She ignored my question. “Ugh. Righteous would have to pull the stick out of his ash before I’d let him take a ride through my tunnel of love.” “Your tunnel?” I stumbled on the bare floor, piecing together what that meant. “Your, um…” She picked up the knife, cutting away a sliver of smut from her hand with every word. “Yeah, my vajayjay. My bajingo. My front bottom. My penis fly trap. My lady garden. My beef curtains. My—” “Stop!” I pleaded. “Stop talking!”
