Four Friends Teach Her to Masturbate

The cards were scattered across Naomi's coffee table, and nobody was pretending the game still mattered. Four twenty-two-year-old college seniors sat naked in the warm lamplight of the apartment they shared, the last of the strip poker long over, every pair of panties and every soft cotton tee piled in a careless heap by the door. They had played with ginger ale and bad jokes, stone sober, because the point had never been the drinking. The point had been the laughing, and then the losing, and then the strange easy freedom of being bare with the people who already knew how you took your coffee.

Naomi had the couch, dark curls damp at her temples, breasts rising with each breath. Camille sat on the rug, copper-brown skin shining, drawing idle circles on her own thigh. Marisol occupied the armchair, long black hair over one shoulder, the dark triangle between her thighs easy to see. Selena perched on the edge of the bed they had dragged in, honey-colored hair stuck to her freckled shoulders, knees pressed together. She was the quiet one of the four roommates, and, though none of them knew it yet, a virgin.

"You came so fast with that little silver bullet," Camille said, grinning at Marisol. "I heard you through the wall last week. Under a minute. That's not fair."

Marisol's laugh was low. "I know my clit. Slow circles, then a toy, and I'm gone. I've done it since I was nineteen. You, Naomi?"

"Sometimes." Naomi stretched, nipples tightening. "Heel of my hand, or the curved vibrator if I want it hard. I came twice this morning."

Selena listened, fingers knotted in the sheet, color climbing her throat.

Camille noticed. "You're quiet, Selena. Shower quickie, or do you take your time in bed?"

Selena's mouth opened and closed. The citrus candle on the sill popped softly. She looked at her own bare knees and said, very small, "I don't have a thing."

Marisol tilted her head. "Meaning you don't have a favorite, or..."

"Meaning I've never touched myself. Not like that. Not to finish." The words came out thin and honest. "I've never had an orgasm. I've never even really tried. I'm still a virgin. I didn't know how to start, and then it felt too late to ask."

For a heartbeat the apartment held still. Then all three of them gasped, the sound bright with shock and, underneath it, a sudden eager heat that none of them bothered to hide.

"Never?" Naomi sat up so fast her breasts bounced. "Selena. You're twenty-two."

"I know."

"You've never just stayed there with your hand until something happened?" Camille's eyes shone, a flush rising under her collarbones. "We have to show you. Right now. Please."

Marisol leaned forward, and the motion parted her thighs a little more. Arousal had already thickened her voice. "We want to teach you. Tonight. We'll go slow, and you don't have to do a single thing you don't want. But if you want to learn how to touch yourself, we can show you our pussies, our toys, our hands. All of it."

Selena's pulse thudded. She saw no mockery in their faces, only eager heat, and the same heat moved low in her belly. Her nipples drew tight. She didn't cover them.

"Okay," she said. "Yes. Show me. I want you to."

They didn't make her wait. Naomi dragged a shallow basket from under the couch. Inside, on a towel, lay the toys they actually used: a slim purple vibrator, a silver bullet, a thicker curved wand, a bottle of lube, and Camille's compact pink vibrator, the one shaped to sit against a clit and hum. Marisol crossed to the bed, sat beside Selena, and opened her knees wide, feet planted, nothing hidden.

"Look," she said, gentle and filthy at once. "Outer lips. Inner lips. Clit under the hood. I'm already wet from talking about it." She slid two fingers down and parted herself. Her pussy glistened, pink and swollen, a thread of slick catching the lamplight. "I don't go inside first. I get my clit interested." She set wet fingertips to that small pearl and rubbed slow circles. A soft sound left her. "Not hard. Not fast yet. My clit likes the left side. If I stay here, my hips chase it."

Camille settled on the rug with her legs splayed and held herself open so Selena could see her inner lips darken. "I use my own wetness." She dragged moisture up from her entrance, painted it over her clit, and circled a little faster, breath hitching. "It tingles, then it gets heavy, like a pulse. If I stop I get annoyed. If I keep going I get greedy." Her fingers shone. The slick sound was small and obscene and steady. Camille's hips rolled up into her own hand, a helpless little grind, and she laughed once when the feeling spiked.

