They decided the skit might be a mite too risqué.

“Then what’ll we do?” Naomi asked her friends Nils and Lisa.

“Easy,” said Lisa. “You’ll just show off the gown you and your grandmother made.”

“Albeit without the adjustments Nils made,” Naomi said.

“Albeit! I love how you used that word,” Lisa exclaimed.

Naomi smiled. “It was in our vocabulary last week. Miss Turnip will cream her panties.”

“And Nils can show his tapestry,” Lisa said.

“Do I get to wear my Imperialistic, Capitalistic, Colonialistic, MotherFuckingistical suit?” Nils asked.

“Albeit without the adjustment to your sword,” Lisa said.

“Great,” said Nils, “but Lisa, what about you? What will you do?”

“Something educational for the students,” Lisa declared. “I’ll do a handjob demonstration. Nils, we’ll have use for your sword after all. And I’ll get Auguste to do the lighting and the sound. I’ll wear a sheer top, one that teases my little tits to impossibly exuberant points. And earrings that glint and sway as I—wait, I was thinking of a blowjob. I’ll wear my skimpiest panties, a silvery weave of the most delicate lace. Like spun gold, my little bush will bramble the mesh. And soft, cum white gloves, so each stroke along your stalk presages the climax. Do I mean presages or prefigures? Anyway, you get the picture. Auguste’s lights will capture every nuance of your face as pleasure winds your psyche tighter and tighter in the rush towards the rigorous ecstasy of ejaculation. Auguste’s mics will amplify the anticipatory hush, and then the breathless howl. And of course the main spot will focus on the star of the show, your magnificent penis. Shot against a background of velvet black, no cum could ever be creamier.”

Lisa took a deep breath.

“Or else I’ll just do a couple of birdcalls.”