Sheep – KASEY WRIGHT

The first count is always the longest

“One.”

One is for when he first jams himself into her.

He tells her that it’s wet but she knows this isn’t true, She can feel it. Her vagina is dryer than the
desert. It never moistens. It never prepares itself for anything. Never ready, it’s just a thing that
exists and she has no use for it so she lets him use it. He enjoys it even though it’s dryer than the
concrete they fuck on. It scrapes her knees and by the time she gets home they’ll be bleeding.
The concrete, not her vagina, it doesn’t hurt her anymore. Occasionally it’ll hurt him. This is
satisfactory. The concrete never does because he’s angled up like a heaven bound skewer always
thrusting forward and up, not forward and down, and so his knees never rub against it. They
never find all the cracks from bad weather. He says her vagina is so tight it hurts, too tight. It’s
never wet. He calls it her snatch. Says it is like shoving a cucumber through the eye of a needle.

She reminds him that he’s more like a candle than a cucumber.

“Two.”

Two is for her hands up against the wall.

She has big eyes. Big, big eyes. He says they’re repulsive, they remind him of an insect’s. Thinks
they can probably see in every direction at once. He tries to get her to wear eyeliner but she wont
and he doesn’t understand that makes them bigger. She says his balls are too droopy. He asks if
that is a good thing and she doesn’t know, she says it’s a whatever thing. It is a whatever thing.
The left nut is like a fist. He’s probably fertile as hell. He could probably give her seventeen
bastard children with names like Jimbo and Deli Belly. They’d have red hair, bad teeth, and be
ugly as sin, but win spelling bees, Nobel prizes, and survive all the abortions she could attempt

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with laundromat wire hangers. When the doctor slaps their asses they’ll praise Jesus in song.
Hopefully the bastards would inherit her mezzo. Probably not, they’d be bass. Horrid bass.

They’d probably have droopy balls too, even the girls. Theirs would be the droopiest.

“Three.”

Three is for the number of times he tries to kiss her but she keeps her lips tight.

He’s trying to stick his finger in her mouth but she won’t let him. He likes to do that, to catch her
cheek and pull it back while ramming his dick into her. Says it’s sexy, says it turns him on. It
hurts but that isn’t why she cares. She doesn’t care about him hurting her. She cares because he
picks his nose with that hand. It’s happened right in front of her. He probably jacks off with that
hand. It smells like he does. Maybe she’s wrong though. Maybe he jacks off with the other hand
and wipes his ass with this one. Maybe her nasal cavities are so blown out in white she can’t tell
the difference. She doesn’t know what his cum smells like. One day she will. He constantly begs
to cum on her face, says that’s hot too, and she doesn’t know why she refuses. Instead she offers
up her tits as a substitute but he says no, it’s not the same, it’s not as hot, he wants to cum on her
face, but in the end he always blows his load on her tits anyway. Every time he does it somehow
the stuff manages to get into her belly button and she has to clean it out afterwards. She bought
liquid soap just to clean out her belly button. Luckily she’s an outie. His isn’t. It’s a cavern, a
deep, deep hole, and it’s surrounded by hair. Red hair. She hates red hair. She likes brunettes.
She likes brunette guys with dark hair and dark eyes and no hair on their belly with thick dicks
that curve down and not up. Guys without droopy nuts.

She thought he liked porn star blondes like every other guy but he doesn’t. He likes black
women. He likes black women with huge asses, big tits, and those enormous hoop earrings he
can hold onto like pigtails. He likes to do black women in the ass. Says it’s like riding a fucking
bull instead of a bucking bull because he thinks he’s funny. Says black women writhe around all
crazy like they’re possessed when you slip it in the stink. He calls it the stink. He calls her vagina
a snatch. She does extra keagles. She does them when she should be sleeping.

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She does so many her snatch may close up entirely one day.

He tries to slip it in her ass sometimes. Tries but he can’t. It’s too dry, too tight, can’t get it in
before she’s noticed and gone. He bought her hoop earrings but she won’t wear them. He tells
her to eat more but she won’t. She doesn’t want a big ass but wouldn’t mind big tits. She doesn’t
want him in her ass. One day he probably will be.

“Four.”

Four is for the number of seconds it takes him to tug the condom off once he’s done.

She doesn’t cry once it’s over. She doesn’t scream. She isn’t sad and her life isn’t tragic. He
doesn’t offer her a movie and she doesn’t offer him dinner with her family. He wouldn’t come.
She wouldn’t invite him. Her son loves and is always excited to see him. Her son is always sad
to leave. She sends her son to wait in the car while concrete tears up her knees and cum on her
tits gets into her navel. One day it’ll be in her hair. Maybe it’ll get in her eyes, maybe she’ll cry
then. Maybe she’ll have to see a doctor. A doctor who tells her she is going to have seventeen
red headed bastards with names like Jelly Bean and Ricky Roo. Maybe she’ll have to go see a
second doctor. Maybe crazed protesters will yell at her. They’ll call her a whore and say God
hates her. God probably does and she doesn’t mind. She hates the thought of droopy balled girls.

She simply pulls up her pants, pays him, and leaves.

“Five.”

Five is for the number of years left that she has an excuse to come.

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