Just dry fucking my blistered ass for years. I expected for him to at least toss my salad first and moisten it up for the fucking. But nothing.
No lettuce, no tomatoes and no ranch or blue cheese. Just straight on, dirty, hourly Motel 6 grunge fucking.
The kind of ass fucking that only the guilty get. Like the guy with the Tony Danza, Who’s the Boss van who raped kids, or the a-hole gang-banger who beats and kills an elderly woman for her $20 purse. That kind of guilty.
If I find out his dick is not at least three feet long, I will be greatly disappointed because then I will wonder if the sodomy wasn’t actually as bad as I thought it was.
Maybe it’s supposed to feel like it has all this time. Maybe I had my salad tossing when I was borne into my easy life and the fucking is just payback for the silver spoons, the nice shoes, the safe neighborhood, the new car at 16, the cash in hand when I wanted to go out with friends, all that good shit that I took for granted.
Or maybe it’s not God at all. Maybe my dick is three feet long and I’ve been fucking myself this whole time and I was only looking for someone else to blame.
Funny, I don’t believe in God, but somehow I’ve always believed it was his dick.