Giving Thanks
Remembering some of the women of my life. I remember her words. And that voice. “Do you want to fuck me, big boy?” She said such dirty things, which turned me on, but her voice had that squeaky cartoon-duck timbre—just barely female, just barely adult—which turned me off. I heard her voice before I first saw her, sitting in another booth at the roadside diner. “Mama wants a big sausage with her eggs, not a patty or some skinny little links,” she was arguing with...
