Free The Complete Lockpick Pornography by Joey Comeau Page A

the afternoon. If Michelle won’t fuck me, someone will. Someone will drive me out to their little house in the suburbs and let me try again and again until I’m satisfied that I can do it.
    She’s sitting at the bar with flowing black hair and a smile full of teeth. I drop onto the stool next to her and say, “You ever fucked a faggot?” and she nods and says she had a problem for a while, where all her boyfriends went gay after sleeping with her. The bar is empty, so I don’t say, “Oh, that’s right. Having bad sex is probably what makes people gay. Why didn’t the scientists think of that?” Instead I say, “I hope you live somewhere with expansive green lawns.” And she does.
    In bed she’s wet and moaning, and my cock’s inside her and there’s no lube and it’s fucking awful. She’s such a woman. I pull out, and she grabs my ass to pull me back in, but I can’t even stay hard. I’ve heard that it’s better if you don’t look. I can’t help it. Jesus. I need a man. Whether that’s giving in to the idea of a valid dichotomy of genders or not, I don’t know. But I need a man. This is awful. It’s like nails on a chalkboard, except both the chalkboard and the nails are my cock.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say, and she laughs at me, drunk still.
    â€œYou too?” she says. “The world is full of impotent men.”
    â€œI’m not impotent,” I tell her. “I’m just disgusted by your sloppy fucking mess.” And I get my pants and I leave. There’s an SUV parked in front of the neighbours’ house, with a baby seat in the back. I take my bottle and I put it right through the back window. “Hey, I christened your boat!” I yell at the house, but nobody comes to the window. Whatever.
    I keep walking. I christened their boat, and I named it That Bitch at the Mall Should Have Got a Kick in the Box While She Was Down and it’s a good name for a boat.
    Three blocks later I come across a little girl on her way home from school. “Hey, kid,” I say. “Did you know that if you grow up gay, your mommy and daddy won’t have to die?” She looks at me for a minute, and I smile and stagger a little bit. “The instant you let a boy put his cock in you,” I say, “your mommy’s name gets written down on God’s list of people who have to die. Your daddy gets written down on the devil’s list.” She starts to run away and I shout after her, “You’re going to murder your parents, you little straight slut!”
    For a second I worry — what if she wasn’t straight? I just assumed she was. But then she’s got nothing to worry about, does she? Her parents will be fine.
    Michelle opens the door and lets me in. “Don’t look at me like that,” I say. The room is spinning a little, but I’m fine. I feel better than I have in days. I tell her, “I want to make bumper stickers for politicians and gay-rights advocates.” I sit on the couch, and Michelle sits on the chair. She nods.
    â€œBumper stickers, huh?” she says.
    â€œYeah,” I say. “They would read, ‘My other pro-tolerance message is also condescending.’”
    As the room spins, I wonder whether you need gender to have lust. What about those androgyny-loving people? They’re still jacking something off though, aren’t they? They’re not just sitting around looking at chrome toasters and having instant orgasms. Are they? “I couldn’t do it,” I tell her. “I don’t know how you can deal with that shit. It’s like a meat shop down there. I need stability, you know?”
    Michelle rolls her eyes.
    â€œI’m not going to get into an argument with you over the pros and cons of our genitals,” she says. “You’ve grown up with yours, and I’ve grown up with mine. Penises seem