Naomi knelt on the couch, thighs wide, and switched on the purple vibrator. The low buzz filled the room. She pressed the tip just beside her clit, and her stomach jumped. "Toys are hands that don't get tired," she said, voice already rough. "I hold it here and rock. If I want more, I push it inside and keep my fingers on my clit." She eased the slim toy into her pussy, an inch, then another, and rubbed. A wet sound answered. She moaned, open and unable to swallow it. Naomi's free hand spread her own lips so the wet pink of her was as clear as Marisol's. "That's the part that curls my toes. Full, and rubbed, at the same time."

Selena couldn't look away. Her thighs had loosened. She could feel herself getting wet, slick warmth gathering, nipples drawn tight, each moan landing somewhere low and new. The air smelled like skin and arousal, sharper than the candle. She was breathless with it.

"Come closer if you want," Camille said, still circling. "We won't touch you unless you ask. This is so you can see. Then you try it alone, just your hand and your body."

Selena knelt on the rug between them, close enough to see Camille's shining fingers, Marisol's clit peeking under the slow rub, Naomi's pussy gripping the toy on each shallow thrust. Marisol pushed one finger inside herself and moaned, honest and slick. "Pressure builds. My pussy clenches like it wants something. I get louder when I'm close. I stay with the feeling until it takes me. Crook your finger. Rub your clit the whole time."

A drop of Selena's own wetness slipped down her inner thigh. Her fingers twitched. She wanted her hand there so badly she shook.

"Not yet," Naomi said, kind, even as she fucked herself slowly with the vibrator and shuddered. "Watch until you know the motions. Then go to your room and do it alone. Your body. Your pace. We'll be right here."

Selena nodded, dizzy, thighs pressed together and doing nothing to ease the ache. "I want to try," she whispered. "I want to know what you feel."

"Then go," Marisol said, smiling through a moan, still spread wide, still circling. "Take the bullet if you want it. Or just your hands. Both are right."

Later, the door to Selena's bedroom clicked shut. Moans and the faint buzz of a toy followed her down the hall and then thinned away. She stood naked in her own small room, twenty-two and shaking, the silver bullet in her fist because Marisol had pressed it into her palm and said only if you want. She set it on the nightstand. She wanted her fingers first. They had said everything was allowed if she wanted it, and she did, badly enough that her hands would not stay still. She pulled the comforter down, lay back on the cool sheet, and for a long moment kept her knees locked, heart knocking, staring at the crack in the ceiling she had never looked at from quite this angle.

She thought of Camille holding herself open, of the wet sound Naomi's pussy made around the toy, of Marisol saying left side, slow, don't rush, and of the gasp all three of them had made when she told the truth. Not pity. Wanting, eager and kind, to give her this. She bent her knees and let them fall open. Cool air touched her, and she realized how wet she already was, inner thighs gleaming, pussy swollen from nothing but watching. She looked down at her small breasts, her tight nipples, the pale gold hair above her slit, and heat bolted through her. No one could see. That was the gift.

Her right hand hovered, then settled low on her belly and slid down. The first touch was a fumble. She missed her clit and pressed too low, fingers skidding in her own slick, a startled oh breaking out of her. Too slippery, and not the right place. She tried again with two fingers flat, rubbing the whole slit in jerky strokes, and flinched when a fingernail caught her clit dead-on. She yanked her hand back, breathing hard, almost ready to quit before she had begun.

"Slower," she told the empty room, the way they had told her. She tasted her fingers, salty and not bad, and went back softer. She parted her outer lips with her left hand and found the small swollen pearl under its hood. The first careful circle made her hips jerk. Too much. She eased off until she was barely brushing, and the sharpness melted into warmth. Slow circles. Her breath shook. Then her wrist tired, elbow dug into the mattress, and the circles went wide and useless, skating over her mound. Frustration burned behind her eyes. She stopped, hand resting on her thigh, and listened to the faint hum from the living room. They were still out there, still naked, still hoping. She was not failing. She was learning.

She shoved a pillow under her hips, and the tilt offered her clit up where her fingers could find it without a hunt. She spit on her fingertips, shy at the sound, and tried smaller circles, pads only, staying to the left. A low pulse started. She chased it too hard and numbed it, then remembered not hard, not yet, and lightened her touch until the pulse came back sweeter. A sound left her that she did not know she could make. Wetness slicked everything. She could hear the quiet liquid noise of her own hand, and it made her throb, which made her wetter, which made the noise louder. She pinched a nipple, too rough, then gentler, and pleasure sparked from breast to pussy in a bright line. Her knees fell wider. The sheet under her ass was damp.

