I am not a hole, but in this moment I become it. When the act is finished and the plug is gone I am no longer whole. Desire covers the futility of the thrusting. If for a moment I regain consciousness I think “how ridiculous,” lose all suspension of disbelief and see sex as a child again: A strange act, pointless, repetitive.
First published in Residual Heat under my pseudonym Aga Black.