I Believe... [in Public Dildo Stories]
...that the problem with telling a dildo story in a off-shoot casino bar and grill is that there might be a kid somewhere in the room who will overhear it. On the other hand, any kid today who hasn’t heard about dildos is far too sheltered with the ideological plastic helmet to survive past ten years old.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?