She wanted more, and the want was clear. She slid her middle finger down through the slick and pressed at her entrance. She was a virgin, and for a second she froze, bracing for a pain that never arrived. There was heat, and yielding, and a shocking fullness as one finger sank to the second knuckle. She gasped. Her pussy clenched around it, greedy. She drew it out and pushed back in, fumbling, too fast, then too shallow, the heel of her hand bumping her clit and making her cry out. She added a second finger. The stretch was a sweet ache. She was dripping down her wrist. Both fingers thrust, and she tried to rub her clit with the same hand, thumb slipping, rhythm falling apart. She laughed, frustrated and aroused, and started over. Two fingers stayed inside, curling for the softer spot. Her other hand found her clit and circled. Three good strokes. Then her wrist cramped and she lost it, swore softly, and found it again.

The fourth try caught. Fingers thrusting, a little deeper each time, other hand rubbing clumsy circles that slowly got smaller and surer. Full and rubbed, the thing Naomi had moaned about, and Selena's mouth fell open. Her hips lifted off the pillow to meet her own hand. She found a pace that was not elegant and did not need to be. The silver bullet sat forgotten. Her body was teaching her faster than any toy. Heat coiled low and tight, unfamiliar and enormous. Her thighs trembled. She heard herself panting, high little sounds, and the wet suck of her pussy around her fingers, and she did not try to be quiet. No one had told her to be quiet. They had told her to stay with the feeling.

It gathered the way weather gathers, not all at once. Pressure sat behind her clit. A heavy ache lived deep where her fingers curled and stroked. Her nipples were so tight they hurt in the best way. She went faster because her hips demanded it, circling her swollen clit with more confidence now, less lost and more desperate, sliding two fingers in to the last knuckle and grinding the heel of her hand down when the circles were not enough. Slick ran over her knuckles. She thought of her friends' open legs and open faces, their pride already waiting on the other side of the door, and the thought did not shame her. It pushed her higher. Her stomach drew tight. Her toes curled hard enough to cramp. The pulse in her clit became a bright unbearable thrum.

"Oh," she said, and then louder, because something was happening she could not steer. "Oh, I'm—" The orgasm took her before the sentence could finish. It crashed through her in waves she had no name for, her pussy clamping down on her fingers in rhythmic shocking squeezes, her clit pulsing under her rubbing fingers, pleasure so sharp it bordered on too much and then broke open into something vast. She cried out, a raw sound that filled the little bedroom, back arching off the pillow, free hand fisting the sheet. Her thighs shook. Heat flooded her, wet and endless, and she kept rubbing because stopping felt impossible, each circle dragging another wave out of her until she was sobbing with it, not from pain, from the staggering fact of coming. Her first orgasm. Hers. It rolled and rolled, aftershocks clenching around her fingers, her whole body lit and helpless and fiercely alive. She rode it until the touch turned too sensitive and she had to yank her hand away, gasping, laughing once in disbelief, tears at the corners of her eyes that had nothing to do with sadness.

Still flushed, she lay there only a moment longer, chest heaving, the room smelling like her. Then, from the living room, clear and fond, Camille called her name.

"Selena! You okay in there?"

Her voice came out hoarse and wondering. "I'm okay."

"Come back," Naomi called. "If you want. We're still naked. We want to see you."

She did not reach for a shirt. She did not want one. Her legs were unsteady when she stood, inner thighs slick, body loose and glowing. She walked down the short hall naked and found all three of them waiting, still bare, still flushed, eyes wide.

They saw her face and knew.

"You did," Marisol breathed.

Selena nodded, smile breaking, shaky and huge. "I came. I fumbled so much at first. I couldn't even find it. And then I did, and it took me."

They reached for her all at once. She went into the middle of them. Arms wrapped her, warm skin to warm skin, breasts and bellies and soft thighs pressed close, a tangle that was celebration. Naomi kissed her temple. Camille stroked a slow hand down her spine. Marisol petted her hair and the curve of her waist, gentle and proud.

"We're so proud of you," Naomi said. "Your first one. You did that."

"You came so beautifully," Camille murmured, palm warm on her lower back. "You're glowing. We're so proud."

"However you touched yourself," Marisol said, "you found it. That's yours now. We're so proud of you."

Their breathing slowed to match hers, skin warm against her shoulders and her ribs. A vibrator sat silent on the rug. Selena closed her eyes, naked and held, their hands easy on her skin. No one spoke. The quiet deepened until there was nothing left but silence.