spouse, and what my fee was going to be. I've let myself be persuaded to reduce unreasonable prices in the past. Very intimate persuasion. Even without my trusty dick by my side, I could still get my restitution. A determined man can get whatever he wants, my dad used to say.

"Discretion is my middle name, Missus...?"

"Pump. Gladys Pump." She said obligingly, shifting in her seat. "And it's Miss, not Missus."

" Miss Pump, then. I am the very soul of discretion." I said, coolly, not betraying the satisfaction of discovering this new information. "I can't help you with whatever your problem is without knowing what is." She shifted in her seat again. I didn't comment on her fidgeting. The movement was doing wonderful things to her cleavage.

"Very well, Mr. Dentene. I suppose I've got to trust, you, don't I?" She relented. I said nothing, merely raised my eyebrows to let her continue. She continued.

"Two days ago, I was at my work, singing at a high-class restaurant, when a man accosted me. Big, with a bad haircut and worse breath. A long winding tattoo trailing from his ear to his neck. This odd john even had shades on, despite the time and being indoors. He and I had a...disagreement, and he took offense. There was an argument, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in my room with my...problem." Here she hesitated, eyes guiltily flicking to meet mine, then darting away. I tapped out some of the ash from my cigarette into a tray. Here was the heart of the matter. I could smell it, sure as I could smell the perfume wafting gently off her. Cinnamon, with a touch of musk. I nodded for her to continue.

"Well, you see Mr. Dentene." Gladys said, dragging out every word as though it were a heavy weight. "My vagina appears to be, well..." She was blushing furiously at this point, and her eyes were glued to the center of my desk. "My vagina is gone."

I coughed in surprise, almost swallowing my cigarette in the process. I rocked forward, putting the chair back onto the floor with a heavy thump. I put my elbows onto my desk, giving her my full attention.

"Go on." I said, barely trusting myself not to shout the words at her, to demand she tell me everything, now. I had to play this smart, or I might lose any information I could need.

"I can scarcely explain it!" She said, animated now that she had gotten past the embarrassing part. "I swear to you, it's true! I can still feel it, still, ahem, use the bathroom, but its not in its place anymore!" She rummaged through her purse and slapped a thick wad of dollars onto the desk. "Please, believe me! I can't go to the police; I can't go to the courts! I can pay you, just please find my pussy!"

I stared at the huge stack of bills haphazardly strewn across my desk. That would pay rent. That would pay rent for the next six months. I looked back into her eyes, reading her panicked expression, the desperation hidden within.

"Alright," I said, reaching into my desk and pulling out the bottle of rye and two tumblers. "You've got yourself a deal."

*

"First things first." I said, once we'd both had a few slugs of the cheap rye. Gladys took her drink like a champ, downing the whole tumbler in a single gulp, then slamming the glass down for a refill. I was mildly impressed. Not much in this world sexier than a broad that can knock back a drink and you off your feet at the same time. "I need to see what I'm dealing with here."

"What do you mean?" she asked, a furrowed eyebrow marring her beautiful features. Her posture had relaxed after the second shot of rye, and a healthy glow colored her cheeks and neckline. It painted the tops of her breasts a marvelous pink like a rosy sunset.

"I have to see your...area." I said, gesturing with one hand still clutching my glass. The liquid sloshed towards her groin, in time with the movement of my hand. She gasped and sat up in shock.

"How dare you?" She started reflexively, but I cut her off.

"Listen Ms. Pump. I can't help you unless I know what I'm dealing with here. I have to inspect the scene of the crime, as it were, and by your own account, there ain't anything for me to see anyway." She opened her mouth to speak again but closed it once she considered my words. I could see her chewing on them, the way a man might a good steak. I saw her reach a conclusion a second before she said anything.

"Alright, Mr. Dentene." She stood up rigidly, hands clenched to her sides. "I don't have much of a choice then, do I? I have to trust you". With that, she took the hem of her dress, and slowly started pulling it up, revealing creamy smooth thighs. More and more of her dress was pulled up her supple skin, until her robins-egg blue panties were totally exposed. With a quick glance to the closed office door, she gently pulled the silky undergarment down to her knees. I inhaled quickly, despite myself.

