Boy Parts

I didn’t turn heads, or get cat-called at all, and that put me in a foul mood. It’s annoying when it happens, but when you get used to it and it doesn’t happen – that feels worse.

I didn’t turn heads, or get cat-called at all, and that put me in a foul mood. It’s annoying when it happens, but when you get used to it and it doesn’t happen – that feels worse.

Wow jealous I am longing for death’s sweet release r/n, I type. And then I delete it and replace it with that fucking crying-laughing

There’s a soft part of your brain. A place where you’re still just a child. Once someone’s poked the soft spot, the dent doesn’t go away. Like sticking your fingers in wet concrete.

Whether I’m in control or losing it, I’ve always had a power thing, I think.

‘Has anyone ever told you you look just like Priscilla Presley?’ he asks.

‘They have,’ I say.

‘When she was young. Before all the bad work.’ He snorts. ‘Obviously.’ Then, with a squint. ‘You know, if you ever want anything done in the future… Those fuck-ups almost never happen, now. That Meg Ryan shit.’
131

I keep my hair over my ears

He smells of baby powder.

I pull the corners of my mouth into place with my fingers and see what it looks like when I show my teeth. It always looks a little smirky or sneery, I think, or like the anxious grin of an agitated chimp. I’ve never had a nice smile. A shame – you spend all that money on a set of veneers to find out your teeth were never the issue.

He went to the toilet, and I remember thinking what a fuck-up this was. He was just a dork, not a weirdo like the others had been. He’d been in there for fifteen minutes or so. I couldn’t hear anything through the paper-thin wall, so I nudged the broken door open, and found him perched on the toilet lid, chewing a used tampon he’d fished out of my bathroom bin. One hand in his jeans, eyes half-shut, head tipped back. He didn’t notice me till the flash went off on my camera.

his justification for this was a weird narrative about being a Jewish man and reconciling his identity with capitalism pushing the Nazi aesthetic, and fetishising big blond women. Shiksa Goddess is scrawled on the back of the photo in his handwriting.