Last night my penis grew in. Karamo and Tan were there. They taught me how to aim, how to do it in public. What the rules were. They told me, Shake twice after and maybe squeeze once, just to get out whatever’s left. It looked smaller than I imagined. Kind of pink. It felt solid. Dense. Similar to a rainbow trout I once caught in New Hampshire on my Aunt’s kayak. The weight of it against my palm. Afterwards, Tan told me how to do a French Tuck, the front of my shirt stuffed loosely into my jeans. To make those long legs longer. Everyone in the bathroom stared. I still had my breasts and my face and my hair and my lashes, five miles long. They didn’t know what I was doing there, the other men. I told them, I don’t know, either. Someone called security. Someone spat at my feet. Someone said, Freak, and I didn’t disagree.

Tell me my faith is a lie. Tell me reincarnation is real. Tell me I will wake up one day with a rainbow trout between my legs and a song. Bobby says, Here is your new house. It is yours, and yours alone.