There, between the delicate bump of her crotch, was smooth skin. A bare patch of skin, fresh as a newborn's, stretched the entire length of her groin, just like my own. There was even a gap in her pubic hair where her genitals used to be, the same way mine did. I tore my eyes away to look her in the face. She was beet red, eyes shamefully looking at the far wall of the office. When she saw my stare, she hastily pulled up her panties again, and smoothed out her dress.

"Well?" Gladys said, flustered. "What comes next?" She grabbed her glass off the table, downing the whole thing in a single swallow. I watched her throat work, carrying the drink past her enthralling breasts. I laced my hands in front of me, to better control myself.

"I've seen this before." I said confidently. Noting her startled expression, I quickly amended, "Once. I may be able to sniff out some leads on this, talk to some people." I didn't want to share that my own genitals were in a similar state to hers. Better to keep that information close to the chest, at least until I knew what I was dealing with. "I can get started right away; don't you fret. We'll find your pussy, make no mistake." I planned on saying more, but I noted an odd expression on her face, her posture hunched and tense. "What's wrong?"

"My vagina." Gladys said, her husky voice dropping an octave or two. She gripped the front of my desk with both hands. "I can feel it. Someone is...Oh, god." She bent forward and let out a moan. Her prodigious breasts dangled freely in their new position. I was hypnotized by her swaying cleavage, unable to turn my head away. "Help me, Mr. Dentene! Someone is playing with my p-pussy! Just like-oh!" She collapsed forward, her hips bucking rhythmically in time to some unknown beat.

I got out of my chair, hurrying over to her side. Fortunately, despite my raging erection, my pants didn't display a bulge, for which I was secretly grateful for. I grabbed her by her shoulders and forced her to look up at me. She stared at me with dilated, unseeing eyes. Her breath came ragged and quick, her entire body slick with perspiration. She still humped the air, round ass thrusting back and forth as she clenched my biceps viciously.

"He's fingering my pussy!" Gladys moaned into my ear, hot breath bathing the side of my face. "And his tongue is playing with my-my-cliiiit." She groaned out the last word, lolling her head back in passion. With a sudden fervor, she snapped her head forward and rammed her lips on to mine. Surprised, I didn't resist, and we kissed with a desperate madness, tongues mashing together and lips locking in pure need. One of my hands was kneading her breasts furiously, even though I had no recollection of reaching up. She broke our kiss to let out a passionate cry.

"He's fucking me! Oh god, he's fucking me!" She shuddered as she said it, her entire body seizing with pleasure. She gripped me tighter, her hips banging into mine mindlessly. I yanked one of her heaving tits loose of her gown and bent to put one of her erect nipples in my mouth. I sucked with a heated frenzy, pulling, and sucking and nibbling at the hard nub. Gladys screamed in pleasure, throwing her head back so hard she nearly toppled over. I wrapped one arm around the small of her back and grabbed a fistful of her wavy red hair with my other. Using her hair to pull her, I thrust her head to the side, exposing her smooth, delicate neck. I bit into it, sucking with ardor. She howled again, long and animalistic.

"I'm gonna, I'm gonna!" She barely managed, between gasps of air. "I'm gonna cooooome!" She let out one final moan, convulsing again and again. I held her tightly as she shook, body clenching in the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her breathing gradually slowed, and she lifted her sweaty face to mine, hair plastered to her scalp. She looked into my eyes with oceans of endless blue. My own breathing was ragged, as my displaced dick was painfully erect, straining across the invisible distance between us. Finally, Gladys composed herself, pulling away from me reluctantly. I took a shaky step back, giving her space. The whole front of my white dress shirt was soaked and wrinkled.

"I'm so sorry about that, Mr. Dentene!" She said, looking mortified. She took a step forward to wipe off some of the sweat but hesitated and kept distance between us. "I don't know what came over me! I'll-" I waved off her protests good-naturedly.

"It's completely understandable." I said, with a grin. "And please, call me Dominick. I think the two of us can solve this mystery. Together."

