By Francis Anthony Govia
I saw this girl practically naked on
the train. I fantasized about making
love to her. I took home the image
of her breasts, ass, and long legs.
I splayed these out on my bed, and
ejaculated into my hands. Then I
went to the bathroom — allowed a
steady stream of cold water to run
over my body, and washed myself
with a cake of Ivory soap.
Feeling refreshed, I put on a pair of
shorts, and sat down to watch TV.
My neighbor knocked on the door.
She is one of those fat types with a
triple chin, and flesh that hangs
down her thighs like coiled rope.
She wanted to talk for a while so I
invited her in.
We talked and talked. We talked
about the recession. We talked about
Russia. We talked about her old beat
up car. We even talked about the
Pope. All this time we were talking,
she kept glancing at the fine hair on
my chest, and the dark outlines of
my crotch. I had neglected to put on
a brief, so there she was sizing up
my shaft — judging whether I was
large or small. The hell with the
woman! She had her sights on my
manhood and I didn’t like it!
So I turned off the TV — muttered
something about being tired — and
pusher her out of the house. About a
half an hour later, I heard her singing
in the shower.
Bad Medicine was first published by Kota Press.
