should not be allowed out. I've shut her bedroom door to create soundless silky blackness within a perfect carton of security. I wish this woman near my body would not squeeze her fulsome breasts against my spinal cord while she dreams.

She with her false-red braid and her sable shocking pubic hair and her enlarged grossly puce nipples, does she think she is my mother? All my life I've been looking. Do you think I'm stupid, you foolish cow with your ugly awful smothering udders? I know my mother is never there.

These women, all they ever do is sleep.

I do believe in God. I did when I was a kid. Like my mother did, I shut my eyes so I wouldn't see the shattered world below heaven--and good God like hell I prayed. I prayed and prayed each night to preserve my own small porcelain soul. When my mother's revolving menfriends came with me into the closet and shrouded themselves over me and whispered shhhhh I squeezed my eyes against the hot closeness of the stillness and the boozy sour stench of their obvious manhood but what surely was the worst was the wetness. Over and over I bawled about the wetness. It stuck to me. It stunk.

Dear God my father in paradise, when can I be close to you together in our promised blissful safety? You have hands but they are beautifully invisible so I know when you touch me I will not feel you feeling my privates.

As a grownup boy I walk the earth encased in a blinding aura of shame.

Mother of God, I reek. I am fetid. Can't you smell it on me? Have you no senses? Why do you parade your little boy before me?

You are one big cruel motherfucking tease. Of course I can see that your young boy is gorgeous. His springy hair smells emerald like sweetly mowed meadows. His skin says he is wishing for large controlling fingers. His babyish cock floats in the bathtub like a fleshy semaphore signaling to you and to me and only I can hear him. Why are you so immaculately deaf? You talk at him and laugh and coo and play and wash his genitals as if you are actually interacting honestly.

While you do this, I crouch on the covered toilet, crossing my legs over my adult-size balls and clenching my gargantuan teeth and furiously incessantly praying.

Then, later.

Please God please, while I lie in bed each night with his stupefied mother I can hear him calling to me. She is contentedly inattentive. Please please God help me press my ears shut forever. Please please God every night I feel magneted to his room. Don't you see only I can show him the way. Only my hands can give him the proper guidance I can see he craves. Only my mouth can tell him how special a species he is. Only my full-grown cock can teach him what kind of a manbeast he is destined to become.

Please please God I only want to stay locked away. Dear Lord keep me in this imprisoning wench-smelling darkness for just one night more. Please God please I beg of you. Please. Won't you?

Please. Please God. I beg of you. Bury me.

 

[END]

© Ellen Parker 2002