A couple days into her visit Zoe had stopped letting me sleep with her. She said she just wasn’t in the mood. This brutalized me. Why? Why wasn’t she in the mood? Was it because I shaved my pubic hair off? I thought it would make my dick look bigger but it hadn’t. I was fat and fat men need pubic hair, otherwise their privates look pudgy and awkward, like the ass of a pig. I had messed up.
I was disappointed in myself. I thought I could handle her, that I was a man now, that I could withstand her coldness. Instead of groveling at her feet and begging her to love me, I would be stoic. I would show such calm wisdom that it could be compared to that of the Buddha or Christ or Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall. And it would make her pussy so wet that her heart would follow. I would melt this iceberg of a woman. Global warming had nothing on the sweet wisdom in my eyes. I would make this girl so wet the whole world would drown.
I thought I had grown so much since the last time she left me. In my mind, what once had been a spoiled little boy was now hardened into a tragic hero.
But she was able to break me down so easily. My strength relied on that sweet, musky sloppiness of her pussy and the lunatic screaming in her eyes and the kindness of her long arms. I relied on this womanly stuff the same way Popeye relied on his spinach. Without those things I was just flimsy. The only muscle that worked was my needy little penis hiding behind my huge balls.
It took all the energy I had to hold it together, to not break down and act like a complete sissy.
I had trouble sleeping at night. When I did sleep I had a dream about my mother. In it the doctors had fixed her. She was alive again. Everyone else thought the doctors had made her better. She was taller, healthier. She acted more cheerful and less temperamental than before she died. People liked this. But I thought something was missing. I tried to convince everyone she had gone insane. Look at her eyes, I would say. Look at them. They aren’t like they used to be. See how she looks at me. They are not aching. They are not moist. It’s like I’m not even her child.
When I woke up I saw Zoe sleeping next to me. I tried to wake her by kissing her cheeks and her forehead. She groaned, pushed me away, and turned over. Even in her sleep she was a bitch. I wanted to strangle her. I wanted us both to be awake and screaming together.
Instead I went to the bathroom and, like I did often when Zoe wasn’t looking, I wept. And as I wept I stared at my naked body in the mirror. At least I still looked like a man. I had balls. I had huge balls. And I had a beard. And it was thin and transparent and silly, but so was my heart.