Chapter 4
It was ten that morning before Evelyn departed from his motel room, also having a job to get to. As he watched her leave, he rolled the idea over in his mind of getting out of bed and driving to the country club for the reunion he had traveled across half the country to attend.
Instead he gave in to the urge of getting some more sleep before attempting the polite smiles and handshakes that would be required as he confronted his old classmates. After two days on the road and one long night and an equally active morning with two ball-crazy women, he passed out like a light.
He was rudely jarred from his deep sleep by the harsh sound of the telephone, insistently ringing and demanding to be answered. Forcing himself to reach out and lift it from its cradle, he mumbled a greeting.
"Mr. Reinhardt," a high, nasal female voice came from the other end of the line, "this is the switchboard and your call to New York is ready."
Suppressing the ire of his aborted nap, he politely explained that she had apparently called the wrong room. However, when the operator persisted in her demands to speak with Mr. Reinhardt, Sam, again politely, told her where she could place her misdirected call and slammed the receiver down.
His anger at the rude intrusion subsiding, he found a pack of cigarettes and lighter on the nightstand. Lighting one, he sucked the blue smoke deep into his lungs allowing it to ease away what remained of his irritation.
The travel clock on his dresser now showed 3 p.m. He had overslept his initial goal of noon by three hours and felt like he could sleep another twelve without trying. Yet he had returned home to attend a high school reunion and that's exactly what he intended to do.
Sliding from the bed, he made his way to the small bathroom. A quick shower and shave later, he felt he had regained at least a semblance of his normal self. The sport shirt and slacks originally planned for last night, before Evelyn and Linda decided they preferred towels, were once more drawn from the closet, as well as a matching casual jacket. Despite the summer's warmth, the air conditioning at the country club had always been geared to freezing or below. The jacket was a precaution against the possibility things were still the same. Frostbite in the middle of July was a little on the ridiculous side.
By four he had wolfed down a combination breakfast and lunch and was heading through town toward the reunion site. His progress to the country club was temporarily delayed as he incurred a major traffic jamƒ_"two farmers in pickup trucks stopped in the middle of the road discussing the latest feed prices. As they persisted in ignoring his blaring horn, he finally eased onto the shoulder and made his way around them.
The majority of his old classmates were well on the way to re-acquainting themselves with one another by the time he arrived and signed the official registration book. A quick check of a mimeographed schedule of the planned activities showed that he had missed a bring-your-own-lunch picnic while he napped. A tour of the high school was planned for six that evening, to be followed by a cocktail party. At the moment there were no scheduled events, although there was a notation that the bar served as a hospitality room, which sounded just as good a place to start as any.
It was. Sam immediately found himself shaking hands with Bill Steiger, former high school quarterback. Ten years had produced little change in the man, except for a very notable spare tire surrounding his waistline. Bill's wife, Mary, undoubtedly one of the most beautiful girls in their graduating class, eventually joined them. To Sam's surprise, the same ten years had completely erased the once slim and sensual body that had occupied a major role in more than one of his juvenile wet dreams. To describe her as a blimp would have been an exaggeration. But a baby elephant would have been painfully close to the truth. Somewhere an eager eighteen-year-old within him breathed a relieved sigh. In one impassioned moment during their junior year, he had come very close to asking that girl to marry him. Sic transit etc., he smiled to himself.
His class had been a relatively small one, a total of seventy-five, if his memory served him. However, after an hour of standing by the bar and nursing one Bloody Mary, he was positive he had shaken at least three hundred hands and been kissed and hugged by an equal number of women, many who he was sure he had never seen in his life. And far more than had ever been in his arms while he had been in school. And that included college. In general, he was having a ball, enjoying himself far more than he had expected.
He was surprised by the large number of children that managed to sneak their way in and out of the bar occasionally, running to their parents' side. He had thought at one time that his generation would be the one that took the first serious stand for population control. The pill, it seemed, for all its popularity, was no more than a device by which a couple could carefully plan having their four kids, rather than completely eliminating them. While such an arrangement might have lessened the financial problems of child bearing, it did nothing to decrease the number of mouths that had to be fed in the world.
Of course, there were certain ironic twists that life had managed to weave during the ten years. He glanced across the room to one fantastic example of those ironiesƒ_"Sonya Hill. Sonya was probably the skinniest girl that had ever lived while they were in school. To say the blonde beauty blossomed late was an understatement. She was a bombshell, drawing the wistful eyes of most the men and irritated glances from the majority of the women.
