“What’s wrong, Dada? I hope you don’t see anything you want, because you can’t have it anymore,” said Mommy, the aspiring cock-teaser, with her glorious legs spread wide open and her skirt hiked up above her hips and her panties nowhere in sight. Her pretty pink vulva was staring me right in the eye and was glistening with desire. All Mommy had was a tiny patch of soft blond peach fuzz, just above her mons pubis, and that was it. I did the only thing any rational husband could do: I groveled like the dog that I was.
An excerpt from Jordan Belfort’s memoir The Wolf of Wall Street
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