“Eww.” Dill examined himself. It was a bit like looking into the 'discretion required' section of an Ann Summers catalogue, where they sold infeasibly large items in durable latex and silicone, often with batteries of a size unavailable in the supermarket, purely to encourage women to think men were generally larger than in their experience. He'd seen one the length and girth of an arm once. Surely that wasn't right? “How do you know it was Harold? It could have been one of the imps.”
Have you seen Harold's internet search history? It's full of pictures of men's penises. Their fingers clattered across the keys and a search engine appeared, the one Dill coded himself as an elegant replacement for the commercially available ones. He called it Sextant, and elegant play on a navigational instrument with a prefix aimed specifically at geeks and techies whose experience with the fairer sex was generally confined to World of Warcraft. Sure enough, the screen filled with members of Harold's special interest group.
“He was probably researching how to make ours.”
They go back weeks. Sam opened up a couple of the links. Years, in some cases. Before you were even a twinkle in your father's hand.
Well...” Dill frowned. At least, he thought hard and assumed the frown came automatically but the picture in the camera didn't change. He tried harder. That was better. Not making the effort to mimic human expressions would make communication in the future that much harder. He'd be reduced to making emoticons with his hands, assuming he still had some. “He could have been researching generally. Perhaps he wanted to please his wife.”
Ho-ho, yes. A real man eater that one.