“I will,” Liz promised. I had no doubt she intended to fulfill that statement.“And then we’ll crash into a guardrail at 80 miles an hour and y...u’ll bite my thingy off,” I said, laughing. “I tend to lose concentration when you’re doing that.”“I suck a mean dick,” Liz declared with another laugh.“Are you saying my dick is mean?” I wondered.“Nuh-uh,” Liz replied in her cutest voice. “Not saying that at all. I like it!”“It likes you,” I said.“I know,” Liz replied. “I can make him squirt.”“Yes, you. On our trip, Ron phoned in a couple times a week, I phoned two or three times a week. We almost never called on the same day; usually we took turns calling the day shift and the night shift. Somehow, I didn't think we were fooling anybody.Chapter 3: The TripThe trip got off to an uneventful start. Nothing happened on the plane, in Toronto, on the train, in Montreal, on the first bus trip, or in New York City, which was anything other than a couple of people in the prime of their golden years. More

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