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It's not so bad.
That's what Buster tells himself when the first girl.
The second girl.
Fifth, sixth, seventh...
Hundreth.
Two...hundreth.
It's not so bad. No. He's okay with it. Tramp leaves him, Tramp returns to him.
Tramp is his.
Buster's tongue erases their smell, erases the contact. Tramp likes girls and Buster does not, but he likes erasing them. He likes licking where they never lick, cleaning his Tramp left uncleaned. Erasure.
Buster erases females from Tramp's memory.
“Saw a pretty girl again.” His Tramp sighs.
“Is it whatzit again?”
“Ha. Ha. I can't remember her name either.”
By the next morning Tramp knows her name and he's saying Buster's instead.
And Buster doesn't mind.
It's not so bad.
One day he's gone all night, then another. It's not unusual. Buster worries. The dogcatchers might have gotten him. Buster panics when two days becomes three...
It's getting bad.
When Tramp comes back he's elsewhere, and he's quiet. His mind is somewhere else.
He reeks of someone, but Buster can't clean him.
“I'm worried. I need to go.” Is all Buster earns from his attempts.
When Tramp is gone more and more...
It gets worse.