TWO POUND THING — CHRISTINA DRILL
/Laura Olivia grabs her bean-shaped thing down there in the Daffy’s bathroom stall and yells, SQUEEGEE! But this shrimp’s got no idea. The truth is I have been rubbing my legs together since I can remember. I used to think it meant cancer; telling of some genetic disease folded so inside my little self. I’d pray to my guardian angel to spare me. Anytime I’d get away with it, I vowed never to do it again. But then I always did. It was so good. It was like a crystal hanging over my bedside lamp I wanted. That I could get. “Please make me feel stupid,” I used to pray to my pillow, focused, sweating over those pre-sex thoughts that allowed me to feel what i thought was too good of a feeling to belong to me. Put me in a Violet Beauregarde costume, paint my face purple, roll me down the stairs, and call me Mom.
