When I wake up, pain shoots all the way
from my butt to my brain.
I don’t know what’s up,
but I know what’s down around my ankles,
my underwear, dude, my underwear.
I wonder where I was last night
then I remember doing vodka shots
at the graduation party until I got cross-eyed
and somebody said he’d drive me home
and somebody else said they’d come along,
at least that’s my recollection
as I try to vomit away my shame.
There’s dried blood staining my underwear
so that must mean —
Whoa, now, whoa, I think,
then I don’t, I just cut them up
and flush them down the toilet with the puke.
All my towels are dirty,
so when I get out of the shower
and reach for my roommate’s,
I find his towel rack empty
and I remember he graduated too
and must have already moved out
and I’m going to have to air-dry,
unless I can find something clean
other than my last pair of socks
my mom washed for me
when I went home over spring break
instead of going to Vegas
like my friends did,
but I stayed home
so my mom could make me pancakes for breakfast,
big juicy hamburgers for lunch,
steaks for dinner,
and apple crunch cake for dessert.
God it hurts down there
and when I wipe my ass,
I see it’s still bleeding.
I need help, I need my mom,
but I can’t call her about this shit.
She thinks I’m perfect,
she thinks I’m the bomb,
but I’m not, I’m a moron
who got raped by somebody.
Was it Zach, my roommate? I wonder.
Has he been hiding his evil intentions
behind a blonde with big tits,
who always sits on his bed
with her legs spread and no panties.
Lindsey, smooth and pink
and drinking the shots along with me last night.
All right, I remember that much now.
I remember how mad Zach got
when I shot my hand up under her skirt
and didn’t even touch anything
before she jumped down off the barstool
and found her official fool.
I apologized, but Zach
just said, “it’s cool”and winked
and set another drink in front of me
and without thinking I told him
he ought to dump the bitch,
but he said’ “I’ve got plans for her,”
paused and added, “and you.”
Now what do I do?
Am I some girl that I have to call the rape line
and get all emotional and go to the hospital
for a rape test and get photographed
and asked so many questions I can’t answer, or don’t want to.
No, I am not.
I am a man goddammit 
and I can suck it up.
I’ve just got to stop the blood.
Maybe ice will help. Yeah, right.
Wrapped in a dirty towel
and pressed against my ass until it’s numb,
until I am, until I can come clean.
It was a scene all right.
The three of us in bed.
Her giving me head until I passed out
right before I saw Zach shooting me a look
that said anything was possible,
at least that’s how I remember it now,
as I notice the bleeding has stopped
and I can’t feel a thing that isn’t normal
as I pack up
and say not so fond farewell
to the day I graduated from college
and the night that made it unforgettable.
Well, hell, what’s this? I say out loud,
bending down to pick up a gift I find by the door.
It’s wrapped in mylar
and tied with a big red bow
and there’s a gift card attached.
It’s addressed to me.
When I open it, I find a big dildo
and I go, Wait a minute.
Just then, the phone rings, or should I say, sings
and I answer, “Yo, dude.”
And he goes, “Yo, yourself.
Did you get your present?”
I go, “I don’t know.”
He says, “Yeah, you do.”
“Lindsey had it gift-wrapped,
but she was so trashed
I thought I should call you and ask
if you found it.”
“You fucker,’ I say, “you violated me.”
“Violated,” he says, “violated.
It was a joke, that’s all.
Lindsey’s in film studies, remember?
She’s got access to makeup and stuff.”
“Makeup?”
“Fake blood, dude.
You didn’t think it was real, did you?”
“Course not,” I lie, hoping my sigh of relief
doesn’t give me away.
“Anyway, good luck, you jerk.”
“Same to you, dickhead.”
At least I think that’s what I said
as I hit the end call button
then have to sit down and take it all in.
But why does my ass still ache?
Did Lindsey, or even Zach take liberties
they would never say they did?
Did they stick that thing up there
and forget they’d done it?
The only way to know for sure
is to take a trip to the emergency room.
I’m working up the courage
when suddenly, I get the urge
and hit the toilet
and when I am done,
I find the biggest damned turd
I’ve ever seen.
I mean I cannot believe it came out of me.
I think maybe I shouldn’t even flush,
just leave it, or better yet, put it on YouTube
if they would let me.
Probably not, I decide as I try to flush it.
Of course, the toilet overflows
and that thing rises to the top of the bowl
like it’s hollow inside
and just before it drops on the floor
the toilet back flows with a loud whoosh and it’s gone
and just a faint throbbing remains in my asshole
but I can live with it.
I could not live with the other
even though I said I could
which makes me wonder how women do
and just for a minute, I hate men
myself included
then I do what my ex-girlfriend said,
the one who read all those magazines for women
like O and shit accused me of,
I compartmentalize it, dude
and move the fuck one,
until about a year later
when I am cruising the net
and read a hard-news headline
about how some gay guy got raped
by a so-called straight man
and all of a sudden, my heart starts thumping,
and I break out sweating
and I feel like I’m getting a heart attack
and I realize it must be PTSD
or something like a panic attack.
The shit is whack.
I have to get back to my old self,
but how can I do it, I wonder
and that’s how after a lot of soul-searching and worse,
I get the nerve to talk to someone
anonymously on a hotline type of deal
and eventually, I mean like another year,
I become a hotline volunteer.
No, I didn’t turn gay,
but that’s the way I’m dealing with the feeling
that I got violated no matter
what anyone else might say.
I’d call Zach and confront him about it,
if I knew where to reach him, but I don’t,
so I just hope he’s changed too
and realizes like I do now
that rape is not a joke.