Indian Masti

I was a submissive pretending to be a dominant. What did I know about anything anymore? I still had the soliloquy to write for the play but that was o...t of the question now. I sat at my desk and hurt, physically hurt, watching the flat, bright sun on the shattered snow in the park, swollen with gin some mornings, the television on all the time, commercials droning for car insurance and long distance service, news, talk. I read about voudun—Voodoo—and the idea that we’re all possessed by. It was exhilarating, but whether I was clothed or not when I arrived didn't matter. My demanding canine masters knew why I was there. I never needed peanut butter anymore. When I went to them I was always wet already, and they could smell my desire and knew that I was in heat. Sometimes they would fight to establish who got first dibs, but generally it was Ike (who had been away with my dad and brothers that first night) who mounted me first. Marshal, my dear and gentle pet who had penetrated. More

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