C
I watch the conversation from the corner of the classroom with a strangely tight feeling in my stomach. Was Jason always this awkward around me? The way he met N’s eyes earlier, the way he watched from his desk when she was still talking with Vivi. I like to think that I have a good perception of the people around me, yet still…
The classroom has emptied almost entirely now, and when Jason leaves, it’s just N and me.
“Ready?” N asks me, shouldering her bag. She sounds so like me it’s eerie. She’s good at this.
I give a jerky nod, my thoughts still circling around Jason. As we walk down the empty corridors, I think back to all the times I interacted with Jason. I remember when I first saw him when I started attending this school. He was already huge, even back then. Not this huge, but obviously he and Neels were some of the strongest kids in our year. It was a little intimidating at first, when I didn’t know them yet, but that quickly changed when our teacher berated him on our first day, Neels cry-laughing next to him.
Only a few days later, we talked for the first time. I was being obviously social, basically making a sport of befriending everybody as quickly as possible without seeming weird about it. And it was a fine conversation, he was a little awkward even then, but definitely not to this extent.
Since then, I’ve seen him at basically every party I went to. A few times, he jokingly offered to throw me the way he throws Lucille, but never put any pressure on me when I gave some vague excuse. Of course, I considered the possibility that he could have a crush on me—that’s why I didn’t let him throw me—but he always kept a respectful distance, so I wasn’t ever certain. But now that I’m watching and not experiencing it myself, it seems pretty obvious. Or is it because of my change in perspective that I’m thinking this now? Am I really confident enough about this to tell N that I think the guy she’s doing a project with might be smitten with her? Wouldn’t that knowledge put her in a difficult position?
And what if she liked the idea? It’s not like Jason is ugly. As far as his face goes, I think he’s alright, but some people like muscles, and he has lots of those. And he’s nice enough, too, isn’t he? Respectful, awkward in a cute, endearing way, considerate, and… still confident. Thinking about it, it surprises me that he doesn’t have a girlfriend yet.
“What are you thinking about?” N asks, snapping me from my thoughts.
I blink at her, my thoughts struggling to form a coherent excuse. “Oh, nothing,” I say finally, a little lamely.
“So you’re meeting with Vivi later?”
She nods. “I’m not sure what to put on, though.”
“I could help you with that?” For a fraction of a second, I imagine myself sitting on my bed as she returns from the bathroom, cheeks rosy with excitement over the beautiful dress she’s wearing. Thinking about it, we should have done that days ago. I don’t even think I’ve seen her wear anything but jeans yet, aside from when she woke up in the linen dress.
She smiles at me brightly. “I’d like that!” Then she hesitates. “It’s okay, though, isn’t it? If I meet her? I was feeling a little guilty because I’ve been avoiding her so much.”
“Of course it is. It’s all up to you anyway, but even beyond that, I think Vivi is a great friend and you shouldn’t be afraid of being around her. You’re already so good at being me.”
She tilts her head in a way that seems to disagree, but doesn’t say anything.
A cold breeze picks up and tussles my hair. We’re not going to have our usual meeting today because of the exam. Even the old me never liked to work after a major exam, usually opting to read and rest instead, going to bed early to go on a run the morning after and start the new day fully refreshed. Alternatively, I would go out with friends, which is probably the reason why Vivi asked N today.
I realise suddenly that there is something we probably should talk about. Something that we can’t really discuss in the café where we usually talk, something that I don’t want to talk about later on the phone or in her room if she invites me over because it might make the atmosphere… awkward.
“Hey, uhm… do you remember that conversation we had about looking at yourself?” I ask in a low voice, only looking at her from the corner of my eye.
She slows briefly, then nods. “Yeah, why?”
“Have you done it?”
The motion of her head is only barely discernable as a nod. “I mean… when I have to, right?” She stops, her posture suddenly stiff. “Usually only with clothes or underwear, unless I’m showering and kinda… don’t have a choice. Does the thought make you uncomfortable? I could—”
I wave it off, interrupting her before she can spiral any further.
“No, it’s completely fine, don’t worry.” But then I stop myself, because doesn’t this make clear what she’s going to reply to my question? I ask it still, my face growing hot before I even speak the words. “Actually, I was going to ask whether you’ve thought about… touching yourself? And I guess you haven’t yet, I just wanted to—”
I meet her eyes now, and the wild discomfort I see there makes me stop. “I haven’t,” she says, blushing deeply. “I mean, obviously, I know it’s a thing, but—it’s not like I ever did before, and now… the thought feels wrong.”
“Wait, you never—” Thinking about it, I’m embarrassed that I’m surprised. Of course you wouldn’t… indulge in your body if you hated it.
She gives a mute shake of her head. “Obviously, you’re free to… do it. It’s your body, after all. And if you don’t, you might have… dreams. And they’re disgusting, but that’s only occasional and to me it was still better than having to do it.”
Right. I haven’t done it yet, either, because I thought it would be best to get permission first.
