When Peg first started to masturbate, she didn’t know what it was called so she called it skittering because skittering was how it felt, like something frizzling over the surface, fat on a frying pan, a dragonfly coasting above a summer lagoon, the itch of the slightest sunburn on her secret skin. She didn’t do it very often, and never to conclusion, possibly because she didn’t know what the conclusion was. Later she learned more and did more, and she almost forgot about “skittering,” but in her junior year of college something reminded her: it was her turn to come up with a skit for the next KayDee chapter meeting.

For a few days her mind was blank. She knew the skits were supposed to be funny and raunchy. “Skit, skit, skitter,” she said to herself, and then it came to her. It helped that earlier that day her roommate had been stung by a bee. “I was drinking that dreadful diet root beer and this fucking bee just came up and did the deed,” Marcy Acton Smith said, rubbing the big red bump on her chin. “I mean what the fuck! Who gets stung on the chin? I should sue somebody.”

“It serves you right for drinking that foul stuff,” Callie Dickens said. Everyone agreed that the diet root beer was repulsive. How did we every end up with six cases, they asked each other.

For Peg, the seed was sown. After all, she was a dance major. She had a copy of Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee” on her iPad. All that remained was to borrow the proper boy clothing.

Peg decided to enlist the aid of her biology lab partner, Bradley Gartner. Brad was so serious but also friendly and kind of cute, in a cuddly Teddy bear way, and what clinched matters: he was short for a boy, barely bigger than Peg. “Could I ask you a huge favor?” she ventured just before the end of the lab period. “Do you have a tie I could borrow?”

“A tie? Sure, I guess so.”

“And a shirt to go with it? And pants and ... um ... underwear?”

That very night she met Brad at the Lambda house and he took her up to his room. He laid out the shirt, tie, trousers, and underwear on his bed. “Do you need shoes and socks, too?”

“No,” Peg said. “But a belt, I think, unless you have suspenders.”

Brad frowned briefly, then unbuckled his belt, stripped it through the loops of his jeans, and put in on the bed atop the trousers. “I just have the one,” he said.

Peg grinned. “I hope your pants don’t fall down.”

“I’ll be okay. Do you want to try this stuff on?”

“No, I’m sure it will fit good enough,” Peg said, “but there is one more favor. A really huge favor.” She told Brad about the skit.

“And you just want to watch?” Brad asked.

Peg nodded.

“Well, since the belt is already off,” Brad said, starting to unbutton his jeans.

“No, wait,” Peg said. “Start out with it in.”

“But I don’t do it that way. I mean if I did it, I wouldn’t do it that way.”

“Just for the skit, okay?”

Brad began touching himself through the material of his jeans. Peg watched intently. It wasn’t long before she could see Brad fattening and firming beneath the denim. She nodded her approval. Brad continued rubbing.

“Now you can...” Peg said.

Brad nodded. He worked the zipper down. The front of his white briefs bowed significantly.

“You want me to...?”

“Uh huh,” Peg said.

The head of Brad’s cock appeared above the elastic of his briefs. Peg took a deep breath. Then he was all the way out.

“So big,” Peg exclaimed reverently. “So beautiful.”

“And I should...?” Brad said.

“Please.”