The Best Thing You Can Do With Your Life Is Change Your Body

by Jason R. Jimenez

photo by Mountain Ash

I’m in the bathroom getting dressed. It’s almost noon. I’ve been in here since ten. I pull on my jeans, pull up the zipper, already there’s a roll of fat hanging over the top button. I’m a huge whale, I’m a rhinoceros, Wolf’s going to beat you if you can’t lose some weight. She’s at the gym right now, she’s on the streets running, she’s at the store buying laxatives, I can’t even get out of the bathroom dressed. I take off the jeans and pull my pajama pants back on, then reverse and maybe I’ve thinned in the last five minutes, I can try shorts instead. These are gray shorts, they are dirty and stained because I wear them sometimes in my studio while I am working. There are my legs too, I see fat, I see disgusting thighs, at least they’re hairless, aerodynamic, yesterday I thought my knees looked nice because they were scarred and sharp looking, but now they’re red and pudgy, my quad muscle is the same flabby pink color as Glenn Beck’s face.

I pull a plain white shirt over my head quickly because if I don’t I will never be able to decide on my pants. This shirt is made of heavy cotton, it gapes around the neck, doesn’t lie flat over my shoulders and clavicles, it’s a white block across my chest, suddenly now I have huge dough-ball pectorals, ones that don’t flex, the rest of the shirt floats out over my Buddha belly. I turn around and arch my head back to see what it looks like from behind. The shorts gather all around my ass, is that just fabric? I pull the shirt up and look for the V-shape that beautiful men are supposed to have, chests wide and then that diagonal line to their hips, it’s the shallowest diagonal though. I don’t want hulking muscles or any sort of growth in my pectorals, I want to be rail thin, all sharp edges, but no matter what you do there’s going to be that diagonal, if you do it right. Some of these people are the complete opposite, round round round around the belly and then a reverse diagonal to their sunken chests, all hairy and blubbery, how could you live with yourself? Every time I see one of those people I feel like walking up to them and burying my head in their bellies, sucking out the cellulite and pounds of fat, spitting it out like the first time you taste cum.

I take off the white shirt, Wolf has left a pile of clothes in her bathroom, I’ve never seen her in these shirts, there’s a black sleeveless one, it’s a Crass shirt, the feeding of the 5000 it says across the top. I laugh, I have to wear it just because it’s funny, doesn’t matter that it’s a little large, Wolf’s cut off the sleeves and my arms poke out, they’re thin enough for now, those green/blue veins, pale. The shirt’s big enough I shrink inside it, no one will be able to guess how fat I am. I look like a teenage boy, maybe even younger, all I care is that I don’t look like a grown-up. Adults are monsters, they’re hairy monstrosities, dusty, covered in soot, clogging drains with their hair, leaving their droppings everywhere they go, pure animals. It would be alright when the drain is clogged with hair, black hair, curly blond hair, if afterward the person began to disappear, but it just keeps coming back on their heads. I look in Wolf’s shower, pull up the drain stopper, dip my nose in the open drain. It is decay, soapy, mildewed. I grab a hanger from Wolf’s closet and poke the hook end down into the drain and wriggle it around inside the pipe. I can feel dirt and hair wrapping around the thin metal hanger. I yank it up and it only budges a little, I yank harder, when I do I look at my bicep muscle flexing and my asshole tightens, pulls my dick closer behind my thighs, my body must know something I haven’t yet realized. Yes, Wolf’s hair is down there, this is what I’m pulling up.

I yank the hanger up and it budges a little more, I spin it around the drain, then yank on it hard. The pipe and the hair that most definitely will not come out release the hooked hanger. I hold it up in the air, a mess of black, brown, mildew smelling sludge comes up, I gag reflexively. Don’t be scared, it’s only hair. It’s only Wolf.

The hairy sludge drips with water, green colored water, bits of the sludge break off and circle around the drain, suction cup to the yellow tile. My asshole tightens harder, the space between my balls and asshole tickles, I feel blood rushing to the head of my cock. As I’m kneeling over the drain, I can see the tip of my dick rising up out of the darkness inside the short’s legs, it’s pink and smooth, tiny drop of pre-cum floating above the urethral opening. I stick my hand down the shorts and grab a hold of my dick, pulling at its base, sliding my finger along, pressing forcefully on the perineum. I close my eyes and imagine Wolf in front of me, holding the hanger and the hairy sludge against my thigh, it soaks my shorts. I drop the hanger and squeeze the hair in my palm, milking it, rub it on my thigh, painting, coating myself in Wolf’s hair. I rub around the edges of my hairless asshole, poke a finger in, the muscle opens up and grips around my knuckle. With the other hand, the one with Wolf in it, I take that and slide it into my shorts, wrap the hair around the cock. I synchronize my movements, curling my middle finger in my ass while wrenching the other hand around the head of the dick, it’s lubricated by the sludge and mildew.

Wolf’s hair tickles, I want to reach down and brush it away, I slip in the shower, the tailbone slams on yellow tile, the hair is still tickling, I’m holding her hair around the dick, she’s gliding up and down, I’m reaching inside of her, she’s digging that finger inside of me, curling with her hand, come hither. She makes that slurping sound, the sludge globs up around the head, clotting and stiffening. Everything is tightening, my hands are tensed, veins popping out, I’m sliding on the shower tile, soap smells and plastic razors, black mildew in the corners. She’s getting away from me, I close my grip tighter, tense the muscle, tighten the hair around the head, pulling harder, fingering harder, digging deep inside her pussy, her hair is tickling my abdomen, I want to brush her away. She’s biting my ear, biting my neck, throwing my head against the shower door, tickling my abdomen, my dick in her mouth dressed by her hair, bobbing up and down, up and down, fingering in and out, massaging this spot inside that I don’t even have a name for, feels like she could reach her hand all the way up inside and I would just be a puppet. Her fingers loosen the sharp edges inside me, they crumble and soften, collapsing like tissue around her hand, she smiles at this, throws my loosened skin all about her face like a thin cotton sheet. This unnameable spot that she’s fingering is tender, it releases a smell like cut grass, I see this scent and it is olive, up down in her mouth, up down the inner ridges inside my ass. I’m wearing her shirt, I’m surrounded by her, I’m draped in her forgotten hair, she penetrates, accesses, busts through, enters into me. Faster and harder, I’m sliding around, there has to be a way to make this real, she has to appear when this is over, don’t stop please… I orgasm.

I leave the bathroom carrying the cum-covered hairy sludge and place it at her front door to dry in the sun.


Jason R.  Jimenez is an MFA student at California College of the Arts. This is an excerpt from his forthcoming novel, WOLF. He welcomes your comments at jasonrjimenez[at]

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