Jamaican Summer

You sat on your lounger, naked, your penis encased in a tight pink cage. Twenty yards away was Jean-Francois, his large black tubesteak hanging obscenely between his thighs. On one side was Carrie, your ex, a dark-haired angel with a matching carpet. On the other side was your ostensible girlfriend, Karen, a bottle blonde with a non-matching carpet. You drank your strawberry daiquiri, watching them sourly as they laughed and as his hands groped their ample rears.

Karen had made you promise to stay in chastity for the entire summer. You'd be let out only when supervised for cleaning. You'd gotten an initial two-finger handjob, a peck on the kiss, and the promise that by summer's end, she'd be all yours. But when she said it, both of you knew it was a life. You sighed. You needed a library card.