my house at the top of the hill would have glass walls that I could look out
all of the time and stand in front of naked and pee in front of and little
boys would come and bring their friends and stare with their grubby,
prepubescent eyes in awe and jealousy and wait until I wiped and then sigh
and run home to play monster trucks or read Playboy to the rhythm of their
little hands on their little penises and I would laugh and put on my leopard
panties and eat another man yes that's what I would do in my house at the
top of the hill eat mean and roll the remains down the hill into a large
lump that smelled like rotted canteloupe because the only boys that please
me trot up the hill in under-roos and ooze of nursery rhymes and babysitter
envy and they look but can't touch or talk to me yes that's the way I like it
in the house on top of the hill
|
