Little Faggot

 

Little Faggot: I am a baby lying in a crib and my name is Little Faggot. I just lie here, nothing much happens. Occasionally someone bends over me and talks for a while.  And just because I cannot yet keep my saliva contained within its oral cavity, just because my eyes tend to go blurry, just because I seem to enjoy wallowing in my own shit and piss, doesn't mean I don't listen to their monologues, and doesn't mean I don't understand them. For I understand them with the innocence and purity of a new-born, although I am already four months old.

Father: How do we end up believing in things we know not to be true? There is a superstition that if a woman conceives without orgasm the child will have a mean streak. Yes, the more dismal the coupling the more likely a sociopath will result. Let me admit to you, Little Faggot, that your mother never orgasms when I have intercourse with her; it takes manual or oral stimulation. Believe me, there is nothing unusual in this and I have no complaints, but still I was worried about the superstition. If I ate her out after intercourse, conception would likely occur prior to orgasm, so I couldn't be sure if the orgasm would count or not. And for her to orgasm prior to intercourse seemed inappropriate. But when you arrived all my worries left, for you are truly sweet-tempered, Little Faggot.

Scientist: Well Little Faggot, although science has not yet completed a full mapping of the human genome, we have managed to map certain chunks of it. We've been assessing the quality of your genetic material and the happy results are in. When fully grown you will be 6'4", highly intelligent with green eyes, largish genitals, and translucent fingernails. It seems you are immune to all known diseases. Also your hair will grow very fast and the ends will never split. Well, good bye for now blessed Little Faggot. I will keep you updated as more results come in.

Grandfather: Many years ago, Little Faggot, when I was a young man, I was in love with a boy and his sister. Yes, Little Faggot, itÕs true. On Tuesdays the boy would carry me up to his tree fort and we would make such passionate love I was sure the little wooden structure would come unstuck and we'd fall forever earthward. Then on Thursdays the sister would take me into her bed and we'd rock and rock as if we were a raft come unmoored in the gentle Pacific. When they were simultaneously killed in the same tragic accident I turned my back forever on the world of love and resolutely entered the world of commerce. And I was very good at it. That is why, Little Faggot, you are a millionaire in your crib. Your trust fund collecting interest with every shit you take.