Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Liquid even dripped down from her urethra at some point but she didn't notice, too busy transforming into the person who was having the biggest, longest, weirdest, most spectacular orgasm of her life.

She gave herself three more of those that night.

Only three because when she finally did notice she was squirting, she started to cry too hard to go on. Cries of bitter joy, full of promises for the next day and the next days forever.

5am.

*****

Saturday (ten days)

The new woman disappeared like shadows did at sunrise. Lenore awoke at noon on a salty pillow. Her brain assured her she was tired and she believed it.

Everything that happened last night was now unexciting like stored data and she could feel she would spend her Saturday the usual way: doing not much.

She would not feel guilty about it. Writing was out the question so soon in the process. And the formidable rush she had experienced only proved once again that she had it in her, that there was hope, not necessarily a ravenous drive, not an irrepressible capacity to write half a novel in one feverish sitting, not the network, not the results, but at least a will. Something stronger than her apathy. A Viking mode she would switch on later. At the right moment.

But now in the daylight, the two new objects in her space, box and dildo, felt like tasks.

Their sight sent butterflies in her belly, yet going back to them would not flow smoothly like it did yesterday. And despite knowing she would masturbate today--several times, no doubt--despite the fact that she shaved for the first time in weeks, Lenore got dressed after her shower.

While eating her microwaved lunch she avoided thinking about her next orgasm. It was exhausting to think about it, to feel about it. She had the whole afternoon for herself and had just discovered masturbation as an unexplored continent.

Stagefright. For lack of a better word.

As the hours passed, the urge hindered her from even indulging in idleness. So eventually, reading from the suggestion box became a good excuse. No preparation, no cleaning up. And she could do it on her couch.

Notepad and pen to look serious. She put the box on her lap.

THIS BOX CONTAINS ONLY LIES

Lenore rolled her eyes with an amused pout. Clever boy wanted to show off with his liar's paradox, but he ignored how Brian used to nag her with this kind of mindfucks.

Let's find a long one.

100% TRUE. CANON HAD TO RECALL ALL THEIR NEWEST L SERIES CAMERA LENSES BECAUSE OF A DEFAULT. WHEN USERS TOOK A PICTURE, SOME PEOPLE ON THE PICTURE APPEARED EYELESS. ON EVERY PHOTO AND ALWAYS THE SAME PERSON.

CANON DID THIS AFTER SOME GUY IN JAPAN KILLED HIS FAMILY AND CLAIMED THE PHOTOS SHOWED THEY WERE EVIL DUPLICATES.

WHEN YOU SEARCH FOR THE LENS ON EBAY YOU GET YOUR ACCOUNT TERMINATED.

Come on, it's the same story as that movie with the sunglasses. You can do better.

She kept on reading. Some good leads. Some pathetic attempts. Lenore observed the experiment got her very arrogant. Normal people didn't understand the science of storytelling. Not as instinctively as her.

But overall, people were just nice and funny. It was nice they had taken the time for this. It was sad she barely talked to any of them.

It was weird they had taken the time for this. It was weird anyone paid attention.

At least she didn't find anything weird. Weirder than the dildo. She found a small envelope, the elegant kind that goes with flowers and gifts. It contained a note: FOR THE GIRL WHO LOST EVERYTHING. And a key. Common type, padlock key, nickel, round head. 'P19' sharpied on it.

"Wow, an ARG," Lenore said, mildly enthused, more focused on the fact that someone assumed she had 'lost everything.'

She read until she had a thin stack of paper neatly unfolded at her feet, under a paperweight.

And until she couldn't deny anymore that her hands were shaking.

She wanted to meet the new woman. Through sexually altered state.

No, cross that. She wanted to reach that point where both, her and the new woman, met. A point where she was coming really hard. And hand in hand they became undistinguishable.

Convoluted comparison.

She was exhausted before even starting. After much ceiling-staring, she decided it could begin with something that always had made her blush about masturbation as much as it thrilled her: a ritual.

Lenore took her clothes off and folded them neatly next to the stack of paper. It looked like a ritual enough.

She got up before making a wet spot on the couch and went to the bathroom for a towel. The largest she would find.

There she found herself standing motionless, thinking it didn't happen to her a lot to walk around naked, in broad daylight.

And she also pondered if she should submit to the idea that came to her suddenly.

Do it out of curiosity.

