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An excerpt from

Viral

Mike Jeavons

Fifty million people have seen my penis. That must be some kind of world record, surely? I bet even the biggest porn stars haven’t had numbers like that staring at their junk. Sure, almost one hundred percent of those people didn’t want to see my penis to begin with and, according to some news reports, a lot of them vomited afterwards, but that’s beside the point.

I’m not taking to my new found fame particularly well. As I’m walking to the shops a man runs up to me and screams in my face because whilst his daughter was watching nursery rhymes on YouTube a pop up loaded featuring my video and now she has a crippling fear of snakes and milk. It takes me five minutes to convince him that I wasn’t the one who infected the entire internet with a video of me masturbating. I can tell he is desperate to smack me in the mouth as I explain to him that my brother is the one responsible for his daughter seeing me blow my load into a tissue, and that I would give anything to take that memory away from her. Thankfully he’s distracted as a group of lads shout ‘wanker’ at me from across the street and he moves on.

This must be what it feels like to be a celebrity. Not a decent celebrity, obviously, but a shitty one, like a man who’s filmed being racist at a supermarket checkout or a lady caught on CCTV putting a cat into a bin. Once this is all over I wonder if I’ll be offered a place in Celebrity Big Brother? Even a director of Netflix calls and threatens me with a lawsuit as every title in their library beginning with B has been switched with my video. Now, every time somebody wants to watch Breaking Bad or Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse they are greeted with grainy footage of me with my dick in my hand.

Somehow I am both the bullied and the bully. People laugh at me because I’m the naked guy spreading across the internet, yet people are also angry because apparently I’m the one who did it. Who the hell would do this to themselves? What could I possibly have to gain?

I phone in sick from work and shut myself away in my room. Usually I would have my PC on and I’d be keeping myself busy, but the only things waiting for me there are angry people and photoshopped pictures of my own dick. I switch on the TV, maybe a crappy afternoon game show will help me to forget this mess for five minutes.

Looking back at me is my dick. I change the channel. My dick. And again. My dick. I flick through the channels and on every single one is my video, a few frames further along. It’s like watching a horrific adult flickbook. I stare at it for a moment. Have I seen the video so much that I’m now starting to hallucinate? I rub my face and turn away. My eyes move through the room, across the action figures on the shelves and the posters on the walls. My dick is nowhere to be seen.

But it is still on the TV. I sneer as TV me make a little sexual groan and I quickly switch it off. This has to be a joke. A prank. Somebody has taken the video and somehow piped it into my house or hijacked my TV signal. I refuse to believe that the video of me wanking has infected TV broadcasts as well. There’s a loud pounding on the front door and I leap back. ‘Mr McKenna, it’s the police, we need to speak with you urgently!’