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It’s like my grandfather used to tell me when I was small, whenever I complained about doing something I didn’t want to do: el que quiera peces, que se moje el culo.” “What does that mean?” I ask. “Basically? The real good stuff takes effort. And it can be uncomfortable, but … if you want to eat fish, you gotta get your ass wet.”
A dark, thrumming instinct tells me: yes, I could. In fact, I bet I’d be surprisingly good at it for a newbie. You might think I had an inexplicable talent for such things. Like a prodigy.
She’s perfect, beautiful, and terrifying. Like the desert, I think.
She has all the confidence a deadly thing should.
“Ain’t that the most pathetic thing? I mean, shit, if you’re gonna be a monster, at least labia up and enjoy it. That’s what I always did.”
This body has survived so much trauma and bloodletting—more than any man’s could have. It deserves to be celebrated.
