DOMINGO

Damn! Domingo's itching is out of control. Scratching only makes it worse.

"Who's Domingo?"

What do you mean "Who's Domingo?"
"Who's Domingo? I've never heard you speak of Domingo before. Is he a pet?"
A pet?
"Yeah. A pet?"
He's more than a pet.
"Yeah?"
He's my dick.
"Your dick?"
Domingo is the name of my dick.
"The name of your dick? That's crazy!"
What's crazy about that? Are you telling me that your dick doesn't have a name?
"I know that pets have names, but I never knew that dicks had names, too."
So you haven't been baptized?
"Is there an actual ceremony to naming your dick?"
It's more happenstance than anything else.
"And who named your dick?"
You remember Annie Gunn?
"Of course! The journalist. You two lived together for a while, right?"
We were together for a year.
"And she is the one who named your dick Domingo?"
She's the one.
"What inspired the name?"
She and I kept different schedules as a result of my bartending jobs, but we usually had Sundays off, so we would sleep in late. When she slowly awoke, she would turn and there it was, standing proud and erect with all the splendor of a church spiral. And she knew never that it was only a matter of time before it entered her sacred vestibule. Thus, every Sunday became a tradition for our ritual fuck.
"But where does 'Domingo' come from?"
What is "Domingo" in Spanish, pendejo?
"Sunday! Cool. So you think that it's important that I have a name for my dick?"
Unless you want to be buried as the Unknown Soldier.
"I'd like to think of myself as "Mississippi"!
I think "Iowa" would be more appropriate, bro.

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