Coconut Grove “Margaritaville” — Jimmy Buffett

the boy's bravado could be read more than one way. either they were skilled or they weren't; in the end, it would not matter to jawahir. the pleasure of the wolf lent to an ease in their own life— a lifestyle that was difficult to give up.
jawahir licked their lips thoughtfully, and then in answer to the question, reached for a lobe of an ear. trailing soft touches along the boy's jaw, as they moved carefully alongside.
i never tire. which was not true; but in the moment, they felt fine enough.
they moved to stand before the boy and pirouetted, showing themselves off. the russet of their haunch; the dark curve of their back. a dance, or nearly so.
jawahir knew they were effeminate; their proportions were not so fragile as to be sickly, nor so large in figure that they look threatening. somewhere in the middle, swinging one way or the other on a given day.
and yes, the boy was right—whatever the courtesan was equipped with, it was well hidden inside the body.
a sway of their tail welcomed the boy close, as did the sly turn of a cheek.
i bet i can outlast you too.

ftb?