Emma wasn’t in bed when I woke up. I heard some noises from downstairs and then Emma’s plaintive “Oh fuck!” and I hurried down to see what was the matter. I found Emma in the kitchen wearing only her flimsy nightshirt. She was on her hands and knees sponging something from the floor.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Oh,” she said, startled to see me. “Just some spillage.”

“Spillage,” I repeated, still half asleep.

“Yeah, I got hungry and made myself a bowl of Greek yogurt, but some of it got away.”

“Oh,” I said.

She looked up at me, then grinned. “What did you think it was? Cum?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. The large puddle of white stuff on the floor did sort of resemble cum.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “It was that cute new neighbor of ours, Mr. What’s-his-name.”

“What’s-his-name?”

“Yeah, um, Mr. Cockincuntalopigus, or something like that.”

I was about to laugh.

“Yeah, Mr. Cuntincockolopigus came over to borrow a cup of sugar for his morning coffee—Greeks like a lot of sugar in their coffee, or is that Turks?—anyway he saw me and his cock bonered up so big and strong it burst through his pants and it was so beautiful I couldn’t resist it. But it was too big for my mouth and there was so much stuff I couldn’t swallow it all and some of it spilled on the floor.”

She looked up at me with those big beautiful eyes. She looked at my erection. She looked into my eyes again. “Your cock is even more beautiful than Mr. What’s-his-name’s. Come here.”

I came there.

I came there.