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And finally, finally, Jane had absolute confirmation that she wasn't the only horny one in this entire fucking crazy world. Dexter's dick grew—not a crazy amount; it was already enormous when it was flaccid—to be fully erect. Jane couldn't help herself and rubbed back against it, pressing it into her crack, rubbing her asshole against it and trying, trying so desperately despite the acrobatic impossibility of it, to grind her pussy against the shaft.
Dexter grunted, then excitedly pointed. "Look, the burlesque show!"
Jane wilted slightly. Dexter hadn't been stiff from her hot body, but rather from the burlesque that now ran through the streets. Ahead, in the midst of the parade, women (and the occasional man) sauntered and bounced, big, round boobs jiggling and blood-filled, veiny cocks swinging, wearing nothing—nothing but socks or gloves. Some, the most brazen of the performers, wore a belt or even a shirt. Several of Jane and Dexter's community neighbors averted their eyes and blushed at the lack of propriety on display.
Though Jane felt a sting of dismay, there was still a pinch of victory. Dexter was aroused, and that meant horniness was not just a construct of Jane's own dysfunctional mind.
Jane just smiled and watched the show while savoring the feel of Dexter's hard dick pressed against her. Oh, if only, if only. If only this world wasn't built against her, if only she wasn't built against this world.
She looked back at the owner of the penis that drove her crazy and froze. Upon her turned gaze, Dexter's eyes flicked back up to the parade. And though the burlesquers had some time ago moved on, his cock remained firm as ever.
If only...
"Dexter," Jane said quietly.
"Hmm?" he answered, still watching the last few showcasings of the festivities.
"You're hard. How often do you get hard?"
He looked at her, and his gaze was somehow harder than the cock that Jane now lightly rested her hand on. "The burlesque dancers," he explained simply, but Jane swore she could hear the metallic hollow ring resonating in the timbre of his voice.
They both turned back and Jane was disappointed to find that his member had started to go down in size. Maybe she'd ruined something good. Maybe she was trying too hard to reach something greater than she could ever have. Maybe she would only ever be satisfied if she could just be content.
Dexter moved closer to her, his breath tickling her ear. "Have..." he stopped and breathed again. That hot air—that divine sensation of one's innermost life leaving them to find momentary shelter on someone else's skin, then abandoning that secondhand comfort, dispersing to the four winds of the earth. It drove her simply mad.
Dexter redrew that breath and began again. "Have you ever been aroused by Mrs. Thomas in the mornings when she first steps outside her front door and stretches her naked body to the neighborhood?"
Jane spun around and searched those deep, life filled eyes. In them she saw the same questions and the same conundrums and the same... horniness. "How often do you get hard?" She asked again.
"Every fucking day," Dexter replied. "I walk through these streets and I see tits and ass and dick everywhere I look. And then, I see you and—oh my God. Please tell me I'm not insane."
Jane smiled and wrapped her arms around the naked boy. In this moment, she was sharply aware of her large breasts squeezing flat against Dexter's pecs and his regrowing dick brushing her pubes gently. "You're not the only one. And I'm not either."
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