Then there was the boy voted most likely to succeed, who now dug ditches for a living. And there was the ditch digger's son who had worked his way through college at a quick-food restaurant and now owned a controlling interest in a nationwide chain of similar establishments. His father, who was too proud to retire on his son's money, now drove to work in a Cadillac and lived in a house worth at least a hundred thousand.
It takes all kinds, he grinned, whether it's in the big city or a small town. There's little difference in either as long as they're populated by people.
"Sam... Sam Coit," someone tapped his shoulder.
Sam turned and an ear-to-ear grin spread across his face, "Frank Warren, my God, you haven't changed in eight years!"
It was trite, but then Frank hadn't. At least not physically, as far as Sam could tell. Frank was one of the people who had helped him in making the decision to make this trip. If he had ever had a best friend, it was Frank They had started the first grade together and had been in and out of all the usual trouble that two boys living in a small town could get into. Not that there was anything bad in what they had done, just general mischief that ranged from stealing watermelons on hot summer nights to drag racing down black-top roads.
There had been only one big difference between the two. Frank was what usually received the description of "being shy with girls." A problem Sam never shared with his friend. On several occasions Sam had arranged hot dates for his friend, but Frank remained a big high school failure. He graduated a virgin.
When he had last seen Frank eight years ago, while they were both sophomores in college, Frank's sexual status had remained unchanged. The results had been a rather uptight young man. Now, as they talked and shared a drink, Sam could notice no change in his friend's uprightness. If there were ever a man that fit into the category of "square," it was Frank. Even his hair remained nearly clipped above the ears. To top everything off, Frank was an accountant at the local bank.
"Look, Sam, we've got to get together and share a beer later," Frank suggested. "But right now, if you don't mind, I think I'll mingle a bit. I've only just gotten here and I'd like to see some of the old gang."
Sam nodded and ordered himself another Bloody Mary as Frank walked across the room to a group of people seated at a table. He was still a likeable guy, but his uptightness was totally out of place, as were his hair style and conservative clothes.
A smiling face caught his attention from the other side of the room. It belonged to an attractive brunette dressed in a white pant suit with a blouse that opened all the way to her navel. He tilted his head to her casually, unable to place the woman, despite the nagging thought that he should know her from somewhere.
Ann Morgan, it dawned on him. He returned her smile and raised his glass to her. Ann had been an early romance that never resulted in more than a few heavy petting sessions and rock-aches afterwards. Though God knows he tried to maneuver that sexy body of hers into dear 'ole dad's hayloft time after time. Ann had never been able to "go all the way." In fact, in their senior annual, he had written those immortal last lines from the motion picture Hudƒ_""To Annƒ_""The one that got away.'" He remembered hearing somewhere that Ann had eventually married "Fish Hook" Bronsan, perhaps the meanest bastard that Sam had ever run across. Fish Hook had gotten his nickname from the fact that one night during a football game, he had taped a fish hook to one of his palms. The damage that resulted to the opposing team's left tackle almost landed him in a reformatory. However, his family had money and managed to pay off the injured boy's parents before they could file charges.
Ann's gaze now indicated far more interest than it had ever shown while they were in school. Sam would have sworn she posed purposely at just the right angle to allow him a view of as much of those half-exposed, firm looking breasts as possible. Even after ten years and his activities with Evelyn and Linda, his testicles tightened with that old familiar urge. Picking up his drink from the bar, he started toward the woman to renew an old friendship.
"Oh, no you don't, Sam Coit!" a woman called from behind him, her hand grabbing his shoulder and stopping him before he ever got started. "You can't go running off without at least giving me a kiss and a hug!"
He pivoted around and was greeted by the familiar face and body of Rhonda Morcock. Without hesitation he gave the diminutive woman the requested kiss and hug, both of which lingered longer than was necessary for old friends. But then, Rhonda was more than just an old friend. She was one of his more successful hayloft romances. Always ready and willing, he had once cajoled her about her sexual appetite by saying all he had to do was sing the first line of a then top-40 hit by the Beach Boys, Help Me Rhonda and she would come running to do just that. She had laughed and answered, "Where in hell do you think I got the last name Morcock!" Although the way she said it, her surname came our more cock!
