The Whore's Child
“It’s not dagger pain, but deep, rumbling, nausea pain, the sort that seems to radiate in waves from the center of my being. There are those who think that a man’s phallus is the center of his being, but I have not been among them until now.From inside the house Faye heard me shut off the mower, and now she’s come out onto the deck to see why. She shades her eyes with a small hand, scout fashion, to see me better, though the sun is behind her. Ours is a large yard and I’m a long way off. “What’s... wrong?” she calls.I’d like to tell her. It’s a question she’s asked on and off for thirty years, and just once I’d like to answer it. My dick is throbbing, I’d like to call out, and if we had any neighbors within hearing, I believe I would, so help me. But to prevent that we’ve bought two adjacent lots. Regrets? I’ve had a few. I mow their yards and my own.“Nothing,” I call to Faye. It’s my standard line. Nothing is wrong. Go ahead, just try to find something that’s wrong.MoreLess
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