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I told him boys I grew up with liked to go frog gigging. Bullfrogs are fat, loud, and gather around     cow         ponds.

They are nocturnal,     so

what’s      fun             about

frog gigging is listening in the dark for your kill. If you circle   the      pond

many times before approaching, the frogs will forget you’ve come. They ribbit in unison. You have to            follow

one sound and try to  stab it, hard,             with a sphere. That’s what I said, with a sphere. We laughed and he poked at my shoulder. Spear, I meant spear. He said spell                     gigging.

G-i-g-g-i-n-g. GEE EYE GEE GEE EYE IN GEE he repeated    in an accent thicker than my own and wrong,     too warm and slow. Then we are fucking. When against my leg his cock softened he apologized, and          with it gently in my mouth I saw into the face tattooed on his thigh and thought, I am not afraid. Why is he afraid? I love the computer. I like to get  on to      say things   about men.  Is he afraid

I will talk about his cock on the computer? What would I say: funny, cultured, perverse. I think Marcel Duchamp said something about these silly competitions we have      but I forget who Marcel Duchamp is. 

 

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