Yesterday afternoon I was walking briskly towards Astor Place and I passed three college-age kids and heard the following excerpt of their conversation:
BOY: . . . and this girl said your asshole has to be open before they fuck you or there’ll be pain, so I put a banana in my butt.
GIRL 1: Oh, a banana’s a good idea.
GIRL 2: But you can use anything. A cucumber, a shampoo bottle.
GIRL 1: Or a back massager. I used a back massager once.
BOY: Why’d you use a back massager?
GIRL 1: I was bored.
GIRL 2: You could use a back massager for S&M, too.
BOY: Would you be one of those S&M people?
GIRL 2: Hell, yeah. You get paid a lot, like seven or eight hundred dollars
GIRL 1: Would you whip a dwarf?
BOY: For eight hundred dollars I’d whip anybody.
At this point our paths diverged—theirs down the street, mine into the subway.
But I went down the station stairs grinning at the joy of youth.