Lolita grown up
You say you want to fuck me
because I remind you of a little girl.
It's funny how you should read my mind
because I've always felt like a little girl
in my hose and skirt near the office fax machine
feeling small despite high heels
like a twelve year old in mother's church shoes
I'm a girl at the bus stop
when a man yawlps from his car
when I walk into a room of Southern clients to serve coffee
and one says, thanks kiddo
when I buy meat at the market and hear nice legs
a male cacophony making me want to throw a large t shirt over my sexuality
and retreat back to playing tea with Cabbage Patch dolls.
It's well documented when a boy becomes a man.
The rights of passage studied well in English class
but where were our stories?
Why did I have to smuggle Judy Bloom
like a boy masturbating to father's hidden magazine?
I'm trying to find a moment when a girl feels like a woman
beyond the bloody Maxi when she puts her dolls away.
So you want me to be your Lolita.
The sexuality of a woman with the face of a child
as your body rides over mine in thrusted copulation
remembering the girl in pig tails and red shorts
in your 7th grade gym class.
And tonight my youthful appearance
will fulfill your testosterone fantasy
as I lay wet on the bed
listening for the story of how Lolita became a woman
in the hitch of your breath.
Shannon Arancio ©
1999