Page 104 of Bad Bishop
Tiernan: I need advice.
Rhyland: Is this Tiernan Callaghan?
Tiernan: …
Rhyland: Don’t reproduce.
Tiernan: Sex advice, you low-grade gigolo.
Rhyland: First of all? Very endearing. Second? I’m retired.
Tiernan: 20K an hour.
Rhyland: Sorry, should’ve specified: I’m retired AND a billionaire.
Tiernan: I’ll sell you my shares of App-date.
My having shares in his wholesome fake dating app had been a thorn in his side. Anyone associated with me was as good as dead in polite society.
Rhyland: JK. Giving back is my passion.
Rhyland: Talk to me, buddy.
Tiernan: Virgin. Skittish. Needs to come hard. No full-blown sex.
Rhyland: IDK if I’d call you skittish.
Tiernan: Not me, you eejit. HER.
Rhyland: Oh. Well, only one in five women orgasm from vaginal intercourse, so I wasn’t going to suggest penetration, anyway. Your best bet is eating her out. The clit has over 10,000 nerve fibers. Not much room for error, unless your tongue is made out of sandpaper.
Groaning, I refilled my glass. A headache formed behind my eyelids.
Tiernan: I’ve never engaged in such activity.
Rhyland: Eating pussy? My condolences. Highly recommend. 12/10.
Rhyland: I’ll send a video with a demonstration on an adult doll.
Tiernan: And you have that kind of thing handy because…?
Rhyland: I taught a Harvard course last year. You know, as a world-renowned expert in pussy.
Rhyland: We all leave our footprint on this planet. You fight overpopulation. I promote great orgasms.
Tiernan: Let’s promote bringing this conversation to an end.
Rhyland: Forwarding you the reel. Make sure you sell your stock first thing tomorrow morning.
Tiernan: One thing, Coltridge.
Rhyland: Yes?
Tiernan: This conversation never happened.
Five minutes later, I was watching Rhyland pleasuring a plastic doll with far too much enthusiasm. Ten minutes later, I entered our bedroom. Lila was already in bed, running a towel over her damp hair.
I stopped at the foot of the bed.
