At my desk I try polishing up a story from years ago, and I rummage through my mail, working up to the task at hand. After my last piece of mail, I realize the time is now. I peruse my copy of Juggs. Hmm. That “virgin” chick on page nine is kind of cute. My, what a pretty pussy. Hmm. I’m horny. I quote my yoga teacher: “Be aware of your pud throbbing in its methodical yearning way.” I turn the page. Hmm. The lactating mother. Haven’t considered it, and I won’t begin now. My God, the boobs on that black lady with the carnival mask are bigger than my beer gut. I need a little more porn star, a little less freak show. Ah, now there’s a wholesome lass washing her pickup truck in someplace like Montana. She’s wet and soapy and smiling this huge shit-eating grin in every shot, rubbing her boobs against the windshield of the truck so the photographer can get a shot from inside the cab. Yoga breath turns into panting.

I reach into my backpack for Fleshlight and hastily unscrew the top. Christ. Why vanilla? I realize it would be better to run it under hot water, but the roommates are all sitting around out there. I flip back to the “virgin’s” lovely hymen-clad flower. She’s smiling this smile that says, “Hi, perv!” while holding her eighteen-year-old hooters out to the camera. “Getting a hard-on?” She giggles. “Go on, take it out. Whack off for me, baby.” She’s also muttering, “Pathetic creep,” under her breath, but I concentrate on her saying, “Go a step further, Joey. Undo your belt, sweetie. Your jeans, sugar lump. Your briefs, thumper.”

“Okay,” I answer.

“That’s better,” she coos as I scoot my pants down below my knees. “Now get your toy and lube up….”

It’s not easy. I remove the bottom lid as well as the top in order to remove the hard plastic tube from inside the soft, saccharine “vulva.” I’m afraid of ripping it—as if it were a hymen or something—but eventually I wrestle it free. I put Fleshlight on the desk with its unfortunate pink coin-slot eye staring at the ceiling, like a bored patient at an ophthalmologist’s office, and snap the lid open on the lubricant. I aim into the coin-slot eye and get most of it in, but when I lift Fleshlight off the desk, the lubricant empties out the back end. It startles me, and the thing falls from my hand, bouncing off the edge of my desk, off my thigh, and rolls onto the floor about six inches past arm’s reach. I rock my chair sideways. Damn. I stretch, stretch more…

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Uh, yes?”

“Can I come in?” my roommate Stephanie asks.

“No!”

“Then can I borrow some milk?”

“Borrow whatever the fuck you want!”

“Well, thank fuckin’ you!” She yells, safely stomping away.