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converseShe poked the head of his penis, back and forth, up and down, making it wobble. “So stuff comes out? I mean, different stuff?”

“It can. Depends.”

“Kind of hard. What’d’ya call it?”

“Boner.”

“Is there a bone?”

“No, just a word. It’s hydraulics.”

She was on her stomach, knees bent, ankles crossed. Chuck Taylors. He was nude, on his back, masturbating when she barged in.

“So, to get the right stuff out. There’s a technique?”

“Stroke it. Over and over and over.”

She flicked it with a thumb and forefinger. Like a bug. It bounced right back.

“Hurt?”

“Nah.”

“So if I kept flicking…?”

“I’d roll over.”

“Stroking, huh? Anything else?”

“Sucking.”

“Go ahead. I’ll watch.”

He made a face.

She sighed and blew on his dick. Warm. Moist. His penis perked. “Why are they called blow jobs?”

“Same reason as boners.”

“So, this stuff. What’s it like?”

“White. Frothy.”

“Just dribbles out?”

“Shoots.”

“Show me?”

“This is where I convince you to do it.”

“Me? Why on earth?”

“It would be stimulating. Or so I’m told.”

“For me?”

“For me.”

“You have to be stimulated? You look stimulated already.”

“Can’t be too stimulated.”

“You do it.”

Grasping his shaft, he pulled up. The foreskin moved up over his glans.

“Now, that’s clever,” she said.

“All part of nature’s grand design.” Moving his hand slowly, up and down, the head of his penis did a disappearing act.

“May I touch?” He nodded and let go. Her fingertips glided tentatively over his length. “Soft.”

She moved down and pushed his testicles around in their sac.

“The stuff comes from here?”

“No. But it’s a common misconception.”

“So where…?”

“Prostate gland.”

“Let me get this straight. So from this hole”—she squeezed the glans around the meatus, making a guppy face—“piss usually comes out, except when it doesn’t. You stroke it, though, and the white frothy stuff comes out? Excuse me, shoots?”

“Yup.”

“The same hole? Gross.”

“Yeah, it’s the human condition. Sex and elimination share the same real estate. It’s nature’s way of coupling the ecstasy of sex with, uh…”

“Pissing.”

“I was going to say mortality. Just don’t think about it.”

“I have a separate hole.”

“Yet another reason women are superior.”

She gripped his shaft and hefted. “How do you not think about sex all day with this hanging between your legs?”

“I think about sex all day.”

Putting her face on her forearm, she looked up at him. “Go ahead. I’ll watch.”

“Frothy white stuff?”

“Make it shoot.”

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