Garth's Balls, Edit 1 (literary erotica, erotic memoir)

"On all fours."
"What! My daughter is going in for electroshock, and that's all you have to say to me?"
"That's precisely why I'm saying this to you."
"What the hell is wrong with you? You have no heart."
"On all fours."
"I can't, I can't now," I say bolting for the door.

He's there before I am. I once saw him stride after a centipede, one hundred legs and Garth's two were faster. I shake my head because the man amuses me.
"I'll get on all fours, but I'm keeping my clothes on."
"Uh huh," he says.
One thing about Garth, he's cool---doesn't fumble with zippers, jerk pants off like a rookie driver, gas, brake, clutch---he does about his business, surveys the task at hand, checks weather and road conditions, and slips seamlessly into the groove.
"He was so clinical," I say to Garth when he comes back from the washing his cock and right-hand middle ass-finger. He pulls on his grey cotton shorts and lies down on the bed.
"Come," he says, patting the pillow beside him.
"I didn't," I say.
"There's always tomorrow," he says, "well, not always, life is fatal. As we know it."

He spreads his big arm across the pillow. I don't put my clothes on because I've worked my ass off for these muscles and I like to show off. I snuggle into his armpit and breathe in, slide down to his cock and do the same, except this time I sigh afterward. The bouquet of his cock and bravery of gold hair environs startle me even after two years, the brilliant copper luring me, lighting my way like the North Star.
"You should have heard him," I say, nuzzling in.
"Who?"
"Dr. Flak, you should have heard him, like he was reading the Encyclopedia Britannica---we had a set at Wilder Avenue, maroon hard-covered with gold, you know how the pages are rimmed with gold? Hey kinda like you!"

I stroke his balls which feel like my grandmother's neck, the one on my father's side. I used to lie in bed with my grandmother when I slept over in her one-bedroom walk-up and stroke her wrinkled neck, like the blind, my fingers' demi pointes grazing over her neck's old-world silk smoothness. Which is one reason I love Garth's balls. Some men's balls are like the heads of Buckminster Palace guards, so staunch and upstanding, but Garth's are old man's balls, spreading and drooping, which is rare in one so young. I love his balls. His mind is like them, wise before its time.

"Your mind is like your balls," I say.
"How so?"
I know he's thinking what the hell is she talking about now, so I précis my story about my grandmother and the palace guards.
"If you say so," he says. Which is his way of saying "I'm not gay, so how should I know"---a joke between him and Talon, Talon's mother being gay and weighing almost as much as Garth.

(Chapter unfinished, more to follow.)