Some of his shame seeps through the phone. I feel sad for him, and I wonder what my world would look like if men didn’t cower from their desires. Maybe not that different, because male desire has rarely done much good for anyone. I scroll through the rest of the notifications. The picket fence of dick pics is at once both offensive and vile, but I feel a thread of gratification that I am loath to admit, even though it shouldn’t be a crime to say that it feels good to be desired, especially behind the safety of the internet. I hug my phone, a portal to a sea of dicks.
