I don't mind. [He clarifies, chasing her mouth but not quite catching it, leaning in so that the fall of his hair gets in both their eyes.] I never mind.
It's what you need. How could I find that offensive? [Sometimes, he thinks the answers should just be obvious.] I'd be an idiot if the only way I could deal with it was by pretending you don't eat at all.
Besides, I'm not squeamish. I'd rather eat yours than make you eat mine.
We're not talking about your feelings about apartheid. It's biology. The people who are offended by that are the people who give cutesy names to their genitals. Not worth listening to.
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[It's true. She does.]
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Maybe next time.
[Maybe after he's got her to sit through the film that imprinted garages and car jacks, red leather gloves and perhaps even a haircut on him.]
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[It's probably a more accurate description than calling it a kink.]
You still need to catch up on some pop culture.
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He settles where he is, shifting his weight so it's not on her.]
Date night, sometime?
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[She can sit still two hours.]
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I'll prepare my own snack, don't worry.
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[As usual, it's a genuine question, presented with Saya's typical forthrightness.]
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Besides, I'm not squeamish. I'd rather eat yours than make you eat mine.
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[And that's why the answers aren't obvious]
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[She nods her head]
Then you can be in charge of snacks.