Dana: Chicks With Dicks 1

These days as I sit and watch the diaspora I remind myself to avoid my usual brand of cloistered thinking but it’s hard when i’m watching this byzantine revue.  They, on the road, journeying to their own interior limits.  On foot, in cars old and new, motorcycles, trucks, buses.  Young and very young and old leaving Gothic cities of marble and plague and corruption before they see their city pulled down stone by stone.  Along the broken highway lines travel flakes, mystics, fools, fascists.

Sitting in this city park in midsummer small town Indiana watching them flee whatever they are fleeing.  I might join them if I were in my early twenties or late nineties but there’s nothing anywhere else that I cant get right here, a few miles from our new farm that I hope Dana doesn’t lose like she did the old one.  Young moms with strollers walk by.  Retirement age folks and young adults.   Middle aged guys in suits that must either be perverts or the plainclothes cops trying to catch them.  Underage girls walking around wanting some attention from a man, any man even if he’s old enough to be their grandfather.  I’m not that old but i’m not a man either.  I’m a chick with a dick, thanks to Dana.  And I don’t mind.

A boy in his twenties tries to pick me up and I blow him off.  He doesn’t know what I am and it wouldn’t matter if he did; i’m only attracted to women.  Finally I ask myself what i’m doing here, leave the park bench and walk thru the dappled shadow from elm and poplar to the other side of the park to my bright red Camaro with custom license plates  that read ‘Fanci.’  That’s what they call me.  The car gets me looked at even more than my face.  It was a present from Dana.

I’m restless after I get home.  I take off my clothes and go out the sliding glass doors to the patio and sit and stare at nothing.  I never used to go around naked like this, but when you live with Dana she will bring out any weirdness in you and multiply it.  I paint my nails the banana berry color that I like and let them dry.  Dana did my toenails this morning.  I’m pretty OCD about matching lip and nail color.

   In our early years together Dana was so mean I would do anything to avoid it.  Once she fully grasped this fact she let up on me and only worked at making me miserable and afraid when she couldn’t get her way.  It’s been a very effective stratagem for her.  Her most recent use of it was to drug me and get me into surgery where I was given breasts.  I’m a man, or was, but now I dress and live as a woman.  Dana’s orders.  I now think of myself  as a woman and get upset when it is disputed.

I go inside and put on my clothes and walk into the bedroom.  Dana is in her bright fuschia outfit in front of the mirror putting on heavy makeup.  That means trouble.  She’s going out to get fucked.  We have an agreement that she can do this as long as she sticks to women and she has never violated it because she’s only attracted to women.  Or, in my exceptional case, a chick with a dick.  Me.

Got a hot date, honey?  I say in my sweetest voice.  You sure look pretty today.

The mascara wand pauses in mid air.  She looks at me and smiles and says, I’m going out trolling for girls.  Why don’t you come with me, Fanci?  We’ll get a nice one and share.  I don’t want you to feel left out.  You get so cross when you do.  Why don’t you wear that plaid skirt I like?

The one that looks preppy?

That one, she says.  I’ll do your makeup.

Like you used to, I say wistfully.

Like I used to, Dana says.  We’ll have a good time, Fanci.  I promise.

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