How good?”“You know, good,” I answered. “Satisfying.”Sally rolled her eyes. “Good? Satisfying? Good God, girl! Let me guess, once or twice...a week in the missionary position.”“We do more than just missionary,” I replied flatly.Sally’s look of amusement was replaced by one of concern.“But only once or twice a week and I’m guessing that he leaves you hanging.”“I’m always satisfied,” I argued weakly.“Alright, but no heart-screaming, pussy-gushing, muscle-twitching big O, right?”“I ... I ... I’ve. I arrived at Aunt Sally’s house in June, two and a halfmonths before my freshman classes were to begin. She was verysweet and nice and gave me the very best she had. She didn’tlook at all like the photographs we had of her back home. AuntSally was a foxy woman, and after she taught me how to fixmyself up a bit we looked so much alike that men often thoughtwe were sisters Sally lived in a nice house in a quiet suburbanneighborhood and drove a fire-engine-red. More

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