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A friend gave me his phone number weeks ago. “Call him. Just call him,” she said. I’d stopped dating. It wasn’t the guys. Well, maybe a little. “Look, I’m over ‘relationships’ for the moment. I just want to be by myself for awhile. That’s all.” My friend shrugged. “Call him,” she said again. I was the youngest of three girls. Growing up, I’d watched my sisters and their boy friends. Clumsy kisses in the barn. Hands groping, pushed away, more groping. I had dreams, murky pictures in my head. And I’d fumbled with myself some nights, unsatisfied, my fumbling increasing my longing. Like cocks were doing now.

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