Young Man, Pollute Me Day!

You like the dirty boy, he smells like laundry and he has a scratch of dried mustard streaking out from the corner of his mouth. He's younger than you, he's not as smart as you, and he doesn't really think he's going to amount to much. Fuck him tonight. Grab him by his belt when everyone else has left the table to smoke and say, "Young man, pollute me."

He won't be very good in bed, but you will feel full with a little boy's late evening filth, the filth that gathers after a day of playing outside, the filth that mothers ask little boys to wash from their hands before sitting down for dinner. You'll get what you want, you'll get to sit across from him next week and look at his raggedy form and think to yourself, "I have his grime inside of me."

He'll complain of hunger early tomorrow morning. Send him out with your key and he will bring you back some bagels. He is obedient. And if he gets coffee for himself or you, he will carry the coffee cup in the bag with the bagels, not caring that his pace will spill the coffee from the little airhole in the lid. And when he pulls the bagels from the bag, the bagels and their wax paper wrappers and the large pile of napkins will all be damp with a large black two sugars.

Happy Young Man, Pollute Me Day!