sugar walls

She asked if I would mind dipping in the sugar walls / I said it ain't no thang for Super Balls

In retrospect, during the '80s, when I could have been fucked by half of the gay ghetto, I took care of myself by loving a supportive, nurturing partner. He was far from perfect. He had a bad temper and knew nothing about the arts. Even more importantly, my sugar walls went unappreciated by him — and by the many Greenwich Village men I hid from and desperately wanted during hundreds of lifeless evenings spent watching television with my passive lover in Brooklyn.