Page 204 of Marcello

You can’t HANDLE the tooth!

I didn’t want to ever hear anything remotely like that…

So I decided I better learn.

First, I locked myself in the bathroom – the same place I’d gone when I FaceTimed Romeo. There was no way in hell I was going to risk my parents barging in on me.

Then I looked online for blowjob tutorials.

There were a lot.

Ones with cucumbers… dildos… actual penises…

I did not suffer from a dearth of blowjob how-to videos, I can tell you that.

I eventually settled on one where a woman used peeled bananas. I went downstairs in search of substitute dongs and came back with six. Surely that would be enough to turn me into the next Linda Lovelace! (The star of Deep Throat, one of the only pornos to ever be released in mainstream theaters in the 1970s. I knew that from watching the biopic with Amanda Seyfried.)

“Bananas are excellent for gauging your technique,” the woman in the how-to video explained. “If it’s peeled, the banana’s surface will show even the tiniest scratch from your teeth.”

She was not kidding. I absolutely mauled the first ones I practiced on.

Romeo’s penis totally dodged a bullet.

I didn’t worry, though, because the lady said good technique would come with time. The most important thing at first was to enjoy the feeling of licking the shaft, feeling it press against your lips, and not trying to be perfect.

“Best of all, you can just eat the banana if you mess up too badly!” she said with a laugh.

I ended up eating five before I got sick of them. I broke up the sixth into mush and flushed it down the toilet.

I immediately went downstairs again and brought up two more bunches.

I ended up flushing them all before I was satisfied with my technique.

Now I just had to figure out how to escape the house so I could work my new-found magic on the real thing.

The best part was, I was totally confident I would never hear, You can’t HANDLE the tooth!

64

As I was getting ready for bed that night, someone rapped on my door.

“Who is it?” I called out.

“Eugenio,” said a muffled voice.

Shit.

I didn’t want to talk to him, but I knew I had to at some point. Might as well be now.

“Come in,” I said as I cinched my bathrobe tight.

He quickly entered and shut the door as though afraid someone might see him.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I want my phone.”

“I figured that. I meant, why this late?”