“I'm awfully glad you're normal, Bill,” she said. “I never thought of that when I was with you, but being with Toby scared me.”

“A little home in the country,” I said. “Maybe we could raise chickens and have a patch of radishes.”

“I want you to know about something, Bill. He couldn't fuck me, and he wouldn't let me have anybody else that I did want. All I could do-do you want me to tell you about it?”

“This is a hell of a time to talk about your little fag. Why don't you go back to him? Go right now.”

“I'm not going back with him. I'll think of something else to do tomorrow.”

“Balls.”

“I had to dress up like a man, and then he did something to me. I didn't even feel like a woman. It wasn't the same. It wasn't at all like when you jazz me.”

“My god, do we have to talk about that now?”

Ruth looked up from under my prick. She sat up then, and shrugged me away when I tried to push her down on her back.

“Wouldn't it be the same if I stayed with you now? Would anything be changed from what it was before I went with him? Would it?”

“It's just that I've never had anybody run out on me to live with a damned fag,” I said. “I've become a sort of a bad joke to myself.”

Ruth lay down again the way she had been, and she held my prick in her two hands and petted it. She rubbed her nose along the side of it and put the end of it up against her nostrils, smearing them with its wetness.

“My nose is shiny,” she said.

She wrinkled her nose and looked cross-eyed down at the tip of it and tried to touch it with her tongue. She rubbed the stuff off on her arm, and then she lay there and rubbed her mouth with the end of my prick until her lips had the stuff on them too. She did it carefully, using my cock like a lipstick, and painting her mouth all over with it.