I’d like to thank the boy who when he was thirteen
decided to touch me.
It may sound a bit disturbing at first
but it was the closest thing I felt to a Disney princess.
He was my Mr. Q and I was his Lolita,
And our romance was two summers of me feeling like a wanton whore.
At least I got to touch a boy before you did,” she smiled.
I smiled back.
“It was my first time. I saw his fat rubbery ______ hanging from his pajama pants.
We called it play-time, I called it my love story.”
He was my frog in disguise, I was his fat princess.
It was perfect until I realized how small it was.
So I pray to God at night
for the next time to be at least gentler and bigger.