“Stop staring at my dick," he growled.Oh, yes it was definitely an illusion. "Barrons loved me staring at his dick,"I informed it. "he would have been happy if I'd stared at his dick all day long, composing odes to its perfection.”

“You think way too much of your dick.""So do you," he replied with a smile. And God damn it. I wished I hadn't been staring at his crotch right then.”

“Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear!”

“Baby, you stare at my dick any longer, Miss Mildred’s gonna have to send out a search party.”… “I was staring at your hip muscles,” I corrected.“Whatever,” he muttered, his lips now smiling too, then louder, “just sayin’, anything in that vicinity, your eyes on it, it’ll get thoughts on its own.”“So noted,” I mumbled.”

“All this faux flattery. It's not enough to make me forget he's a dick. Admittedly, though, he's sort of a charismatic dick.”

“The two men stared at each other. Assumptions were made, judgments rendered, dicks measured.”