The only thing that had prevented this from happening was despite her needs she still had some minimum standards and for some reason that night only the dregs of humanity were present. So she had settled for visiting a sleazy sex shop in Gotham’s red-light district instead, purchasing a large, realistic dildo that resembled a cock with balls.It had received numerous workouts in the short time she’d owned it and while it helped to fill a void it wasn’t the same as a warm, human body. What was worse was that each orgasm it delivered left her only wanting more. Barbara was afraid she’d become an uncontrollable nymphomaniac and she didn’t know what could be done about it, or if she even wanted to turn back the clock. She would drift off into an uneasy slumber after hours of masturbation, her dildo slick with her own juices lying beside her, only to wake the next morning as horny as ever. She had begun to get dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep and it was only her skill with. “Imagine,” I said sitting on the edge of their bed, “they were fucking right here, lots of times, and we were listening.” By this time, I was stroking my erection.“But take a look at this.” I opened the large bottom drawer of my father’s nightstand; there was a large red and white box in the drawer. Large black letters printed on the box ( a gross) which said Trojans. Dad must have had a druggist friend to be able to get so many of them. Pulling one of the foil-packed rubbers out of the large box I held the foil packet in my fingers.“What is it,” Ray asked.“Charlie says they’re rubbers. He says that Dad wears em on his pecker to catch the jizz he shoots when they’re fucking, to keep Mom from getting a baby. Ray was Catholic; in his eyes, birth control was a sin in the eyes of the Church.“I’ve never seen anything like that around our house,” Ray said. I’m sure he had searched high and low for anything that might be related to sex—every kid’s rite of exploration.Opening the tinfoil.
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