She went back to the couch with the towel and a hand mirror. Just for curiosity.

She masturbated three times, as many times as there were leftover condoms in the nightstand.

The first orgasm was quick but as strong as ever. Only a few drops fell on the towel, nothing like those incredible jets she had seen on the internet.

The new woman didn't show up.

Lenore allowed herself a coffee break.

For the second, she sat on the floor, between paper and clothes, her back against the couch and the mirror angled at her vagina.

She looked at it, indecently hairless. She could have found it pretty. Had it been not hers. She parted her labia, opened herself as wide as she could, as indecently as she could. She pulled on the hood of her clitoris and squinted at the reflection of it sticking out, leaned closer.

With two fingers she tried for the fabled G-spot magazines and blogs were so stoked about. Only to be disappointed; more fascinated by the sight of fingers delving into her.

And thinking that fingers don't vibrate.

She pulled off the old condom and rolled on a new one.

Her breathing rose to a hardly manageable level.

She caressed herself with the vibrating toy, avoiding her clit.

And then finally, pushed a few inches inside her.

The first observation was, again, disappointing. Her vagina was not used to such a girth anymore. And her crotch vibrated. That was pretty much it. Down to the bones in her buttocks on the carpet.

Let's try speed #3.

No, 4.

The vibrations increased comically with each push of the button. And then Lenore angled the tip against where G-spots are supposed to be.

"Ohhhhh Oh my God AAaaaah!"

She pressed against what she had found. "Fuuuck...HH...HHHh..." Her toes curled. In the mirror, her pussy swelled up.

There was a now very obvious little ball inside her that was sparkling in response.

Lenore pushed the dildo as far as she could to get away from it and give herself a break. She went through the speed cycle back to #2.

She braced for the next step: moving her hand up and down.

How could she have missed such a sensitive organ inside her?

Anyway, she started massaging it.

She looked at herself doing it.

She moaned with unexpected pleasures.

And became a writhing, blabbering choreography of twitches.

The time it took her to find the right motion was not lost. Journey and destination again. (Not Buddha, Oliver Goldsmith, she looked it up.) She still wasn't sure she had found it when she put her fingers on her clit and went for the climax.

Finding out she actually did made her moan definitely loud. Because her G-spot came, not her clitoris.

Now this was a mindfuck. She groaned. Indecently. But the feel fleeted away so rapidly its memory got lost into disbelief. In place, fluid heat broke down inside her. She didn't need the mirror to see the stream of clear liquid she pushed out of her climaxing pussy. It sprayed her wrist and the towel. It was warm. It was benevolent. Strange word crossing her mind as she crossed her orgasm toward states that don't use words.

After this loud climax, as thoughts came back, she decided she needed to hydrate.

And with a bottle, with wobbly legs and arms, with a new condom, with the reminder to take more care of her nipples, and with twenty minutes of pause reading about G-spot stimulation, Lenore went for her third.

This time she masturbated for a couple hours, unconcerned of driving herself crazy with climaxes of various shapes and intensities. The towel seeped into the carpet. The mirror wasn't entirely forgotten. The new woman not entirely absent.

The detail that eventually put a stop to her frenzy was finding that squirting didn't feel that good. She had a few screaming orgasms, climaxes that took her to mystic high points, but the sensation of squirt passing through her urethra was not that enjoyable in itself. It didn't add anything. It made a mess.

The experience was not a disappointment, though.

Squirting looked beautiful.

More a decision than an observation. But tears of joy rolled down Lenore's cheeks.

I'm a squirter, she thought, like an unlocked skill.

I can do this beautiful thing when I come.

She felt unbelievably good, and resolute to stay that way she crashed on the couch, stayed naked, reads some ideas from the box.

I KNEW A GUY WHO WAS SO SCARED OF SCREAMERS HE CODED AN APP THAT WOULD SET OFF A SCREAMER ON HIS COMPUTERS AND HIS PHONE AND HIS TV REGULARLY AND AT RANDOM SO THAT HE WOULD GET DESENSITIZED.

SO FROM TIME TO TIME YOU WOULD HEAR THIS SUPER LOUD SCREAM COMING FROM HIS OFFICE AND I SWEAR TO GOD AFTER A FEW MONTHS I REMEMBER YOU COULD HEAR THE GUY SAYING 'HAHA YOU DIDN'T SCARE ME THIS TIME, BITCH!'

