My knees were up and spread with my toes hanging off the cushion of my big comfy chair. I cursed my insecurities as I furiously plunged a couple of fingers in and out of my pussy and angrily twisted my smiling clit-with-no-name.
I came out of retirement to work with a group of millennial x-y-z-ers, all of whom were surprised that I hadn’t ever given my clitoris a name.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously!”
I took them at their word. “How?”
“Jill off. It’ll come to you.”
It did. Now she needs a nickname.
