I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to keep a handle on things. Think of gross things, things that won’t make your dick hard like . . . Posey eating a bologna sandwich. And . . . Taters showing me that hairball from the locker room showers the other day. And . . . the gash in Pacey’s knee that one time we played hockey on his hometown lake. Blood. There was so much blood. Lots and lots of blood. “Yes,” she whispers. “Right there. Ohhh, Eli. I owe you so much after this.” BLOOD! He needed six stitches. They did it without Novocain. “You’re giving me chills.” Her butt lifts up against my cock.
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