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They would place the rubber on the tip of your penis, check it for size like a
mechanic checking a nut, then roll it forward. They did it while they looked up,
or kissed, or did anything in the world except look at what they were doing.
Some of them made you do it yourself, so you felt like a fireman suiting up or a
surgeon fitting on gloves. The slow wrap of the thing squashed your penis like
the muscle movement that lets a boa slowly swallow a rat. Afterward,
when you saw your mom put shelf paper in the cupboards above the washing
machine, you understood: no unsightly rings, no mess, always spongeable,
always hygienic.
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©1999
Joseph Monninger and Nerve.com
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