The skin of your stomach, slick from exertion, slipped easily past mine as I twisted free
from underneath you. We lay, spent, on the soft ground; coated in sand, and the secret
pleasure of boys.
That night I stretched out beneath the horrid pink canopy and explored my crooked
hole with clean fingers. I closed my eyes and wondered if a boy would ever get stuck
there.
Twelve years later, I found you on a dancefloor. We travelled toward each other, like
cowboys. You stared into my mascaraed eyes without recognition, but I knew you instant-
ly by your devil’s smile. You pawed me under the electric lights and pressed your slick
palms against my back.
Somewhere between the sand pile and the disco, you had learned to play with girls.
I didn’t tell you I used to be your boyfriend and that I already knew your secrets.
We left the dancefloor and rolled like puppies in the sand. I ran my fingers through the
grooves of your ribcage while we growled and smacked and panted. You pushed yourself
up inside my crooked hole and got seriously, satisfyingly stuck. I twisted my hips and
pined you beneath me as you breathed in my sweat and said,
“Girl…”
Wrong again, buckaroo, you missed my girl phase entirely.
Somewhere between the sand pile and the disco, I became a woman.
Cauldron Anthology
11