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“I sometimes think Colby and I should do the world a favor and make an instructional video about this technique we came up with,” Ryan says. “Once we perfected it, we told the younger guys about it, and it worked like a charm for them, too. We’ve all gotten it so dialed in at this point, we call it The Sure Thing.”
Colby chuckles. “As Keane likes to say, it makes women have honey bunches of O’s.”
Everyone chuckles.
“I’d definitely watch a video about that,” I say. “And I’m sure I’m not alone. I bet it’d go viral.”
Colby scoffs. “Speaking for myself, I’ve got no desire to become the viral face of The Sure Thing. The guys at the firehouse would razz me about it till the end of time. No thanks.”
“I’ve got no desire to be The Sure Thing Guy, either” Ryan says. “I want to become a respected business mogul like Josh and Jonas here, not a fucking internet sex guru.”
“You know who’d make a perfect internet sex guru?” Josh says. “Keane. With that face of his and the crazy way he talks, he’d be a natural.”
Colby says, “Actually, it’d make perfect sense for a male stripper called Peen Star to talk about sex online.”
“Some of those YouTubers make bank,” I chime in. “Like, millions per year.” I don’t know Keane. I haven’t even chatted with the dude one-on-one this week. But Kat told me her younger brother turned to stripping after an elbow injury dashed his baseball dreams, and I’m rooting for him from afar to find his groove again.
Ryan chuckles and addresses his older brother. “Bee, you’re high if you think Keane has the attention span to run a fucking YouTube channel. That kid can barely remember to check his texts on a daily basis. Oh, and by the way, Keane’s stripper name isn’t Peen Star anymore. He recently changed it to Ball Peen Hammer for some reason.”
I flash Ryan a secret smile. The man’s a true gent. When Ryan and Josh called me recently and asked me to help extract Keane from a “stripper predicament,” we all agreed the situation was on a strict need-to-know basis, especially regarding my identity as the hacker who’d stepped in to help. Apparently, Ryan is so damned trustworthy, he didn’t even tell Colby about the situation, since I know for a fact Ryan knows precisely why Keane changed his stripper name.
What happened is this: one of Keane’s clients—a much older woman who’d hired Keane to dance and strip at a small, private party—thereafter decided she basically owned the kid. According to Ryan, Keane had been perfectly willing to let said older woman treat him like a sex slave for one crazy night of weird, kinky fun. Why not? Keane’s a horny, single, twenty-three-year-old, and life is short. But see, for Keane, it was a one-time lark. A curiosity, never to be repeated. Not so much for the older woman. Apparently, she had so much fun that night, she decided she wanted it to become a regular thing, at her pleasure and on command. When Keane refused, she went ballistic. Threatened to ruin his life and fledgling stripper career with false accusations of inappropriate behavior and coercion.
Lucky for Keane, an anonymous hacker friend of Josh’s—cough, cough, me—swooped in and saved Keane’s stupid, horny ass by easily infiltrating the woman’s devices, getting some nasty dirt on her, and making it clear she had no choice but to leave the kid alone or else. And that was that. Just like that, Keane got a clean slate and fresh start. He smartly changed his stripper name, switched to a more reputable booking agent, and vowed he’d never do anything to get himself into a similar jam again. At least, that’s what Ryan told me on the boat today when we were awaiting our turn to parasail.
A cocktail waitress appears with another round of drinks, and we all thank her and dive in.
“So, what exactly is The Sure Thing?” Jonas asks. “A fingering technique, or . . .?”
“Yeah, though it starts with oral and ends with penetration,” Ryan says. As we all hang on his every word, Ryan describes the technique in astounding detail, which, in essence, hinges on finding and manipulating a woman’s “A-spot”—a spot that’s apparently deep inside a woman and in a different place than her G-spot—to the point where she ultimately experiences a cascading domino effect of full-bodied orgasms that leave her “speaking in tongues” and quite possibly “bursting into tears of sheer ecstasy.” In other words, these Morgan boys have apparently figured out how to give a woman the same orgasmic experience as a fucking Sybian, without the need for a power cord or dildo. Hot damn.
“Jesus Christ,” Jonas murmurs, taking the words right out of my mouth.
“If you do it right, she’ll have at least three orgasms in a row, each one more intense than the last,” Ryan says. “And then, when you finally go in with penetration, she’ll come again while you’re inside her, and you’ll both basically pass out.”
