GRAY NYMPHO MONOLOGUES

Shades of Scarcity

my end-of-year ramble . . .

I treat myself to an always-bouquet of fresh carnations (cheap). I love my one blue wall, raised ceilings and all-new matching appliances, a big step above anyplace I’ve lived before . . . photo by author.

I will be turning sixty-nine in twenty-five.

It might be time to begin my latest aspiration of doing sixty-nine blowjobs this year.

I’ve licked a few slashes onto my scorecard lately.

I live in the perfect place for such a goal. I’m surrounded by old horndogs who’ve no doubt imagined my long silver mane like a tent over their jewels as they hone-in on how a woman in a wheelchair is at the perfect height for a little man.

I hope you can forget that, now that I’ve pointed it out.

Growing up poor, one enjoys cheap fun activities that don’t require buying toys or devices or other accoutrements.

Several kids jumping up and down on a bed, giggling uncontrollably and slaying an otherwise boring afternoon. Possibly busting a lamp.

Growing up the ninth in a poor family, all acquisitions are hand-me-downs. Mattresses, in particular, are the hand-me-down-EST.

I’ve slept fitfully upon errant bedsprings in my childhood and so I have a thing about not acquiring a bed that was once someone else’s regular spot. Alongside whatever…