by Jay HOLLEY

James thinks about his truck — a big, black Ford F150 — mud flaps, air gate in the back. He is ly­ing on his wa­terbed, read­ing the Crutch­field cat­a­log. He sees an ad­ver­tise­ment for a Sony Xplod am­pli­fi­er he’d like to buy. He thinks of his truck and of Tonya Jones from his Trigonom­e­try class. “When she sees it all waxed up, she’ll want me,” he says to him­self, mas­tur­bat­ing while his moth­er read­ies din­ner in the kitchen be­low. He has his Levis pulled be­low his ass. As he lis­tens to the qui­et lap of his wa­terbed, an im­age of a Sony Xplod amp su­per­im­posed over Tonya Jones’ face comes fore­front and his erec­tion grows harder.

Filed under Fiction on July 11th, 2003

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