The bathroom door closes slowly—the triangle of harsh light thins to gray as my lover shuts himself in. Only seconds before, Ralph whispered in my ear as I lay beside my son on the hotel bed watching a rerun of Miami Vice. I felt the cool point of his nose against my cheek and his tongue for one brief wet flick. "Meet me in there in five minutes," he hissed, as if we were undercover spies at some big shot's party and the six year old by my side was our midget sidekick.

I don't care what Jakey watches as long as he's stoned oblivious on boxed wavy lines. If we can't get him a babysitter, he comes with us. We go to the movies a lot. We took him to Sexy Beast and Snatch. I just clamp my hands over his eyes till the bad part's over. Sometimes, Ralph has his fingers inside me up my skirt. Jakey doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he does and thinks that this is just the way things are. Jakey likes guns and loud noises; so I can turn on anything like that and it's cake, you know, he's out. Sometimes I even give him a little Vicodin or muscle relaxant. It's okay every now and then. Better than leaving him home alone the way Jakey's father, Shithead, and his trailer trash girlfriend used to do.

So Ralph is waiting in the bathroom. I slip off the bed and join him. He's already started without me, which usually pisses me off, but this time he has the magazines out, and he knows how I love those magazines. Not soft stuff like Playboy, but hard like Hustler, and there's a couple called Big Girls and Lick that I really like.

I don't know why I love these big fat asses and soft breasts that cascade down like the hills outside Agoura after the burns when there's nothing left but furry brown slabs of dirt. I know girls aren't supposed to like this stuff, but it's the only way I get turned on these days with Ralph and he knows it.

It's not that Ralph is bad looking or anything, although I miss his pony tail and I can't stand that hair gel he uses now because it's a bitch to get out of the sheets. It's just that everything about him is all edges, and he always wants to do it from behind.

In the bathroom he's already standing behind me with one hand reaching down into my sweats. He pulls up my t-shirt and presses against my skin and his other hand's turning the pages. I don't give a damn anymore if he gets off. All I want is to look at these slick girls with their bodies jutting out all the wrong ways. And I think, how long did they have to stand there like that to get that shot, and I wish I were there holding them up, my hands all over them, spreading legs and arms and cupping all that soft fleshy stuff.

Then Ralph starts in on me again. "When are we going to get another girl? Come on, don't you have any friends you can bring with you next time I come to visit?" I shake my head and I'm really getting off now, because I know I've got Sheri and I'm not telling him, and she's a better fuck than he'll ever be, and it's all his fault because he got me started on these magazines.