that's not the right size of my pe-

p a u l .

"You, you love it how I move you
You love it how I touch you
My one, when all is said and done
You'll believe God is a woman"

The fundraiser he was running was fashionable, beautiful and featured an ice sculpture of himself; naked. He’s standing in front of it, the replica scaled to his exact size, sitting on a bench. His head is level with his penis, and he stares at it, a slight frown on his face as his gaze slides down to his pants. He definitely wasn’t that big, the sculptures, it seems, had taken the liberty of enlarging his package. Unimpressed with the adjustment, Paul turns, moving away with a disappointed sigh.

He likes what he has, to him it’s the perfect size, doesn’t need to be bigger or smaller, so why was it necessary to change it? Was he not perfectly the way he was? He loves his body, respects the power of his own physical features. He was almost annoyed by the fact that they had done this. He made a mental note to make sure he contacted the designers and remind him that his body was wonderful the way it was.

Moving his way to the small stage he picks up the microphone, gently tapping against his glass to gather the attention of his participants. It was time for the good old speech, the last one he had given had been for Mr. Capitol, and that had gone well. After all, he still had the crown. He was tempted to go and put it on and remind the people who he was and what he could do.

“People,” he didn’t want to exclude anyone with a traditional ‘ladies and gentlemen’, “thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedules to come and help me.” He nods, a smile flashing around the room gratefully.

“As you all know, I’ve asked you here today for your support. I need your money. I’ve placed a box,” Paul points to the ice sculpture, a delicate ladder has been placed against the side, “in Paul’s hands, so please put your donations there.”

A few of the attendee’s clap and Paul beams, raising his glass before taking a sip. He goes to move off the stage, but Farrah, a dear friend of his grabs his arm, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Paul, you have to say something,” she leans back looking at him, “they’re here to hear you tell them what you’re going to do.”

Ah. Paul straightens his tie, placing the champagne glass onto the ground as he moves back to the stage. He clears his throat, looking at all the eyes as he tries to formulate the right words. His eyes land on the ice sculpture, giant bulge capturing his attention.

“Love yourself,” he says, swallowing as he tightens his fingers around the microphone. “This world can be a cruel place, and we all deserve to feel comfortable in our bodies. In my position as a council member, I will work to create a safe environment where no one has to feel ashamed about themselves.”

The rhythm was building, “you will be able to walk around naked, you will feel comfortable wearing crop tops and dresses. No one will feel ashamed of the size of their penis. Together, we can create a Capitol where everyone feels at home, where we all feel safe to express ourselves.”

He looks at the people in front of him. “We will live true to ourselves and feel happy to be who we are.”

That seems like a wonderful world to live in.