“But you’re a woman now, right?” I ask, carefully keeping my voice even.
She doesn’t meet my eyes. “I am, but this body is so… perfect? It would feel like defiling it to do something so dirty with it.”
Okay, that’s a slightly weird way of thinking about it, but I guess I can see where she’s coming from. “But it’s not dirty,” I assure her with my best confident tone. “It’s completely natural and healthy, even. And don’t you like that body?”
She goes even redder. “‘Course I do.”
“Then it’s only normal to explore it as well.” I don’t mention, of course, that I rarely ever did it myself. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I always had so much to do, and I never really got good at it, so it took a lot of time. Time I didn’t have. So I would only do it occasionally, when I really had nothing better to do, or as a reward for an achievement. Today would be an occasion where I wouldn’t have felt bad for… indulging myself. Maybe that’s why the whole topic occurred to me.
“But isn’t it weird to… sexualise your body that way?”
I raise an eyebrow, trying hard to mask the tingling sensation in my stomach. “Not my body. Yours. And anyway, you’re not necessarily sexualising it by making yourself feel nice? It’s natural. Your body demands it, kind of, doesn’t it? Releasing that tension…”
N doesn’t reply for a long moment, then gives a slow nod. “I mean… if you’re okay with it? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”
“I’m absolutely fine with it!” I confirm for the final time, forcing brightness into my voice.
The thought occurs to me to give her a little advice. Other than her, I have explored my own body, at least to an extent. I know a few things it likes. And then my thoughts race off, and suddenly, I’m offering to help her. She takes me home and undresses, lying down on her bed as I watch, and she closes her eyes as my voice guides her. The slightest irregularity in her breath as she touches herself for the first time, one hand between her legs, the other on her breast.
I slam the thought violently to the back of my mind.
That’s so inappropriate.
Pressure has built in between my legs, straining against my jeans. A glance downwards tells me that, fortunately, my coat covers that part.
Not long after that, our paths diverge, and I walk home on my own. I put in my headphones and distract myself with music. When I arrive, I only stick around the kitchen long enough to tell Mum—as I’ve started calling her even in my head—that I’m going to take a nap and probably be up again for dinner, but not to call me. I also make sure that Jas is close enough to hear. He’s grown more attached to me, even just over the past few days, and I don’t mind at all, except I don’t want him to come barging into my room now.
Finally, I make my way up to my room, where I go through the drawers until I find an old box of tissues and a tube of lotion. Finally, I lock the door and close the curtains before spreading an old towel over the centre of my bed, undressing, and lying down on it. I put my phone away before I get started. As a girl, I never liked the idea of porn, even just as a concept, and that hasn’t changed now. I don’t need it anyway, my thoughts were always enough, even when it was way more difficult to do.
I begin to touch myself, the lotion cool at first, as I close my eyes and try to imagine myself having sex with somebody. Because that’s what I used to think about as well, right? Except I was the other role. I used to imagine a nondescript man’s hands touching me with his warm fingers, moving in just the right rhythm, just the right places, kissing me, taking care of me, appreciating me.
And now I try to imagine myself as the one who appreciates, takes care, kisses and touches in just the right places. But instead, N reappears in my mind, lying on her bed, moaning softly. Immediately, I feel that familiar pressure mount, even just against my hand.
I try to suppress the thought again, like I did earlier. I’m keenly aware that this is not the way I usually think about N and definitely not the way I’m supposed to think about her. It’s one of the reasons why I immediately went to my room—to get rid of this tension in my mind and free it up for more normal thoughts. But the image keeps returning.
As my hand moves up and down, keeping a firm grasp on myself, the pressure rises, and something twitches at the end. I flinch, almost letting go, only to realise that it’s not the actual end I’ve been working towards. But the feeling is nice. It radiates from my centre up through my core and all the way to my chest.
So finally, I give in and close my eyes, and let my thoughts wonder. There she is again, on the bed, her legs tense, drawing up a little, only to straighten out again, as tension builds up inside her like a coil. But this time, I don’t watch passively. I get up from my chair and walk over. And then I lean down, tracing the tip of my finger through the space in between her breasts, past her ribs, along her core, all the way down to the centre of her hips, until she lifts her own hand away and spreads her legs slightly. I crouch next to the bed and brush my lips against the side of her breast as she squirms with expectation—
My hips buck involuntarily as the rope that has been growing more and more taut with tension suddenly snaps. Fluid squirts through my hands and high into the air, even as I scramble to cover the top with one of the tissues I placed next to me. The fluid lands on my stomach and the towel as I feel myself twitching, both through my hand and my own body. I wait it out patiently before sitting up.
I know it would probably have felt better had I expected it.
I suppose more stimulation during the climax probably makes it more satisfying, I think as I sit up and start wiping myself off. I’m going to have to take a shower and also check properly that nothing landed on my blanket. The feeling was pretty good even so, but it leaves me feeling dirty both inside and out.