The Pussy

Ass

She’ll break my heart but I don’t care because my asshole hurts. She’s going on a date with another dude. I don’t want her to. There’s other complicated shit. Who cares. My ass.

I’m afraid it’s cancer. A polyp. Started hurting after four days of diarrhea from bad spinach. Figured it was the acid. My asshole was just overworked and surly. But it got worse. It hurts a little when I sit and a lot when I cough. When I adjust. Until your asshole hurts you don’t know how much you pucker it in life. Suck it in. It’s like a second mouth and all day you’re nibbling your lower lip. When I do that it’s like a rat’s chewing through it. Abrasive pain. You understand why Richard Gere pulled the gerbil’s teeth. It hurts when I shit, obviously. But also when I jerk off. Your asshole pulsates when you nut. Who knew.

I assumed it was a cyst. Whatever it is, it weeps. You feel just a hint of slippery blister fluid trickling in your underwear. The reflex that kicks in when you feel a wet ass: did I shit? All day it’s like this. I had to look. Assumed it was a cyst right over the hole and I could lance it. Got out of the shower, bent over in the mirror. Spread my shitpipe. You never look at your own asshole. But with porn we’re all connoisseurs now. It did not look half bad. If it were on a chick I’d fuck it.

The outside is fine, so whatever hurts is in my ass. Cancer. I spat on a finger, stuck it in. Started to feel something. Slimy cherry size lump covered in smooth wet skin like a salamander’s back. When touched it recoiled, like an animal. The finger made it angry. The burn spread from my ass to my guts to my navel.

I’m gonna ride it out. The doctor would be a hassle. But what if it’s infected. What if it’s a pus bulb from a wound from some shard of chicken bone I swallowed. What if the sharp end of a shattered party wing scratched a 300 yard track through my bowels… organs and blood stewing in half-formed septic shit… We can’t choose the form our death takes. But that would fit.

If you don’t want her to go out with this dude, just tell her, my sponsor says. If you want to be monogamous, say so. If not, fine. But stop with this OKCupid pussy. Those girls are damaged. Go talk to girls in real life. You’re at the grocery store for instance. A woman contemplates celery. You go up to her, you say: I see you’re buying celery. I also like celery. Etc. Meet a nice girl this way.

And now an Isabella Rossellini looking chick with a band aid on her face asks to sit with me. She needs to charge her phone, she says. Right as I’m typing about talking to girls.

Message from God. So what the fuck do I say. I see you have books about art. I also like art. Here are some things I know about art. Anyway, you want to get a drink some night. Here, put your number in my phone. I want to hold a fistful of your hair down, look in your eyes when I’m about to cum. Make you think I might blast in you when you said don’t. A fan of medieval Japanese woodcuts I see. You have tiny arms like a child. I want you to put on Hello Kitty pajama bottoms and stumble squinty eyed from the bedroom and tell me daddy I can’t sleep. Too bad about your fuckin’ muppet eyebrows but I can look past that. You didn’t choose to be Armenian. I want to rut with you like a mandrill and I want it so god damn bad I can’t form a sentence, is what I’m saying. Anyway do you come here often.

Impossible. Impossible. I’m gonna clench my asshole so I don’t have to think about it anymore.