I take her hand. “Come on. Let me show you the inside.”

The cottage is open concept with windows across the front, giving me an uninterrupted view of the lake. The master bedroom is no exception. Facing west, it has its own private deck, complete with hammock. We can lie out there and watch the sun set. I can’t wait to have outdoor nature sex with Violet. I don’t even care if she’s loud and the neighbors hear. Well, maybe I do. If I was into the BDSM stuff she likes to read, I might try a gag or something. I’m not. We’ll have to play the “see how quiet we can be” game instead.

Violet falls in love with cottaging. She also falls in love with Sea-Dooing, kayaking, and my speed boat. I have two sets of everything; one for the cottage here and the other for the lake front property in Chicago. I even try to teach her how to water ski. Try being the optimal word.

Our neighbor has a nineteen year-old kid named Louis who’s semipro. I consider asking him to teach her while I drive the boat. Except Violet is wearing her Hawks bikini. The one I bought specifically for this trip. While I can understand why he’s checking out my woman’s rack, I’m not interested in him getting close enough to really appreciate all she has to offer.

I get his dad to drive the boat while I show her how to ski and Louis gives her pointers on form. There’s a lot of ass and junk grabbing under the water. It may have had an impact on Violet’s inability to figure out skiing.

Later in the afternoon, we kayak to a natural whirlpool and have hot, outdoor, whirlpool sex. By late afternoon, we’re exhausted from all the activity and the sun, so we crash out on the couch and watch a movie.

I must pass out hard because I open my eyes to the sound of giggling and the flash of a camera. I blink blearily as consciousness slowly returns. Violet’s lips curl in an uncommonly devious smile.

“What are you up to?”

My question is rewarded with more snickering and a very cute, worrisome snort. “Your snuffie is a super hero.” Violet bursts into a fit of laughter.

I glance down at my semi hard cock. “What the fuck? Are those googly eyes?”

Violet nods excitedly. How I’ve managed to sleep through this will forever be one of life’s unsolved mysteries. My dick is wearing a cape, the googly eyes are stuck to the head in such a way that the hole at the tip looks like a mouth, and—“Did you draw a mustache on my dick?”

“I wanted him to be French Canadian.” Violet pets my dressed-up dick and adjusts the cape.

For a few seconds, I debate whether or not this is a messed-up dream. However, the up and down motion of her hand is a good indicator it’s not. It’s difficult not to react to the petting, despite the really fucking weird scenario going on here. “Why French Canadian?”

“He’s suave, you know, like French guys? And romantic.” Violet gives my dick an affectionate stroke and leans in and kisses the tip—below the drawn on mustache. “I had a dream awhile back; Super MC had a French accent.”

“Right.” Because dreaming about my dick as a superhero isn’t strange enough. He’s got to have an accent.

“Once, I dreamt he was wearing a tuxedo and we went to prom.” Violet circles the head with a fingertip. “The prom penis even had glasses.”

I’m losing focus. I’m still shocked by the emasculated state of my cock, but her hand feels nice. She leans forward as though she’s about to kiss him again. She does. Even I’m referring to my cock like he’s his own person. This is so bizarre. Suddenly it’s painful.

I sit up and groan as my shaft engorges further thanks to Violet’s caresses. The cape has a little bow tied under the head; it’s cutting off the circulation.

I’m only about three-quarters of the way hard. I’m a grower. There’s more to go. She’s going to decapitate my dick. “The cape! It’s tied too tight!”

“Oh! Oh God! I’m suffocating Super MC!” She pulls at the tie, but the bow unfurls into a knot. “Shit!” Her high pitch fuels my panic.

I push her hands away. “Let me try.” Maybe if she’s not touching me, my dick will stop growing. Violet stands. She’s wearing a pair of superhero briefs and a sheer tank. She’s not wearing a damn bra again. Shit. I scream like a little girl as the pain intensifies.

“I’ll get scissors!” Violet runs from the room, taking her perky nipples with her.

“What?” I yell after her.

Images of a severed penis flash through my mind, deflating my cock marginally. The problem is the blood already trapped above the neck of the cape is slow to drain, and I’m still mostly hard.

Violet returns with an enormous pair of scissors. The idea of any sharp object close to my dick is not appealing. “What the fuck, Violet? Don’t you dare come near me with those! Don’t you have a pair of nail clippers or something not so fucking huge!”

“Your snuffie is suffering! I promise I’ll be careful.” Violet motions to the head of my cock as if I’m unaware of the problem.

“So help me God, if you cut me—” I let the sentence hang. If I can’t have orgasms for the rest of the trip, neither can she.

“I won’t, I swear. Let me help.” Her voice shakes and her bottom lip trembles.

I hold out my hand. “Give them to me.” I don’t need a crying woman with scissors near my dick.

Violet passes them over. Sinking to the floor in front of me, she wrings her hands in distress. I take a deep breath and think of Grandma Waters without her teeth. It seems to help with the deflation enough so I can slip the scissors between my shaft and the string. With one snip I’m free, and the circulation to the head returns. I flop back on the couch, heaving a huge sigh of relief as the blood flow equalizes and the ache fades.