When in stormy weather,They’d clang all together.And sparks would fly out of his ass!“Mike Locksley was the last student to recite his limerick. I...made a grand show of spicing up my Gaelic sound as he stood up with his six-inch banana curved penis aimed high from his crotch. I could not believe it when he confidently sang:“There once was a girl named McGill.Who used dynamite sticks for a thrill.They found her vagina,In South Carolina.And bits of her tits in Brazil.““Locks, you ain’t right,. " I whispered."Or I could let the Principal find it." she whispered, "Just email your cell phone number and I'll be in touch." She grinned wickedly and slipped away.Trouble was she had no more idea of what she would do with the damned drive than I did.I emailed her my cell phone number and pretty soon she rang me, "Hi Greg," she said and then she just asked, "Greg, is your hair naturally curly." I heard giggling in the background,"What?" I asked."Do you curl your hair?" she asked.I never. It was a memorable scent though, a kind of cross between battery acid and stale urine with a dash of vanilla.They tooled along in a space modified FAD (fusion aided design) along "The Back Forty" as Dickson called it, as if the back end of the deep space storage yard had any resemblance to the Wild West of ancient North America. The heat inside was iffy and the front screen kept fogging up at inconvenient times."The beacon means that the fence is active, correct?" Qi said."Yeah," Dickson. She leaned back into the sun and they lapsed into silence. Her eyes were closed to the sun, but his stared ravenously at her gorgeous figure, his hands itching to stroke her perfect skin, and his balls tingling with excitement. Slowly they resumed their conversation and it turned towards risqué topics. How many of the people who went down the steep path to Secret Beach went to ogle, they wondered, how many were exhibitionists, and what exactly were true naturists. It wasn’t long before Greg.