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Sometimes the truth burns in my throat, Anne says under her breath. It presses like whiskey, right here, her palm swaddling her neck, long fingered easy hands. But it’s good, it makes me warm. I want it. And at the same time, I want to sweat it out of me like poison. On to you. And you look back at her, barely there she’s so thin. Collarbones haunting her neckline like a ghost’s jewellery. Your lips wanting to be the ruby at her clavicle. Tell me anything, you say. Tell me what makes you hot. Tell me everything. Something you’ve never told before. The first time I gave a man head, she says small smile sloping up from her teeth. I can tell you about that. It burned too. Tell me that then, you say, knowing there’ll be more stories, always more and that this is as likely to be fact as it to be fiction. Tell me the burning truth of your first cock sucking, Anne, and I’ll listen. It wasn’t like you’d think, she raises an eyebrow that makes you wonder what you’re supposed to be thinking, anyway. And I liked it even though we’re not supposed to. She pounds her fist against her sternum as if to stress feminist solidarity or to make herself hurt, you can’t be sure. It happened on a put-away bed that smelled like dog. It was covered in a coarse brown plaid pattern. Later he told his friends and I knew I should feel bad for having done it. But I still didn’t. I liked doing it. How it happened is that he took me downstairs while people were still arriving. It was a party being thrown by his roommate. And downstairs, he pressed his mouth onto mine, pointed his tongue to my teeth and put his hand between the legs of my jeans. I couldn’t feel anything. Then he pulled me down on top of him and he said This time I’m going to fuck you in the ass. Just like that, he said I’m going to fuck you in the ass and I knew he meant it too. I’d never even thought about putting my mouth down there – well, no, that’s not completely true. I remember I’d had dark bedtime fantasies about fluid exchange, men and women rolled together like the serpent eating its tail, coming into each others mouths in a cycle of desire given and eaten. But it was a child’s fantasy, not graphic or real. But when he said what he meant to do I thought to myself, there’s only one way out of getting ass fucked in this dog smelling basement with not enough liquor in your system to make it fun. I knew I had to make him come before he could try. So I slid my breasts down his thighs and I said don’t you want me to suck your dick first? It’ll make you really hard. And I didn’t want for a response, I just pulled his pants open and found his cock. Anne shifts in her seat at little at the memory. You sit motionless, not wanting her to lose track. Anyway, I put my mouth around him and nudged it with my tongue. I started slow and worked up faster, faster until I tasted something slick and bitter in the back of my throat. My mouth felt big enough to fit the entire world in there. My lips were sore from stretching around him. But I kept on going. Down. Up again. Down. Hoping he was going to come but at the same time dreading that he might. Eventually, he put my hand on his balls and said That’s right, baby, yes, before he came in the back of my throat. Which burned. Do you know how semen burns in the back of your throat? Anne asks you pointedly. You half nod, though you don’t really. She gets up to go to the washroom and says Don’t write about that. That’s a secret between us. You promise her you won’t, but a few years later you think Why shouldn’t I? You find the story burning in your throat, wanting to be told. So you do.
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