PMDawn's profile

He makes violent love to his Russian lover. He likes his women thick – half gallon thick. Their kisses are deep and long as he tongues her mouth and licks the juice from her rim. Unabashed, they screw in public, in the car on the way to work, in their living room when visitors are there, in a gas station bathroom stall while our father pisses in the other stall, in between presents on Christmas morning, in the moment of silence during our conversations, or in his waking hours: 3:00 P.M. Tuesd...

Shaving, I cut myself several times on the base. (This is the hair she detested the most.) The curly scraps disappeared down the drain, leaving no trace of what I waited so long for, when I was younger. I was a boy again. Like the young boy in the shower at camp with six A.M. seclusion tugging his bathing suit down quickly lathering his diminutive penis, when they ripped back the curtain and pelted him with water balloons yelling, “BAL-DY! BAL-DY!” The first sprout grew in the reflection of t...

One night last spring we walked out onto the dock to watch the phosphorescence play in the lapping tide on the riprap. Between two boards below our feet we glimpsed a faint green glow. We laid down flat on our bellies and peered over into the black brackish mirror. Buried under our reflection was a flock of underwater birds, glowing skate, florescence tracing their flapping wings. Dim silhouettes defined by the blank space of the dark river. There must have been twenty, haloed in muted green...

I was allowed to play in the stream below the cow pasture across the street from my house everyday after school in the spring until the street lights came on; but, I could see the light on the corner of the street from the crest of the hill above my stream; so, I’d run between the bank and the crest every so often to see whether I was in trouble yet; but, I’d always stay longer than I was supposed to and turn over the rocks in the water until the light was too dim to expose the tiny crawfish ...

the brown locks occasionally ruled with silver, sift down my draped black curtain to the lip and settle in to the blond tufts of the previous patron as the self- proclaimed motorcycle man jibes the black woman who buzzes his buzz cut while he playfully threatens to stiff her on the $9 cut -- the scissors snip so close to my ear, I feel the chink of the metal, glance at my reflection and at the bulky chest behind me and back to the floor, not wanting her to feel my eyes on hers the motorcycle ...