A secret part-time job from the afternoon that I can’t tell my husband. A dangerous and pleasant immoral part-time job that accepts other people’s sticks with sexless as an excuse. It feels so good that I say, “I feel better than my husband,” and the tide blows, and I accept the vaginal cum shot while saying, “I can do it.” The body, which cannot quit unless men throw it away, sinks its waist into a stubborn meat stick today.