“How did you think you’d die?” Herb asked. “A stroke in the middle of skydive sex.” “There’s an image I don’t want in my head,” Herb said. “That hurts, Herb. Because I wanted it to be with you. I’ve always wanted to tag that pale, flabby ass. Also, in this fantasy, you don’t have a parachute.” “You’re so sweet.” “You’re so fat.”
