When I was growing up it was de rigueur for any testosterone overloaded black or arty heterosexual male to have a womb broom, for titillating the clits of their chosen lovers, and for fondling and stroking, as if in deep thought. I suspect that some did neither.
As related by his aunt thirty-one years after his uncle and aunt were married, to my son, who was about to get married, about his uncle's state standing at the altar: "Your uncle had this stiff long hair - she didn't say, womb broom - growing under his lower lip, and he was so nervous, as we stood at the altar, it was quivering," and, with a wry expression, she wiggled her extended fingers, and I interjected, "Like an anglerfish, attempting to attract some prey."
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