“I think your actual living sperm on my ass trumps my puke on your sheets, fucker!” he roared, shuddering from head to toe. “Sperm dies off once it’s released, Gibs.” “Not for seventy-two hours,” he shot back with a shudder. “I was listening to the sex nurses yesterday.” “They weren’t sex nurses,” I offered, still laughing. “And at least you can’t get pregnant.” “Pregnant?” he seethed, voice rising in outrage. “I am fucking pregnant! I’m pregnant with despair, Johnny! I have a belly full of fucking disgust right now.”
