Hairless and tan, rich and slutty—for all her unique traits, Ann does not hold a candle to Louise, my most recent girlfriend, the only person in my life I’ve ever truly loved. Louise seemed to really know me and, despite that, wanted to be with me. But she is party to the situation I am currently avoiding, and so I make do with the perfection of memories. I know what’s going on—it’s all a big cycle. I’ve had a girlfriend since I was in second grade, and I’ll probably have one until I croak. The problem is, despite my current confusion, which I’m coming to, I love, love women. I like to see them bark for me. That’s a joke. I love having a girlfriend. All they ask for is a normal degree of fidelity, and then they’ll let you do whatever you want to them. Anything. You can have them bent sweetly over the back of the sofa with their gorgeous ass in the air and they won’t say a thing, because the truth is everybody digs it and just needs the excuse of love. I get myself into all kinds of trouble, all that rubbing in the dark. Rubbing and rubbing in all those beds next door to a church or over a health-food store or in the back of her mother’s house. I bet if you put them end to end, I’ve rubbed my hand across bare stomachs from here to Estonia and back. They give the word and it’s a free-for-all. If I were a girl I’d fuck ten guys a day. I swear. I’d never want to be a girl, though, for they have the worst deal in history.