Many years ago, when The Transom was young and pretty, it was often invited to weekend at an elegant Southampton home…. Off The Transom would go, on a wildly lurching afternoon train from Manhattan. In those days, travelers would congregate to smoke and cocktail between the cars. The Transom’s innocent bare feet would dangle off the train’s steps as the greenery whizzed by.
But at the end of that summer, quite unexpectedly, the rent came due. And so it was one morning that The Transom found itself kneeling at the foot of the lovely staircase. A bit of the Hamptons host’s genitalia had somehow found itself wedged in The Transom’s mouth.
“Mmph, mmph?” asked The Transom. “Shh,” said the host.