“Quit yapping, honey, and get yourself a pearl necklace!” one impatient onlooker demanded.
“Yeah, sing into her purple microphone,” another added irately. “Play her skin flute.”
“Smoke her pickle!” one more bellowed.
“Hey! Lighten up you guys!” Shannon blurted. “I’m just trying to be informative. Just in case you dudes want to whip it out and have a little fun for yourselves. You know, fantasize that your cock is in my warm wet mouth instead of Sarah’s. You should thank your lucky stars that you have a penis. Some of us girls don’t.”
“But I do, Shannon,” I interrupted. “You are doing too much talking.” I want to feel my cock in your cheek.” She obliged. I could see and feel my cock poking the inside of her cheek as I held her face tenderly.
Shannon began to administer the butterfly flutter technique.
“Oh my fucking God!” I cried in ecstasy. “Oh my…oh yeah…oh yeah…oh my…”
When she had me right on the edge she placed her thumb at the base of my penis so as to block the tube through which the cum spurts, preventing my semen from escaping even though I was spasmodically going through the reflex action of ejaculation. Then she deep-throated me and pulled me out with a slow tight suck just as my cum spurted incredibly intensely. It shot all over the place. A big glob landed right on the forehead of the guy who made the bet.
That started a chain reaction. All the guys in the place who had been jerking off approached the betting man and shot their wad in his direction. He was covered with cum. “Give me some,” Shannon purred. Some of them stood in line to cum in her mouth and all over her face and tits. She too became soaked in semen.
The bartender gave her a towel to clean up. “Pass the hat again,” she told me. I did.
When the hat returned again full of bills, I asked, “How much money do we have, Shannon?”
“Let’s see. The five hundred plus three hundred the first time we passed the hat. Now another nine hundred and change.”
Let’s go to the mall!”
* * *
Early the next morning I got a phone call from the television station manager. The station had been bought out by another company. The new owners wanted a female reporter. I could have the job if I wanted it. As long as I passed the drug test and physical. Physical? I reached down between my legs. “God damn it, I wish I had a pussy!” I cried, my hand covering the phone. I cried myself back to sleep.
Shannon came over about an hour later while I still snoozed. She had a key and crawled in bed with me. “Sarah,” she whispered as she shook me, “I need my semen fix. I’ve become quite addicted. I just love sucking your cock.”
“Oh, go ahead, Shannon. Blow me.”
“No!” she screamed as she slipped her hand down my panties. “It’s gone! Your dick is missing, Sarah!”
I reached down and confirmed her discovery. “Thank you, Lord!” I proclaimed gloriously. “Hey Shannon, go get that Pearl Panther thingy. I want to play with my new pussy.”
Shannon started to cry sorrowfully. “I can’t fucking believe it. I finally find someone with a cock I want to worship. One I want in my mouth all the time, A cock I love to suck. Cum I love to swallow.” She got beyond hysterical and dialed 911. You should have heard that conversation.
Two officers arrived shortly. I remained in the other room and overheard, “You are trying to tell us, young lady, that your lover’s penis is missing?” She nodded. “Like, cut off, or what?” the cop asked. I came out of the other room, naked. “Look!” she shrieked, “Sarah doesn’t have a dick anymore!” One of the officers called EMT personnel and told them to bring a straight jacket.
* * *
I visit Shannon at the mental institution every Sunday. The diagnosis was PED, penis envy dementia. The first question she always asks is, “Did your dick grow back yet, Sarah?” I shake my head indicating no, sadly for her and happily for me. She shakes her head indicating yes when I ask if she’ll settle for the strap-on.
Every night before I go to bed I say, “God damn it, I wish I had a million dollars.!” Where the hell is my money? Everybody gets three wishes don’t they?