“Fits in nice de bollocking pedos and working on classic bikes,” he explained.“So what do you do?” I asked.“First off check the fucking pape...work, make totally fucking sure they signed up to therapy as an alternate to a fucking stretch in chokey,” He explained. “It don’t worry me what they done I’m just making sure doing it again ain’t no fucking option.”“So what is the therapy?” I asked.“I’ll show you later,” he promised, “But basically you slit their fucking ball bag open with a fucking. ” She said.“Then call 911 if you want,” I said. “But he’s just drunk and got sc****d up.”“You don’t know that for sure,” she told me, glaring at me.I just shrugged and went back into the bedroom. A few minutes later, I saw her come walking into the room, with Robby hanging on her shoulder. The weight of him on her had pulled the nightgown tight enough so that one of the buttons had popped open. She kept half pulling, half dragging him through the bedroom and into our bathroom, which is pretty. More

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