It took all of about two minutes for the two of them to find themselves on friendly ground, talking and laughing, as if the ten years since their graduation had never passed. But they had, although the time apparently had done nothing but improve the small woman's appearances. All of which Sam took in as he bought her a drink and they moved to a table vacated by a group leaving for a round of golf.
Tiny and delicate were the first impressions that hit him, but he knew Rhonda was anything but fragile. There wasn't an extra pound of fat anywhere on her slim body, which only seemed to emphasize her smallness. Her facial features were thin, except for two big brown eyes that were accentuated by her sandy blonde-brown hair, which was cut in a neat shag.
The bright twinkle of her eyes and the warm smile of her lips never hinted at the problems and difficulties that had managed to come her way after their graduation. All of which she briefly related as they exchanged life histories over their drinks. Rhonda had never left the old homestead. She married, stuck it out for five years, then divorced. She had then invested her life savings in a small gift shop that fell flat on its face in a matter of six months and was presently working as a law secretary.
Somehow, Sam realized that no matter what the problems were Rhonda would take them in stride. She was the first genuine flower child he had ever met. Not that she dressed the role of a hippie. In fact, her manner of dress had been always conservative and she had always stayed away from the drug scene. She had, however, always seemed to the essence of what the love movement of the sixties was all about. She gave when others took. Even in their lovemaking, she gave. Rhonda was the type of woman that could ball fifty men in one night and still retain her innocence. She loved life and it apparently was in love with her.
Someone shouted above the din of the bar conversations that the tour of the high school was about to begin. The majority of the reunioneers around them arose and headed for the door.
"Shall we join them?" Rhonda suggested.
"Not unless you're really dying to walk those hallowed halls of education once again," he answered. "As for me, I would much rather prefer sitting here and sharing another drink with you."
"Or I could give you a tour of the town," she smiled.
"It only takes ten minutes and I took it in last night," he answered. "Now, how about that drink?"
"Okay," she nodded. "But not here... at my place. I keep a much better liquor cabinet than this country club ever has. and if you're unlucky enough, I might even decide to cook you dinner."
"Agreed," he grinned, raising the remainder of his drink in a toast.
"Crazy man," she laughed shaking her head. "You've forgotten I was the only girl in our class to flunk homemaking."
Rhonda's place was a small house just beyond the city limits of the town "to keep the taxes down," she explained. And her liquor cabinet was well-stocked, although Sam kept to vodka, not wishing to mix his poisons so early in the day.
"You always had me worried, Sam," she suddenly commented. "You were always so serious and looking for some deep meaning to life when we were kids. But you seem happy enough now."
"I am. Who wouldn't be?" he smiled. "Here I am sitting alone on a couch with one of my old flames, delighted to find she's just as good looking as she ever was. You've got to admit it's the perfect situation for making a pass."
Her brown eyes darted to his with a definitely interested gleam, but then she laughed.
"Old flame! Who are you trying to kid? If anything our relationship was closer to a brother and sister... two good friends who just happened to dig climbing into the hay with each other. You might have had a lot of flirtations, but there was only one love of your life... that was Joanna."
If he hadn't known he didn't blush, he would have been sure his face was scarlet. She was right, but he didn't like to think of Joanna. It always left a bittersweet hollowness in the pit of his stomach.
"I always knew it and really didn't care that much. Hell, I didn't even mind it when you set me up with Frank Watson, fully hoping I'd rape him," she laughed.
"I bet you didn't!" he joined her laughter. "You were always after Frank, even if he didn't know it. I'll never understand that man... or why you didn't rape him!"
This time it was Rhonda who was silent, his word apparently striking a similar chord within her.
Realizing his mistake, he quickly changed subjects. "It's too bad my old man sold our old place. I'd like to drive out and take a look at that barn. It held a lot of fond memories."
She nodded, obviously remembering their hayloft antics with the same fondness, "They tore down the barn to make way for a grain elevator, you know. But I've always thought you were the type that could find a hayloft just about anywhere he wanted and with just about anyone he wanted."
Again that interested gleam flashed in the depths of her eyes; eyes that followed him as he leaned over, his lips lightly touching hers in a gentle kiss that was just as much a thank you for those youthful nights as it was a prelude to other things. He felt a trembly shiver rush through her as his hand softly caressed the side of her face.
