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To Stephanie Rogers's previous piece
Fathers, Teach Your Daughters How to Dance He held it in his hand, suppose I watched? Then, up and down, he stroked. I froze. I watched. They danced as if a couple learning steps. His hand, the feet; the head, her toes. I watched. The rhythm shuffled, hurried, he went faster. His member stood erect, in pose, I watched. I saw a substance spray from him like water. It shot onto his chest, his clothes, I watched. My father stood up breathless, then he saw. "Hey, Steph, come here and sit." It rose. I watched.