8. For the Love of Testicles

tried not to pressure Tommy, but . . .

Mostly I respected my thirty-year-old virgin friend. But once in a while Tommy might’ve felt a little pressured by me and I regret that.

I wasn’t even noticing THAT softness. I was fascinating about another completely different softness.

Tuesday, August 7, 990 . . . (one week on the road)

Tommy, baby . . .

I know! I know! I’ve already written you a giant letter today and mailed it earlier at Mount Carmel, Illinois. But this is different.

I’m relaxed now. I’m not in the middle of the heat of riding my bike. I’m having my first serious round of drinks since I’ve been on the road. I’m getting a little buzzed and I remembered a couple of things I forgot in the letter earlier today.

First of all — ARACHNAPHOBIA!!!!

You were acting like some kind of knowledgeable motherfucker when a half dozen spiders invaded our sleeping bag throughout the dark and spooky night! You pull out this fifty-cent word to describe my screeching frenzy and I was so impressed.

Then today, I passed by a theatre in Petersburg, Indiana. Arachnaphobia! It’s a movie! Now I get it!

Also, let’s talk about commitment.

If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a dozen . . . no, two dozen times from your lips: “I can’t make a commitment.” Seems to be the chorus to a song, you sing it so frequently. I can’t make a commitment, do-wah!

Oh baby, please don’t make me make a commitment . . .

BUT! Commitments come in many forms, my sweet delectable morsel of a young pup. You . . . at the same time you insist that you cannot make a commitment . . . you hassle me, plague me, beg me NOT to ever cut off contact with you.

“Please, please, even if you fall in love with another, let us still keep in touch,” you plead.

Do you not recognize you require a commitment from me?

But that’s okay. I am willing and eager to commit a bunch to you. Only at the rate to which you would prefer to become accustomed. It’s okay! I’ll be there for you consistently and for a long, long time.

If that’s all the commitment you require . . . all that you prefer . . . that will be all that I give.

But you are so transparent, my sweet love. Because I know that you are there for me . . . consistently and for a long, long time, too. And that’s a commitment.

The kind of loosely held commitment I prefer.

Anyhow, that’s all. I have no more bones to pluck with you. I just couldn’t resist pointing this out to you. Other than that, your totally cool, totally in-control, totally non-reactive, totally mellow facade remains totally intact. And I totally love you for it.

Know what else? You’ve got the softest and most caressable testicles in the greater United States. (I’ve heard there are some remarkable nuts in Alaska and Hawaii).

Couldn’t take my fingertips off them, that night in the motel, in Bumfuck, Ohio. I know you were all concerned about a boner gone awry. But I wasn’t rubbing your balls to recapture an elusive erection.

No! I could NOT believe the texture of the skin covering your jewels . . . mmmmm. You were muttering some nonsense about feeling totally worthless because of your soft cock or something like that.

But I wasn’t even noticing THAT softness. I was fascinating about another, completely different softness.

Love, M-flower

ADDENDUM . . . Later . . . Drunker . . .

Pardon me for being so flagrantly physical and animalistic throughout the last paragraph of the preceding letter. This disclaimer is void where prohibited and especially in Illinois, where my body and your body are separated by ONE ENTIRE STATE!!!!

ARRRGGGHHHH!!!!!

I can’t stand it! I’m craving your chest. I want to maul it.

Let me touch you, Tommy.

Oh shit, I’ve lost my composure, even in a letter. That’s bad. But you’re good.

Love, M-flower

PS: There’s a “BIG SKY” sunset in Illinois tonight . . . and a FULL MOON!