A pleased smile danced at the corners of her mouth as they parted, "It's still there, isn't it, Sam? We haven't changed that much at all."
"Help me, Rhonda," he whispered, repeating the line she had always answered to with willing eagerness.
"A sofa is just as good as a hayloft and a hell of a lot less mess," she grinned, as her mouth returned to his, her lips opening for his taunting tongue.
She felt good. Even through the dress she wore, he could feel the summery warmth of her body. If there was one feeling he associated with his youth, it was Rhonda's warm, excited, ever-ready body. He was meeting as old friend in the way old friends should meet. The stirring excitement in his testicles showed they were only too willing for a homecoming.
In a matter of seconds, the small-framed woman was practically on top of him. Her thigh was snugly wedged between his legs, rubbing sensuously over the rising bulge of his cock. The firm mounds of her breasts seemed to strain out trying to tear through the confines of her bra and dress to get at his chest. Her tongue was a wild orgy of erotic twisting and gyrations, as it dueled over and around his tongue, striving to drive into his throat. Her hands were on his back, hugging him close, then gliding down to the tautening balls of his buttocks.
Rhonda had never been one that cared much for the preliminary tauntings and teasings. When she was ready, which was ninety per cent of the time, she was one of the most passionate women that had ever crossed his path. Apparently time had done nothing to diminish that heated passion. It took no more than a few minutes of suggestive squeezings and intimate embraces for her to pull away from him and start working the buttons down the front of her dress free. His own hands immediately fumbled with his shirt.
Standing, she shimmied free of her cotton dress and neatly placed it across the back of a chair, then turned back to allow him a full look as she stood before him in bra, panties and pantyhose.
She was beautiful and he told her so, as he stood and pulled his shirt off and stepped from his pants. Her own beaming eyes dropped to the bulge that strained out from his jockey shorts.
There had always been something about small women that turned him on. He now realized what that something wasƒ_"Rhondal Small women reminded him of this sexy little bundle of very hot woman. Standing before him with her small but perfectly proportioned breasts' tightly mashed together by the cups of her bra, she set his cock to jerking with ardent anticipation.
"Need any help?" he asked.
She didn't answer, except to cross the two steps to his side. His hands immediately reached out and freed the three clasps of the broad strap across her back. She wiggled her shoulders and the bra slipped from her body and dropped to the floor.
Her eyes were on his as they watched the twinned cones spill exuberantly from their confines, smooth and sleek shapely mounds of pink flesh that jiggled just enough to provide a titillating dance.
There was no way he could have kept his hands away from those delicious tits. He reached out, cupping the perfectly matched pair, rubbing them lasciviously. The diminutive woman trembled with excitement, as soft cooing sounds came in sighs from her throat. Sighs that melted to aroused moans as his head ducked down and his mouth captured a coral-blushed nipple cresting one of the delightful peaks.
His tongue toyed in a light brushing stroke around the sleeping bud, bringing it to life in a matter of seconds. His teeth gingerly nipped at the stiff nubbin he created, then he sucked while his hands kneaded the pliable texture of her breasts.
Quickly moving to the sister nipple, he politely repeated his oral ministrations. The glow he set afire within her was fantastic. She gazed down at the man who still worked the magic he had so adeptly conjured as a boy. She expected to find her tits swelled to twice their size. They weren't, but that didn't stop them from feeling that way. And it was a hell of a marvelous feeling.
"Mmmmmmmmmmm," she moaned, her hands appreciatively cradling his cheeks. "I could stand here all day and let you do this to me. But there's something else I want right now."
He eased his lips from the rigid bud of flesh he busied and reluctantly slid his hands from her sleek titmounds. She smiled wantonly at him from under her long dark lashes, as her fingers tucked beneath the elastic bands of her pantyhose and panties. He watched as she waggled the last remnants of her clothing over the voluptuous flare of her hips and peeled them down the shapely slopes of her thighs and calves.
Any further gazing on his part had to wait until she quickly stepped to the sofa and reclined on her back, her slender legs suggestively parting to reveal the light-brown silk-fringed lips of her labia. Glistening pearls of moisture already sparkled from those plump cuntal lips, announcing the arousal of her body and its readiness for his.
"Pretty enough to eat," he grinned, as he peeled his own shorts from his legs and toed them from his ankles.
