hickey time
Lover,

My stay in Texas has been extended, and I am writing you from Killeen-Fort Hood—one of our nation’s largest Army bases--––where I have been conscripted by my sponsors into over two weeks of nightly humiliation at the hands of Korean women with perms in an attempt to satiate the fleshy desires of these abandoned Army-wives.
Sometimes I wonder about the life I have chosen. Little do these women know that they are rubbing their finely manicured hands over the torso and into the g-string of a Doctor of Composition and a graduate of the Stockhausen Summer Retreat for Radical/Mystical Serialism, not to mention a big ole queer. But nature has granted me this perfect, if a bit too white for my personal tastes, body and absolutely symmetrical facial features—a face like the perfect symmetry of the octatonic scale, and I intend to use it. Yes Yes Yes, I can hear your voice right now wondering why I don’t move to Hollywood and pursue a career in the movie business writing hack drivel for all of the––and we can thank John Kennedy O’toole for this––theatrical abortions currently in production in our splendid United States. But No No A Thousand Times No!
All of this leads me to my point and my question, which you must thoroughly research and answer to the best of your abilities within the week.

Why do Latin men tend to mark their lovers with hickeys?

We have talked about the fact that sometimes I get lonely for a man’s touch out here on the road, and these Korean hands only made my desire all the more undeniable. Please remember that it is only YOU that I love.

Last night I noticed a very handsome Mexican man watching me the entire evening. I have no idea why he was at the Knick-Knock Korean Karaoke bar and club, but he was, and he obviously wanted a little R&R from his, no doubt, tedious and rigid Army duties. I recognized the haircut as pure Army regulation. One thing led to another and we ended up back in my camper for some fun and games.

It was quite nice, but I was a bit weary of the over zealous sucking of my neck, and this is not the first time that a Latin man has taken a keen interest in my neck and shoulders. I said, “ I hickey easily. Please be careful.” But the morning revealed the mark and the shame. It looks like someone stuck a vacuum cleaner hose with teeth to my neck, and frankly I feel like the biggest piece of curler-wearing, beer drinking trailer trash ever to walk the face of the planet. I’ve tried everything I know to get rid of it: Cold water, hot water, rubbing it with a quarter, rubbing it with a penny. I even thought about trying to somehow hickey the entire lower portion of my neck to make it look like some sort of burn or shingles or something. Nothing worked, and now I am reduced to base concealer and loose powder, but that will be gone in ten minutes once I begin my dance sweating.

Oh Omar, your boyfriend is just a talented, brilliant, hickeyed-up, horny piece of stripper trash on-the-go.

Do you still love me?
Marco