I felt bad for Winnie. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to make it better. I wanted to make her laugh. But I was also really fucking angry at Michael Bacher. What kind of guy has the honor of marrying Winnie Baker and doesn’t even take the time to learn how to pleasure her? If I ever had someone like Winnie, I’d memorize their body from head to toe. I’d learn every little thing that made them gasp and plead. Fuck. If Winnie Baker were mine, I’d have a goddamn PhD in making her come. Paging Dr. Lieberman.