This kind of stupid was interrupted by the phone.

*Lena, you're going out tonight!*

This was Kate. Her best friend.

Without thinking, Lenore put on a bathrobe while they spoke. And when they were done and had agreed on when and where to meet, she felt the familiar blend of guilt and relief of having a good reason not to write tonight. And discovered the relief of not having to masturbate tonight.

*****

Their moods always completed each other some way or another. Tonight though, they were in perfect sync. They were both hypering away in the café they had stormed in preparation of the night.

Lenore talked endlessly about the suggestion box--the PG parts at least.

Kate was always hyper to begin with. Even if it sometimes could hide something else.

Kate was the only co-worker Lenore would call a friend. She was the only person she saw crying at her desk. Crying and still working at the same time.

The pressure and the turnover at Deep Green were so relentless no one saw the point in making friends with someone that would most likely be replaced the next year.

Not these two girls--these two kids. They had chosen otherwise.

Kate had been fired a month ago.

"You know what?" Lenore said. "You'll come put your own story idea in my box."

"Oh?" Kate chortled.

"But you have to be gentle, it's a very delicate box."

"I'll use very delicate paper."

Flirting like this didn't count when you were hyper.

They left the place to go decide upon which club they could bring mayhem and met two colleagues along the way. Two women Lenore didn't know the names of and didn't know what their job was at Deep Green.

The four girls were let in easily and for free. They were beautiful girls. Lenore thought the two nameless ones (she chose to call them Jill and Becky) were Saturday-night-beautiful: legs, cleavage, loudness... Unlike Kate who was simply beautiful, in her opinion. She didn't need a mask of greasy powdery foundation and darkened brows.

Kate was a lesbian. Not that these two facts were related, Lenore corrected herself. She hadn't made friend with her for status. Although Kate still had said, "You've unlocked Gay Friend," jokingly. Lenore liked her precisely because she didn't feel awkward finding her beautiful. Because Kate's eyes on her body didn't feel wrong, or right. With her, Lenore felt...well, like female friends do.

The rest of the time, the surface time, they completed each other, as we say. Lenore would say 'Blue' Kate would reply 'Maybe your blue is not my blue' and Lenore would think 'I wish I could show you my blue' and Kate 'Bitch, that's pink'. And it worked for them.

Lenore paid for the first row.

After two hours she was louder than Becky and Jill, in a perfect recovering shy girl fashion.

Booze had helped a lot these last two years, to overcome the hostility of festive places, where she used to feel as if everybody was staring at her, judging her bad dancing and anything else.

She had made some progress, being tipsy made her stop caring and it had been key in understanding that shyness is mostly centripetal ego. She had even noted that thought down for a potential novel.

"I'm leaving," Kate screamed in her ear over the music.

"Oh?"

Lenore realized she had been dancing around Becky and Jill for a long time and had lost track of her friend's sapphic antics.

For once, Kate's face didn't really say, I'm getting laiiiiiiid, as her feet were on the way out, but Lenore was certain it was the reason.

To hide her disarray, she stuck her tongue out between two raised fingers, too drunk to care that it was a good way to spot the straight white girl.

Kate smiled and squeezed Lenore's other hand, held it as a goodbye as she walked away backward. Held it and held eye contact until they separated. The caress of their palms, their fingertips, lasted longer than it appeared.

Back with the two nameless, Lenore danced some more, danced whatever, drank whatever, talked whatever.

She learned they were roommates and they prompted her to go to their place for the afterparty. There was more alcohol there. And weed and pills. She pretended she didn't hear that last one.

They laughed a lot in the Uber. It was going all right. Lenore forgot she had been kind of ditched. She tried not to picture Kate having sex with a stranger. She tried not to think about her dildo waiting at home.

She was wet when Jill locked the door and had her sit on the sofa.

Becky went straight for a shower. Jill turned out the lights and lit some candles and lit up a blunt with one of them.

"You just killed a sailor," Lenore said.

"Wat?"

"You know, it's just... when you light a cigarette like that, it's... heh, it's just some stupid superstition."

"Oh my God, you mean like I killed so many people over the years, why did you fucking tell me that?" she blurted out and handed her the joint.

Lenore turned down the illegal hit and instead poured herself a legal shot.

"I know what we're gonna do," Jill mumbled as she crawled around looking for something under all the piles of other things everywhere.

