Morning cracks to life. The custard-colored sky douses Reggie Lauderdale. He sleeps, a rosary twined around his neck, his dreams packed with heaves, groans and whaps.
A neck bite.
A scrotum flick.
Inside his slumber, Reggie is making love to Jesus Christ. Tingles boost through him until he spurts like a dropped can of cola. Reggie awakes. Goo warms his briefs.
“God.” he pants.
GodThis is the sin Reggie cannot confess. This is the nightmare he has fought since his twelfth year, and now, at nineteen, it still won’t cease. He feels dead-ended.
Reggie’s mother had always urged prayer. She had taught him to bind his p***s with dental floss or burn out the sin by daubing his slit with salt. But nothing works anymore. He knows he must be ill. He knows he must have a condition. A disease, a