#

The lady in front of me was gorgeous and it was driving me mad. I leaned back in the patched and frayed chair in the strip club, watching her work. She spun around the pole, glossy dark hair trailing her like a shimmering wave. Her breasts were small but compact, like ripe pears, topped with chocolate brown nipples. Her tanned skin glistened with sweat in the smoky room, glittering along her bare shoulders down her back, and coating her firm, bouncing ass. I followed her high-heeled exertions with a frustrated look. My dick was rock-hard, straining to get close to that enthralling body. I was helpless.

"What's with the frown, Dom?" Frankie said, from the chair next to mine. His fedora was pushed far back off his slicked-back hair it was in danger of falling off. His eyes bulged like a frog's and the girl was the juiciest fly he'd ever seen. He was sweating in his three-piece suit, which barely contained his bulk. He gave me a wry smile. "You look like you need a bathroom, not a broad." I shook my head, clearing it. I gave him a rueful grin.

"Sorry, Frankie." I said, reaching for my whiskey. The cool burn in my throat did nothing to distract me from my erection. "I'm just thinking about a case, yeah?" Frankie sat up, loosening his tie, his eyes never leaving the gyrating woman before us.

"Oh yeah," he said, appreciatively. "That knock-out dame, right? Something hush-hush about her?" I nodded, not trusting myself to say more. Anyone who heard my story would think me a loony. Better to keep my mouth shut.

"She was harassed by a man while she was crooning in her restaurant. Big lug of a guy, tattoos on his neck, wearing shades at night." I listed off the details Gladys gave me earlier that day. I sent her home to rest. I also didn't want her following me to this particular joint. Frankie, like me, was rough around the edges. Unlike me, he was slimy too. I kept him far away from my female clients. Especially the beauts.

"I'll poke around." Frankie said, panting now. He downed the remainder of his scotch in one shot and leaned towards the dancer before us. He waved a fifty tantalizingly, like an angler at sea. She stopped her spinning to crawl over to him, ass high in the air, back arched low, a smooth, erotic canyon. I stared dumbly while Frankie whispered something into her ear and tucked the fifty into her panties. She nodded and crawled off the table. Frankie himself stood up. Even his tailored suit couldn't hide the bulge in his crotch. He gave me a wink.

"First, I gotta poke around here, if ya know what I mean, Dom." I nodded, bemused, and watched him saunter off to a private room with the stripper. I sat back, considering both my erection and my whiskey. The room was stuffy, oppressive. I sighed, gulped the dregs of my drink, and left.

#

Private investigators come across a lot of weird business. Cheating spouses barely scratched the surface of the crazy things we encounter in our investigations of other people's lives. When things get weird, when simple answers won't do, I go to Mama Darkness. Secreted in the slums of the city, her office was small, but gaudy. Beads, feathers, and intricate weaves hung from outside her door. The door itself was painted a dark blue and dotted with white, like a slice of the night sky. At eye level, an etched eye stared blindly forward. No matter where it was looked at, seemed to always be gazing right at you.

I approached her house with Gladys in tow. She'd arrived early the next morning, looking refreshed and eager to get started. Her sheer red gown had been traded in favor of a more practical blouse and skirt. Even under the layer of her tightly wrapped trenchcoat, I could see her luscious curves rounding her shape. We considered the closed door.

"Now, Gladys," I started, halting her before we went in. "Mama Darkness is... different. You may want to stay outside." Gladys gave me a pout that made my heart skip a beat. Even with her face wrinkled in consternation, her looks could stop a busy street cold.

"Mr. Dentene," she started, hotly. "I will not be left outside like some pooch that piddled on the carpet! Your concern is sweet, but unnecessary." She drew herself up to her not-inconsiderate height and crossed her arms across her chest, thrusting her breasts up in the process. I peeled my eyes away, eventually.

"Alright, Ms. Pump." I said, resigned. "You win this one. Let's go in." If the dame wanted to throw herself into the queer and strange, that was on her. She'd already payed in advance, anyway. I reached for the doorknob and pulled the door open. The entryway yawned open, unusually dark in the bright morning haze. Pushing down any reservations I had, I strode inside, doffing my hat in the process. Gladys followed close after me. As soon as she cleared the threshold, the door slammed shut, locking us in darkness.