JOHNNY, MY GOD OF THE SUN
(Prompted by Aquadude’s single-plate fantasy:
Johnny in the Hands of Sheik Abdul’s Sadist Son)
Did you rest well, my blonde Adonis? It is best you do not speak to me, for I have interest only in your outer shell, its muscled skin shaven clean and readily accepting my healing salves. Yes, I have restored you. Your blue eyes once again attract my brown ones, and your flesh glows with brightness whiter than the boundless sands outside my tent. Do not express your gratitude to me for healing your wounds. You are merely a slate to be wiped clean so that I might redraw you with this day’s designs. Come, let us now leave the safety and shade. You will worship the sand; I will worship you.