If you haven’t read this in The Rumpus yet, you must do so now. It is called, “The Eager.”
Or, better, listen to the author, Jennifer Palmares Meadows, read it herself.
We were then young girls and our want was written on our skins. Between our legs and along our necks and wrists, our skin craved friction and more friction. We kissed calluses into the backs of our hands, murmuring comfort at the enflamed flesh, but still, our skin would not be satisfied.