Chapter 7

Back on the domestic front, Fred had gone to stay with his mother. In the meantime, I had the twins back home with me and we were doing the best we could.

I hired a babysitter to take care of Jimmy and Julie and prayed, as I went off to my job at S.E.X. every morning, that things would work out all right.

The data for The S.E.X. Report had all been collected. All that remained now for the findings to become a reality insofar as the American people were concerned was for the information to be collated, and then sent to the publisher. In the meantime, it was time for the staff to celebrate the end of a long, hard task.

Except that the last thing I felt like doing at the end of the project was celebrating. For the end of the research portion of The Report meant that my work was finished, and I was staring unemployment in the face with no husband and two children to support.

"Don't worry about it," Jason tried to encourage me- "You'll get a dynamite reference from us, and another job is a certainty. I promise." "I'd feel better if you were the next guy I was going to work for," I replied ruefully.

"Listen, he said, "if it'll make you feel any better, your name will be on The Report when it comes out. As you know, there won't be any money in it for you, but that could happen. It's certain to be a best-seller, meaning that you'll be a kind celebrity. You'll be able to write your own ticket when it comes out." "But what about in the meantime?" I wailed. "Right now I'd settle for writing a ticket to a simple secretary's job." "Don't sell yourself short, Debbie," Jason tried to console me. "Without you, we wouldn't have been nearly so successful in compiling the type of information we needed. Just take it easy." "Tell that to my kids," I snapped. "They like to eat three times a day, you know." "Just stop feeding your depression," he answered paternally, "and enjoy the fruits of a job well done. Why don't you let me pick you up for the celebration tonight. A good time is what you need." "All right," I agreed with a shrug. "Maybe I am over dramatizing."

The party was held at a local Italian restaurant that The Exchange had rented for the night. We were all seated around a long banquet table, and the booze flowed like it was going out of style. Everybody had a head on before the hors d'oeuvres were even served.

A few stiff drinks made me quickly forget about my financial problems, and before I knew it I was swinging along with everybody else. Alcohol made tomorrow a lot easier prospect to face than cold sobriety.

Then, when Arnold Feather, the psychologist who headed up the S.E.X. team began to read excerpts from the research, things really got interesting. I'd been so close to the data for such a long time that I hadn't really realized how provocative it was. When this stuff was published it would blow the lid off the country's preconceived notions about what was considered to be normal sexuality.

"Here's an interesting questionnaire," Dr. Feather intoned from the end of the table. "It seems a couple began anal intercourse during their dating in college, and were never able to make the transition to genital congress after they were eventually married. Rather than switch, they adopted children." "Hear, hear!" a drunken Jason bolted from his chair and exclaimed. "Let's see 'Dear Abby' or 'Cosmopolitan' top that!" "Precisely, my dear Jason," the equally tipsy Dr. Feather said. "Information like this is exactly why The SEX. Report is going to be on top of the best-seller list for months!" We all cheered at that estimation, proud to be part of such certain success. Then, the good doctor laid a little bit more on the assemblage.

"I'm sure that you'll all be interested to know that the length of the average respondent's penis Is...

He teasingly paused. It was a master stroke, because all of us had bolted upright in our seats in anticipation.

"Eight and three-quarters inches," he broke the hush that had fallen over the crowd. "Slightly two and a half inches more than had previously been thought to be the norm. Our findings definitely show that erections are on the upswing. Getting longer and harder than ever before. Even if we produce no other confirmed trends, this information will be enough to rock the nation." A spontaneous cheer spilled from the gathering. Eight and three-quarters had best-seller written all over it.

"What about you, Doc?" somebody drunkenly joked. "Are you above or below normal?" "I'm glad you asked," he surprised us all. "As a matter of fact, I'd never even measured myself before the findings came in. However, out of curiosity, once I saw the statistics, I borrowed my son's ruler and saw for myself." "And?" at least a dozen people shouted...

"Nine inches," he rejoined smugly. "A quarter of an inch over average... And, to tell you the truth, my wife was even more excited about it than I was.

We gave him a standing ovation. I guess that'll tell you how bombed we all were.

Then, as Dr. Feather sat down, the room was abuzz with the men around the table comparing their prick sizes. You could tell from which men were beaming, and which ones were frowning, who was above the average and who fell below.

Then, Jason, who was undoubtedly above normal on the drunkenness scale, took the floor and proposed a most bizarre suggestion.

"Why don't we conduct our own survey among staff?" he hollered. "Let's find out if the scientists are as well-endowed as the subjects."

There was a buzzing throughout the room as the men confronted their nerve. The women present, of course, just ginned.

Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until some PhD with a schlong the size of a Hebrew National salami dropped his pants.

As it turned out, it was my date... Jason.

Well, naturally I knew from first hand experience that he beat the norm with plenty to spare. However, I was just as shocked as everyone else when he unzipped his fly and hauled out a twitching hard-on that looked like it belonged to a stallion.

The reaction around the table was divided between disgust from the few blue-noses, envy from the men with smaller pricks, applause from the guys with pricks as large, and drooling from every woman present. Let's face it... Jason had a magnificent tool.

"Well, hell," my old friend Gloria Schaffer stood up and exclaimed from the other side of the table, "I don't care what anybody thinks, I'll suck it!" I knew Gloria well enough to realize that she wasn't kidding. If she announced she'd suck Jason's cock in public, goddamn it she'd do it if it killed her.

Confirming my judgment, she climbed up on the table and trampled through a platter of lasagna to get to Jason's throbbing dork. By the time she arrived her legs were smeared with tomato sauce.

When he saw her coming, Jason climbed on the table also, scurrying toward her provocatively sucking mouth. Before our eyes, cock and mouth closed ranks, and suddenly she was blowing him.