Glass Toe Alien Probes by basqui simone

“I stopped reading Nabokov when he shitted on the Russian Silver Age poets.”

“Do you ever think about aliens?”

“He gutted Akhmatova.”

“Like if they probe people?”

“Doesn’t she look like a Russian Virginia Woolf? Akhmatova?”

“Who?”

“What were you saying? Aliens?”

“If they really probe people?”

“When I danced at The Kennel Club, aliens probed me. Norwegians. Pale pigment. Visible veins crisscrossed up and down their arms like bruised whip lashes. One had blond arm hair. When the club’s fan twisted our way, the cool air shook his arm hair. I remember his arm hair looked like wheat sprouting out of snow covered soil. The other was a redhead. Red freckles dotted his arms. So many freckles they bled into one another.”

“So what happened?”

 “One alien stuck two fingers—”

“In your ass? Where?”

“Yes. Two fingers. In my ass. His nails were filed translucent triangles. The nails dragged over my shaved skin nudging a few bumps. Those little bumps that sometimes pop up after a fresh shave when the razor peels off the cream and scrapes the skin.

“You shave your ass?”

“Well, you know. Anyway. Deeper. Much deeper. The fingers slid in. Then the fingers expanded like someone stretching scissors until the perpendicular blades morph into a near straight line. The second alien, the bleeding redhead, blew air between my ass cheeks.”

“Cold?”

“So cold. A surprise cold. Like when a petite, dull icicle plops on your neck when you step outside, slam the door and shake the rain gutter. Doesn’t hurt but makes your skin shriek and echoes down your spine shaking your back bones.”

“What did they probe you with? Just fingers?”

“No. They started with fingers then added glass. No. Not that kind of glass. I’m sitting fine aren’t I? Blown glass. Shaped like a large toe. A giant toe.”

“Scary.”

“There are scarier things.”

“Like Big Foot?”

“Oh, that guy.”