She took a Ouija board out from an unlabelled box.

It was the last thing Lenore wanted to do. But turning down an activity twice in a row would definitely dent the frail beginnings of connection with this girl she had never spoken to before tonight.

"It'll help you with your scary story you talked about yesterday," Jill was convinced. "Did you start by the way?"

"Yea."

"Bet you found the weirdest shit in that box. Anyone asked you out?"

"Haha, no. How does this work?" she pointed at the Ouija on the coffee table.

"You never watch movies?"

Jill took the glass from her hand and emptied it, then put it upside down onto the board.

"Put your finger on it and ask away. Don't push or anything, just let it move by itself."

They sat next to each other on the carpet and their fingertips met over the narrow surface of the glass.

The breeze through the opened windows made the candlelight flicker and the darkness squirm.

Lenore didn't want to do this. She really didn't.

"Ghost," clamored Jill. "Tell us where the old tenant hid the gold."

They stared at the board.

"Ghost," she went on, "tell us why I didn't get laid tonight."

Nothing happened.

Because ghosts aren't real.

They could hear Becky blowdrying her hair.

Jill sighed.

"Ghos--"

The glass moved.

"Holy shieeet!" they whispered.

Slowly it shuffled toward the bottom of the board. And stopped there, at the word GOOD BYE.

A comedic beat and the two girls burst out in a greasy, inebriated guffaw. "What the fuck," they also managed to breathe out. Jill did the proverbial roll on the floor.

"What you bitches doing in the dark?" Becky asked, landing onto the sofa in front of them. She was wearing nothing but a towel.

"A spirit told us to fuck off," Jill explained.

"Yeah, whatever." Becky kicked the Ouija and a candle off the table to put her legs in place. "My feet are killing me."

Lenore went and stomped the candle out before it would set the rug on fire. There were still five more on, which cast an orange glow over the sight of Jill giving a foot massage to her near naked roommate.

Becky took the joint from the ashtray and proceeded to finish it.

Lenore reached for her phone in her pocket...which was actually in her purse, far away.

Ashes fell on Becky's towel, startled her. The girl wriggled herself out of it and tossed it away, leaving her nude. Jill had not let go of her feet.

They heard in the background: "M-Maybe I should get going--"

"Is your boyfriend waiting for you?"

Lenore got betrayed by a pause before saying, "No."

Becky spread her thighs a little. Jill protested, "Don't move."

"I never wanna go back to that club again, it's lame," Becky sighed. "We always come back empty-handed." And she cupped her hands over her sex.

"You're gonna scare away our guest," Jill whispered.

"She can watch, I don't give a fuck."

Her fingers ran down to her labia.

They were talking like she wasn't here but Lenore didn't say anything, like she wasn't there. Because of it, things unfurled fast.

Jill easily pushed the table out of the way and leaned above her roommate's hands. She kissed them, kissed the inside of her legs.

And then Lenore saw for sure that mouth and tongue touched the hairless mound, just between the wrists.

Becky exhaled softly and asked Lenore without turning her head to her: "You ever went down on a girl?"

Again the same kind of pause got stuck in her throat.

"No."

She could guess the next question and was afraid the answer would be no again.

If only her phone could ring.

"It's gonna be awkward Monday at work," Becky said.

"Breaking my concentration," Jill chortled. She beckoned Lenore:

"Hey writer girl, come closer. Have a look at how it's done. You ever wrote porn?"

It definitely was a porn scene rolling before her eyes. There was no real character motivation. The only difference was the playlist going in the background. There's no music in porn anymore.

Trying all the while to figure out what to do, Lenore sat close to the girls.

She saw Jill kissing further and further, toward what was under those hands, a clitoris, wetness, taboo.

They had done this before. A lot. Evident by the intoxication-defying application of that mouth.

The fingers spread before the tongue. And Lenore saw oral sex happen before her eyes. Not on a computer screen.

Alcohol would be to blame for the way she saw it. It looked cute. For a long moment it was cute, Jill licking Becky, both humming with satisfaction, her tongue moving, her clitoris reacting, much like a penis but twice as sensitive, and so totally adorable.

Until the dreaded final question came out. There, Lenore lost some of the glimmer in her eyes.

They didn't give her the usual bullshit of how women are naturally bi and it was what she missed out in college. They were straightforward: they gave her the opportunity to taste a pussy.