I think about how he laughs when I climb up his body like a monkey in desperation. He laughs when I get mad at him for stealing my Twizzlers, like I steal his cigarettes. He laughs when he sees my polka dot socks. He laughs when I insist on wearing those ridiculous Russian fur hats—his words, not mine. He laughs when I tell him he’s the worst teacher anyone has ever had, that his home assignments are stupid. He laughs when he fucks me and I get too needy for my orgasm. He laughs when my words stutter while reading my poems and riding his cock.
