A year ago I began this flood of revelations packaged as Tony. In fact, Tony was the excuse, the scapegoat, the muse. But Tony has been letting me down as of late, or shall I say that he is having problems getting up. As in, yes indeed, Tony appears to have gone soft.

I theorize that his impotence is connected to overuse. Or misuse. Lately I have been wondering if I just haven’t been giving the full story.

For every boy, there was also a girl. They provided my first kiss, an array of intimate touches, and companionship with a twist of inspiration. It seems unfair that I’ve been neglecting them, the fairer sex.

So it is imperative that we start somewhere, but the beginning is too predictable. Instead I propose we begin in the middle. In medias res, so to speak.

Tuta spoke with an accent and wore big shoes. This was my first impression as I discovered her in our freshman year seminar. And then she moved to my dorm, down the hall. Then I was introduced to her aesthetic sense (white lights, aquarium, self-drawn pictures) and ability to make ordinary items appear sexy. And women, she seemed to truly love the beauty of a woman. I was smitten.

We bonded over obscurity and eclectic energy. We both read Henry Miller. We drank and blew bubbles. And our sophomore year we made out in her top floor bedroom. Sitting with crossed legs facing one another we kissed by the windows. There was no reason to end it because it wasn’t going anywhere else. So we sat and kissed. Eventually I felt uncomfortable because I didn’t like the idea of her innocence being challenged. For some reason I always felt that Tuta was an innocent.

When she traveled she would mail me postcards with naked men on them. I sent her mixtapes with Catholic imagery on the cover. She would tell me stories of the beautiful women she met in Italy and Greece. I told her of my latest crush. We spent more time apart then we ever had together.

Then one afternoon a couple years later she called me because she had found an injured squirrel in the road. It had fallen victim to a hit and run. We carried it to her house and tried to think of a way to end its suffering. At first there was a call to the vet for euthanasia. And then we thought we might just put it back in the road so that it could be finished off. But finally we opted for a tub of water and some crumbled up aspirin. (Tuta felt that if she crumbled the “drugs” in the water it would have a soothing deadly effect.) While the poor creature continued to cough up blood I filled the tub and washed my hands in preparation for the merciful submerging in our baptismal bath. She screamed and I closed my eyes and the moment the squirrel hit the water it found a new life and began to struggle. But the process had to be continued and I forcefully held the creature until it snapped to its final rest.

We have never talked of that afternoon, although I still tell her about the boys that I love. She mentions goats and tall buildings and how she is trying to slow down her drinking. Neither of us climb trees but given the opportunity we both would.

Most people must grow old but I have a feeling that she and I will simply endure.