Chapter 8

“Every man wants a dick in him,” he says while I consider killing him, “whether or not he’ll admit it. Don’t mean he’s less a man. Maybe means he’s more because he’ll do everything he can and there’s pleasure to be had back there if you just let me in. Butt hole is made for more than shitting.”

I think on how many men I fought off when young, hard dicks poking at my bottom. “No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “No.”

“You’re afraid you’ll like it,” he says, and now I really want to kill him. I press on his throat. Hechokes some and I let him think he’s a goner, then ease up. He sputters and coughs, and when he can speak again, he asks, “Why are you so angry with me talking about it?”

“Because I’m the one who says what I do with a man.”

“You’re acting an old man, afraid of something new.”

“Ain’t new. Men been butt-fucking since all time and I’m the one doing it.”

“Why do you think they let you do ‘em? Because it feels bad?”