There was a time when my king thought of me before any other, when thinking of me was what hardened that instrument, that bold cock. There was a time when he thought only of taking me from behind as hard and fast as he could, as if by plunging deep enough, long enough, he could fuck his way into my soul. I love him with that painful, yearning kind of love that invades the body from some other place—could it be the soul?—and can only be satisfied by the act of sex. Back then, when he had me under his control, hands on my ass, fingers pressing into my flesh, I felt his love and I was happy. But these days he is distracted by her, by her, and her and her and her—by the great panoply of lovely creatures walking the earth.
Black, Wednesday. How to Train Your Virgin. Brooklyn: Badlands Unlimited, 2015.