Once, when I discovered a Hustler magazine at one of Mama’s john’s place. I happily sat in the bathroom with it and gave myself my first hand job. It was blissful but as soon as I finished, I hastily cleaned myself up and hid the magazine in the back of the cabinet underneath the sink. Before I let my conscience get the best of me, I’d allowed myself one moment to dream that I wasn’t in my shitty world but was instead in a place I had control of. A world I ruled. I was happy. When I turned sixteen, I woke up to an annoying jingling from my bedside and opened my eyes to a grinning Richard dangling a set of keys. That morning I’d walked outside to a black Z28 Camaro with glittery, gold racing stripes and gold pin striping. It was all mine. The best for my boy, he’d said. I was ecstatic. But neither of those instances compared to the bursting inside of my chest at hearing Bunny laugh, sing, and recite every goddamned word to that movie. Her giggles were infectious and during that movie, something happened.
