It was time to go home and make consummate...one girl pleads, “Give me something I can relate to. Give me something I can feel inside.” One boy says, “If you were getting graded on your work here tonight, the teacher would send home a C-.” But Ramona and I were gone, down the beach for our mile jag home...she didn’t want to walk because she was drunk and delicate so I had to tease and coax her with my courage...”my fear is my only courage”...I screw up my courage, I tackle her with great vigor and she says “you are crazy future husband, I’m sooo drunk and you make me rosy with lust...” I said nothing and buried my mouth in hers and saw stars. We were in the sand but we had to get to my mother’s house somehow... “quickly,” I said, “we only have a short distance to go...” Past the pink time-shares owned by the former head of the Ku Klux Klan and past the yogurt-maker’s pad, a man also named Fido, who had hit incessantly on my mother since her arrival--to no avail...he made delicious yogurt that we bought at the San Pedro market for pennies on the dollar...past the barking bitch who had just given birth to a fine litter of pups, who barked all night, but who treated me like a long-lost mother when she saw it was me on the beach...she would lick and jump all over me, and it would bend my mom all out of shape cause she only liked Portuguese water dogs...but I liked this little mutt even though she barked up the night and gave me fits on the installment plan...
We arrived thru the sand backyard, the poet and the model...the night was insistent but it needed a coup de grace and when Ramona went straight for the bedroom, without so much as a tick, peeled back the sheet, I knew this was it...and suddenly we were inside the sheets and floating around and in the distance I heard the bitch begin her barking...Ramona moved in close and quickly started her descent, from below me, down my very own navel, stopping every so often to introduce her lips to my cutis vera...I could feel myself half-aroused and when she got THERE I began to foresee the problem...The word “struggle” comes to mind...she took me in her mouth and began the action, the notion, the motion...and I lost all sensation...
What had become of my corpora cavernosa? I was livid with fear...a man’s worst nightmare! Ahh...the back pain of earlier that day...the balls in the shower tender to the touch...the ultimate irony of propagation with one of nature’s finest examples and one of man’s greatest failures. The blood was not going to go for my personality, the performance principle was gone, the show would not go on...I could not become a man...I moved into emergency procedure, telling jokes to surround the complicated dramaturgy and bringing her back to the level of my eyes and mouth, where I could explain the comprehensive metaphor of shame and my own brief stint in the mind world of a queer...
-Michael Price
