“Uh, no,” I said to Romeo when he presented me with a package of Viagra.
“The day franksolich has to use drugs to get sexually animated is the day I decide to walk out on the highway in front of a speeding semi-truck.
“And besides, it’d encourage Jugs to keep thinking the way she does.
“She thinks all men are turned on by mammoth jugs, and wouldn’t be aware that instead I’m being pharmaceutically controlled.
“Now too, if Jugs were a normal woman with sensitivities and feelings, it’d be cruel, misleading, to make her think she’s the turn-on, when in fact the drug is.
“But this being Jugs, I don’t have to worry about her having any feelings capable of being hurt.
“However, again, she’d think she, and not a drug, was turning me on, and as she’s got more than enough ego problems as it is, best to keep her down-to-earth. Her massive jugs are a monstrosity; they may excite most men, but not all men.”
“But why aren’t they?” Romeo asked. “At least for you.”
“Jugs’s jugs are w-a-a-a-a-a-y out of proportion, out of balance, with the rest of her,” I reminded him, “and I just find balance, proportionality, symmetry, equilibrium aesthetic, a turn-on.
“I mean, would I be considered sexually valuable if I had a nose the size of a watermelon?”
But anyway, as I told Romeo, Jugs is a problem for the distant future—at least not until next week—while I had one more immediate.
thunderthighs, formerly the “fizzgig’ primitive” who moved closer to here than she had been, is coming to visit, to get her head screwed on right again.
“Well, that should be okay,” Romeo replied; “she was always a turn-on for you, being a small woman with all parts equally small—“
“Not any more,” I interrupted; “after Colorado legalized dope, she got addicted to it.
“And you know what happens when one smokes dope, the insatiable appetite.
“Her hips and thighs are now larger than LynneSin’s.”
to be continued
