“Her father, like you and so many other men in this town, did something inscrutable with stocks and her mother was at work somewhere and so for hours we would roll around half-clothed on that bed, dry-humping and sucking face and rubbing our paws over each other’s zippered crotches, until one day she opened my fly and pulled out my dick and squeezed it in her fist as if trying to strangle a goose. I wasn’t sure she knew what to do with it, so I helped her and she helped me with the labyrinth of buttons on her baggy pantaloons and then the sliding off of her polka dot panties and then we were fumbling on each other, naked, writhing around, embarrassed and happy, as though we’d freed each other from the unfathomable burden of adolescent secrets.”

— Ted Thompson, “Some Things I’ve Been Meaning to Ask You”

10:03 pm  •  28 July 2009  •  25 notes