There’s a drop of blood on his left ball, no bigger than a pinprick, but it’s the raging erection I can’t look away from. Huh. My memories didn’t do Magic Mike justice. Was he always that big? That veiny? That angry purple head looks desperate for release, and my vagina screams We could take care of that! at my brain, which sends a signal to my legs to walk themselves over to him and spread myself wide. Goddammit, no. No, vagina. Keep it together, girl.
