I wondered, as I watched her excuse herself and hurry away, if she'd be able to resist her overwhelming urge. She managed, I guess, because she came b...ck just a couple of minutes later. I could tell by her walk and her face that the fake dick was buried in her guts. She suddenly wasn't hungry for her dessert. Her hands were knotted into fists as she tried to listen to the table talk. Her thighs kept rubbing together in a slow rhythm. The dinner went on and on. She begged me in faint whispers to. And tired. And drunk. I raised my fist to pound again, then stopped. I pressed my ear against the door. Things had gotten quiet on their side. There was some murmuring and some other sounds, but I was having a hard time concentrating, so I said, "Fuck it", stumbled back to the couch and fell into it, fully intending to come up with really smart things to say and do about this whole mess. But then I fell asleep as suddenly as if I'd been knocked unconscious. I woke up in the middle of the night. More

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