i wasn’t that gobsmacked when he asked me to go down on him, right in his car which he parked by the cemetery under this hulking elevated highway in queens. i was more stunned by the downrightness of the exchange: he paid for an unexpected monday night dinner in a filipino restaurant; i, apparently, this—what—chore?
prudery, i guess, comes with age. not that i’m saying i affected too much modesty tonight. it’s that it’s a bitch, really. this aging thing. first this, then the not seeing things clearly like mistaking a faraway street lamp, while busy down there, for a silver coin of a moon hanging low in a summer’s evening sky.