“Remind me to send Jessica a fruit basket,” said Bob, as he admired her.She ignored him, rummaging in her suitcase again.“Where are they?” she...said, impatiently.“Where are what?”“The pad things you put in the front so your nipples don’t show,” she said.“Are those the things I shined my shoes with and then threw away?” he asked.She whirled, having taken him seriously. He held up his hands.“Kidding,” he said.“I need those, Bob. The fabric of the dress is too thin.”He went to her and turned her to. Bernard was not Irish, no; he was a two-hundred-and-five pound dark-as-tar Black man. He had twisted, greasy cornrows and a long veiny shlonger. Sarah knew the size of his cock (even before last night's gangbang), because she had seen it. Seen it one day on the rec basketball courts when one of Bernard's buddies, just for a joke, yanked his Chicago Bulls sweatpants down to his ankles. The first thing Sarah thought was: Jesus Christ, what a BIG COCK. The second thing she thought was: I want it. More

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