My Mojo Rises While Watching National Geographic

 by Dawn West

 I’m drinking beer and watching a woman split her tongue on TV. She is a modified person, a subversion of trends with her fake tits and designer scars; her brilliantly pale shaved head and bouquet of tattoos. Her eyelids wiggle and the two muscles in her tongue swim like lovers, blood blurring onto her lips. I lay my cheek against your stomach in bed and consider piercing my nipple with a needle, leaving a silver hoop behind. I think about the false eyelashes I wore when I was fifteen. I think about how I lifted up my skirt for a boy that night, batting those lashes with self-filleting efficiency. I watch a woman split her tongue on TV and my shock is becoming distant with the growing weight of my lust for her. I want to shove my face against her silicone chest and listen to the whistles and clanks of her heart. Her tongue looks like shaved pussy lips and I want to rub my clit with the blood-stained ice in her hand.

Dawn West (b. 1987) is a nice young lady and a cheap date. She finds it sad that she's never masturbated anywhere strange. Her work has appeared most recently in Postcard Shorts and is forthcoming in Necessary Fiction.

GLUTEUS

by Dawn West

Keep going with that feral growl. Shatter my neighborhood reputation. Knock my clock off the wall. Use my I.D. for your pre-coitus line. Toss aside my dirty sheets. Please keep clenching your jaw and glaring up at me. You tell me to call you a fast girl, a commie, a wino; all these petrified words that used to hurt people. I ask Where Did You Come From and you say Maine. Your gluteal muscles abduct and adjust to strain. Your raucous brawn and tendons. Your pulse like a sack of pissed off worms. You thrust your pussy in my face and it smells like summer rain. You cry out some girl’s name. I wonder if you’re gay and this is just tourism. I’d ask you to stay but I somehow know that any question of need is rhetorical to you. I’d make you stir fry and then we’d drop acid. We’d decorate my studio and hide from the constant tiny lacerations of this world. We’d pretend to love each other and then maybe we would.

 Dawn West (b. 1987) is a nice young lady and a cheap date. She is proud of learning how to say "I finger fucked her" in French. This story is part of a manuscript in progress called Touch Me Touch Me Touch Me.