It was a glorious midsummer’s night. While the band in the gazebo happily played “Alexander’s Ragtime Band,” Bob and Raylene spread their blanket on the lawn. From the picnic basket, Bob took their bottle of red wine and two plastic wine glasses. He poured.

“A toast to love,” he said.

“To love,” she said.

They drank.

The band began playing Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer.“ Bob laid back on the blanket and Raylene sat up crosslegged next to him.

“I spy with my little eye a crotch,” Raylene said. “What’s it packin’?”

“Ray, I am not wearing any underwear,” he said.

“Makes two of us, lover,” she replied. The two looked at each other. Both smiled. “I repeat,” she said, “What’s it packin’?”

Bob stopped smiling. “If you looked in there, Ray, you would find a standard American penis of average size. When fully erect, in all its glory, I can give you about five inches. That’s it. Happy now?”

“Hmmm,” Raylene said, “I’ll bet it’s beautiful. Every inch of it. For comparison, I’m as average as they come—34 inches, B cup. But, lover, take my throat, my tongue, and my lips. They’re triple X rated. Care to give them a try? They have a five-inch special, today only."

“Honey, just listen to the nice music,” Bob said. The band started Johnny Mercer’s “Ac-cent-tchu-ate the Positive.”

“What kind of an attitude is that?” she asked, arms akimbo. “You are most definitely not accentuating the positive. Now I am going to tell you how I make your five-inch friend feel better, even when his bigger buddy is an old sourpuss.”

“Honey, fer chrissakes,” Bob said, “We’re in the middle of a crowd.”

“That, my friend, is a major turn-on. But here there is no touching and no losing eye contact, either. Now just lie there. Take it all in, ‘cause Mama’s gonna pamper your friend.”

“First, I unzip you and release him from his unfortunate prison. I stroke his shaft until he stands tall. I 'm massaging him and I stroke him gently, and I admire the intense beauty of what I hold. I kiss you. Then I kiss him.”

“He? Him? Oh, great," Bob said. "So now my penis has its own pronouns.”

“I’ll switch to something neutral, like ‘they’ and ‘them’,” Raylene answered.

“No, hon," Bob said, "Maybe it’s beautiful, and maybe it’s not, but still I’ve got exactly one. So go ahead.”

“Hmm, yes. Now I open my mouth and cover the entire head. I slide him back and forth in my mouth. I keep my tongue active. I rub his swollen head with my lips. I lick his frenulum, and I pay careful attention to this happy part of him. Then I feel his shaft bend with his first pulse of semen, and then many more.

“After he cums-” She smiles. “I telI him, ‘It’s about time, beautiful.’”

“And he thinks,” said Bob, also smiling, “‘Lady, gimme a break.’”

“Okay,” said Raylene, “Now I take his head and shaft in my mouth and clean him up good. And I use my fingers to wipe his product off my breasts. I swallow all of it.”

“Thought you didn’t like the taste.”

“This is a fantasy, lover, and I can swallow liters of your luscious stuff if I want to.”

“With him still sensitive from the first time, I rub my lips over his head. After, oh, about twenty minutes of this, his firm shaft erupts again. But I am still stuffed from his first time. Cum drips from my mouth. I think about whether or not to use my teeth, maybe just a little bit.”

Bob grunted.

“Okay, lover, forget the teeth. I make my tongue flat and wide, and I stroke his glorious shaft. I move up the shaft and use my tongue to stimulate his head.”

The band began playing Cole Porter’s “Anything Goes".

“I stroke his shaft with my hand and kiss his head. I swallow the full length of his shaft, all the away to his base. Your pubic hair tickles my nose.

For his third time, I keep my eyes trained on yours. I stroke his frenulum and hold his full head in my mouth. I use my tongue while I move my whole head. After a short while, my lips feel his shaft move with his first pulse of semen, and then several pulses more. So he makes a mess again, but I use my tongue and lips to clean him up.

"And that’s it. You’ve finished three in a row. Now wasn’t that a nice story?”

Raylene’s eyes left Bob’s and she looked at his crotch. The left side of his pant leg was shiny and moist.

“When did that happen?” Raylene said.

“Right around when you started talking about teeth, hon,” Bob said. "And that was indeed a nice story. Thanks."

He sat up and sat crosslegged next to her. He kissed her. “Lie back,” he said. She did so.

The band started Whitson and Friedman’s “Let Me Call You ‘Sweetheart’”.

“Let me tell you a story of you,” Bob said, “a gorgeous woman with gorgeous breasts. First, I unbutton your blouse and open wonderful you to the world. I lean over and massage the nipple with my tongue. She responds happily and becomes rock hard almost immediately.”

“She? So now my boobs have their own pronouns, too?”

"I could use neutral terms like ‘they’ and ‘them.’”

“That is preferred, lover. They might be beautiful and they might not, but I always have two.”

She smiled. "Now finish my story," she said.