Friday, February 6, 2009

Frat Party

I rested on a white sheet as Genevieve drew on my groin with a Sharpie.


Straight lines and hash marks and crosshairs: radiation targets.

Genevieve used athletic tape and gauze to pull my personal bits to one side, clearing the way for target acquisition. The region south of my belt buckle looked like a drunk conventioneer’s necktie at closing time.

“A guy usually has to go to a fraternity initiation or a bachelor party to get this kind of treatment," I said.

Genevieve giggled, but nervously, as if she didn’t know whether she should.