Whether or not she got the full meaning of his comment, he couldn't tell, since her eyes were riveted to the thick shaft of cock jutting from his crotch. That hungry gleam flared with a flame of desire, as she followed the pulsing twitch of his own anticipation.
He moved to the side of the sofa, staring down at her, unable to soak in enough of the vision she presented. The ten years seemed to have passed without touching her. And if they had touched her, it had been in good ways. Her breasts were perhaps a little fuller and there was a more womanly flare to her hips. But she still retained a flat, smooth stomach and her tits didn't even hint at the slightest bit of sag. She was still the small, cock-hungry girl who lay with him in his father's hayloft on more than several occasions while they had been in high school.
"You've seen it all before," she smiled. "It can't be all that interesting!"
"Stop fishing for compliments," he grinned, as he leaned over and kissed her once again. "You know damn well how beautiful you are, so give a man the chance to refresh his memory."
"But there's so much more that you can be doing than just looking," she teased, her fingers running up the insides of his thighs and circling around his groin while they remained an enticing fraction of an inch from the meaty stalk that held her interest.
"Patience," he whispered, letting his lips softly taunt down the graceful arch of her neck. "There's more than one way to get what you want."
He glanced at the perplexed expression on her face. She still was missing his meaning, even though he had spoken his intention only a few seconds ago. He wasn't surprised. Rhonda and he had explored their young bodies years ago, but neither of them had progressed to the pleasures of oral sex before their hayloft romps were interrupted by graduation. He now planned to make up for lost time.
Continuing on his downward path, his lips moved through the warm valley between her breasts, while his hands seductively glided along the smooth curves of her sides. By the time his fingers were tantalizing the velvet-like interior of her thighs, his lips and tongue had entered the down of her pubic triangle.
"Sammmmmmm," she moaned, excited tremors of desire coursing through her body as her legs opened wider for him. "I've... ohhhhhhhh!!!"
The tip of his tongue tauntingly flicked along the ridge of her cuntal lips, tasting the saline fluids of her womanhood. His hands were now to each side of her sex mound, massaging firmly, then spreading the pink-lipped cleft of her loins. His tongue darted into the fleshy slit, lightly licking at the moisture-laden cleave.
"Ahhhaggrarrahhhh!" her supine body was jolted by the sexual electricity generated by his intimate oral contact. "My god!!! I never... ummmmm... dreamed it... yessssss! Oh, my god, yes! Sam, ahhhhhhhh! I've never had a man... ohhh... do this to me before!"
It was his turn to be jolted. Both shock and pleasure wracked him. His tongue that had wiggled its way into the liquid heat of her vaginal channel twisted and laved in a flurry of gyrations. He couldn't believe what she had just uttered. It was impossible to accept that no one had ever treated their tongue to this beautiful pussy. In fact, it was obscene neglect on the part of the American male.
However, it did sweeten the task he had undertaken. Avidly his oral digit laved around in the juice-slick contours of her cunt. He kissed and sucked at her, swallowing down her heavy flow of fluids so that she could hear him above her own moans and groans.
Simultaneously, he wiggled his index finger to the top of her pink slit. There was no trouble in finding her clit. Standing out like a miniature penis, it had already come out of hiding and was firm and erect. His fingertip tapped it gently.
"Ohhhhh... uhhhhh... ahummmmmm!" she groaned incoherently, as another blast of sensual voltage sizzled through her open nerve endings.
His wildly licking tongue increased its plunging and lapping. He drilled into the hot quick of her pussy. He swirled his oral digit over the secreting walls of her cuntal tunnel. He probed and lapped, drinking away her juices as fast as she could produce them.
Her slender hips began to move under him as the passion of her fervor rose to a high pitch of excitement. Her hands were locked to the back of his neck, pushing his face into the humid gash of her belly. She writhed, thrashing as she sailed closer and closer to the threshold of ecstasy.
He matched the urging of her pelvis, driving his tongue in and out of her cunt in penis-imitating fashion. His cajoling finger instantly rolled and rubbed the extended bud of her clit harder and harder.
The overload on her senses was too great. She cried out in fulfilled delight as the dual stimulation on her pussy culminated in a soul-shattering blast of pleasure. Her whole body quaked in uncontrollable bliss, as she tasted her first orgasm brought by a man's tongue.
