I told him boys I grew up with liked to go frog gigging. Bullfrogs are fat, loud, and gather around cow ponds.
They are nocturnal, so
what’s fun about
frog gigging is listening in the dark for your kill. If you circle the pond
many times before approaching, the frogs will forget you’ve come. They ribbit in unison. You have to follow
one sound and try to stab it, hard, with a sphere. That’s what I said, with a sphere. We laughed and he poked at my shoulder. Spear, I meant spear. He said spell gigging.
G-i-g-g-i-n-g. GEE EYE GEE GEE EYE IN GEE he repeated in an accent thicker than my own and wrong, too warm and slow. Then we are fucking. When against my leg his cock softened he apologized, and with it gently in my mouth I saw into the face tattooed on his thigh and thought, I am not afraid. Why is he afraid? I love the computer. I like to get on to say things about men. Is he afraid
I will talk about his cock on the computer? What would I say: funny, cultured, perverse. I think Marcel Duchamp said something about these silly competitions we have but I forget who Marcel Duchamp is.
