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“Are you still mad?” “Not as much,” I admit, glaring back toward the school. “She looked at your penis.” “So did the kids. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have shifted in front of them.” “She blushed.” I grind my teeth and fist my hands. “And?” “And?” I face him, my rage rising again. “That’s my penis!” He beams at me. “Say it again.” Narrowing my eyes, I poke his chest. “My. Penis.” — Rory Miles
Are you still mad?”
“Not as much,” I admit, glaring back toward the school. “She looked at your penis.”
“So did the kids. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have shifted in front of them.”
“She blushed.” I grind my teeth and fist my hands.
“And?”
“And?” I face him, my rage rising again. “That’s my penis!”
He beams at me. “Say it again.”
Narrowing my eyes, I poke his chest. “My. Penis.