Easing his mouth from her quim before he destroyed the pleasure he had set free within her, he glanced tip to her ecstasy contorted face. Then he pushed himself from his knees and slid atop the bed of her diminutive body.
There was no need for either of their hands to guide the needy length of his prick. The swollen head of his cock found the entrance to her belly and glided inward, as he buried himself to his balls within her.
She grunted and her eyes flew open under the sudden unannounced invasion. For a startled moment she stared up at him through pleasure-clouded eyes, then a warm smile moved over her lips and her arms locked around his ass, anchoring him deeply in the contracting folds o her slippery cunt.
Slowly he eased himself in and out of her body, extending the carnal delights his tongue had begun. She moaned deep and low in appreciation, as she savored the last quivering sensations of her climax.
"That was marvelous," she sighed, as she lay motionless just riding the sensation of his thick prodder stroking in and out of her cunt. "I never dreamed that a man's mouth could be so good. Is it like that when a woman takes a man in her mouth?"
His lips brushed over hers, "I'll let you show me later."
"I've never... " she abruptly cut herself off and shivered as a delicious thrill raced along her spine.
"You will," he grinned, his hips jerking back and slamming hard into the clinging pocket of her cunt. "I think those virgin lips of yours might find they share the same tastes as this tight cunt!"
She shivered again and her hips took up the hunching rhythm of his pumping pelvis, as he described in detail exactly what he had planned for her mouth as soon as he finished filling her pussy with his seed. The effects of her upcoming oral treat were immediately noticeable. She seemed to concentrate on squeezing the muscles of her cuntal walls around the thick pole he plowed deeply into her interior.
Slippery and hot, she enveloped the throbbing lance of his sex. He felt as if he had swollen to three times his normal thickness, as he rocked himself back and forth within the well of her desire. Her moans of growing passion were steadily increasing and he upped his tempo to match her need. In and out, he sliced into the heated recesses of her quivering love tunnel. His balls slapped at the rounded curves of her perky little ass, beating out the rhythm of his own mounting desire.
Wedging his hands between their tightly pressed bodies, he found and covered her breasts, squeezing them roughly. He pinned her to the sofa under his complete unsupported weight. She made no protest. Instead, her fingers dug into the boulder-hard balls of his ass, pulling at him, as if trying to draw that lust-gorged stalk of his cock all the way into her mouth.
She grunted and groaned as his hips swung down mercilessly, impaling the rigid spike of manmeat into the fiery hole of her pussy. Her whole body was jarred by each pounding impact of their meeting crotches. He jerked away only to slam downward again.
"It's happening!" she urged him. "It's happening again!"
It was. Which was exactly what he wanted. Jack-hammering into her as rapidly as he could, he filled her with the long hard rod of his prick. He whipped her into a frenzy of unabandoned sexual wantonness. And then, as she came, groaning and writhing and thrashing beneath his crushing weight, he emptied his balls into the clutching folds of her trembling cunt.
Clinging to one another, they rode the waves of blasting passion that were released within the cores of their bodies. Her cuntal folds pulsed around him, throbbing out the completeness of her second coming. She milked at him, squeezing and relaxing. He drained himself of spurt after spurt of thick semen and sperm.
Neither of them moved as the heated lust gradually subsided and was replaced with the warm satisfaction of their carnal union. However, even the most pleasurable of experiences must come to its natural end. His once swollen and rigid prick slowly deflated and slithered from her come-slickened belly and dangled limply at his crotch, as he rolled from her, balancing himself on the edge of the sofa.
"It's gone to sleep," she pouted, disappointed in the natural transformation of his penis.
He grinned, as one of his fingers traced over her thin Bps, "All it probably needs to wake up is a nice soft kiss."
Her dark eyes sparkled with a delighted light, as she leaned to him and planted a long, wet kiss on his lips. When they parted, she eagerly scooted down to his loins. He watched as her virgin lips slowly puckered and kissed the red surface of his glands. She received her first real taste of cock.
Her awkward unsure techniques quickly faded as she felt the pulsing life return to his prick under the exploring caresses of her tongue. By the time he had once again risen to full mast, her long hidden talents as a natural born cocksucker were being fully displayed. He watched the sandy blonde-brown head of his boyhood lover bob up and down at his crotch and her loving virgin lips slide around the swollen shaft of his sex.