Sitting side by side at the library, Harker and Julie study. Julie’s paper on sprung verse is due tomorrow. After some minutes, Julie’s hand brushes Harker’s thigh, and she whispers: “Say something poetic about my pussy.”

“Oh God,” Harker groans. “You’re giving me a hard-on.”

“Good one,” Julie responds. “I think I can feel its heat. Thinking about it is making me wet.”

Harker groans again.

Julie says: “Do you like me bare, or do you think you’d like my pussy better if I had a puff of pubic fluff on top?” Her fingertips trace the outline of Harker’s fast fattening bulge. “So that when you drove your hard cock into my greedy cunt there’d be this soft cushion. What do you think?”

Harker goes, “Um, um.”

“That’s a start,” Julie says. Her fingers find the toggle of Harker’s zipper. “More?”

“Um, um, your pussy is pure poetry.”

“Pure poetry, I like that,” Julie says. “But I need a killer ending. Which do you prefer: “the deliquescent confines of my quivering quim” or “the aching core of my lust-crazed cunt”?

“Um, um,” Harker goes. Julie has her hand inside Harker’s pants.

“You have to decide,” Julie says, stroking.

“Ah, both!” he blurts.

“Such a greedy boy you are,” Julie concludes. She takes her hand from Harker’s pants and tastes her palm.