"Good luck, sweetheart." Turned loose my arm-stalked away like an old Gypsy woman.Years later I told mother how the old Gyp had warned me. "Well, Dale... you're no picnic, son."Left hand she wrung in & out. Right hand wrung her clitoris. "Oh, fuck, Cully. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" She bellowed, top of her lungs." Faster and faster each hand raced.'FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" The scream was more of an extended screech like a dog who gets hit a good one by a fast moving car.I either. Uh, uh.”“Please, it’ll be okay this time, Girl. I swear it.”“No.”I bet Tommy had no problem cutting the mustard of a morning. At least I knew he couldn’t lick the jar like I could. I’d heard somewhere that black guys didn’t like to lick the jar.“Girl, did he lick your jar?”“Oh, God, Cully, did he, and I thought you were the living end at that. Ha.”I checked the phone. Dial tone was still there. I cradled it, then snatched it up fast to see if it really truly was live. “Thank Christ.”“How bout. More

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