How To Train Your Girlfriend 03

How to Train Your Girlfriend

Chapter 3: Mary

~~~

Six Years Ago

When she was a sophomore in college, Mary had lived an entire year away from her family and their oversight. Her freshman year had been an eye-opening experience in the ways of the world outside her farm, local town, church, and her loved ones. University life was full of strangers, many of whom considered Mary sexy and weren’t afraid to tell her so. Mary had always met such advances with fear. 

The girls in college had been a mixture of sanctuary and peril. They were recent legal adults, living without parental oversight for the first time. Many of them couldn’t handle the freedom, but Mary could. Others saw every weekend as an opportunity to dance, drink, party, and hook up, not to study. Mary believed that studying was the reason she came to college. They called themselves liberated and explored their freedom with as many sexual partners as possible. Mary had been too responsible for that. Her celibacy quickly earned her the much-hated nickname of Virgin Mary. 

It was fate, then, that the school paired her with Vicky, her total opposite. Vicky had more underwear than clothes in her dresser, and the dresses in her closet had half the fabric of Mary’s shortest skirt. Yet when Mary suggested they set rules for their dorm room, Vicky was the one to say, ‘No boys allowed.’  

At first, Mary thought Vicky might be her first introduction to a gay person. That wasn’t the case. Vicky didn’t want her one-night stands or temporary lovers to know where she lived, which made sense to Mary. If Vicky was seducing men into sin, those men were prone to wanting more. If they discovered where she lived, they might harass her, but their room was their space and their sanctuary. 

The small, concrete bunker-like room had little floor space. Two single beds rested in the back corners of the room. A desk sat at the foot of each bed. Beside the desks, two dressers stood against the walls, partially blocking the sliding closet doors. Their closets were barely big enough to fit the clothes they had to put in them. 

The tiny porcelain sink by the entrance showed its exposed pipes beneath it. Their shoe rack under the sink held their plastic shower baskets and flip-flops for the communal showers in the hallway. The dorm floor was all-female, which was a relief. However, the dorm building was coed, so men were often in the hallway and in whatever rooms others invited them into. 

Their bathroom was little more than a closet, big enough to house the toilet. The toilet’s overhead light flickered, so they stopped using it as a night light long ago. They used the light from Mary’s desk clock to navigate in the dark. 

Tonight, Mary had gone to bed first, though she couldn’t sleep. She curled beneath her quilt and faced the wall, trying to drift off, but the tide of slumber refused to take her. 

Her afternoon had been too thrilling. She’d met a young man on the way to the dining hall, but didn’t learn his name. He was handsome and tall, with brown hair the color of cherry wood, bright and warm. His brown eyes had met her bonnie blues when she tripped on the stairs, and he caught her. He wrapped one brawny arm around her upper back, holding her and righting her as he took her hand in his, as if they were dancing. 

She hadn’t been able to speak when he asked if she was okay. She’d stared at him like a total spaz as her body melted into a furnace. His jaw, shoulders, arms, eyes, lips, and everything about him made her want to throw herself at him. Instead, she stammered, blushed, apologized, and ran away. 

She hoped she’d overcome her embarrassment after dinner, but the moment replayed in her mind nonstop. She kept imagining what she might have done differently, and what it might have led to if she were more like Vicky and less like herself. 

Imagining Vicky might have summoned her, because her keys rattled in the door, unlocked the deadbolt, then the handle. She entered a moment later, and Vicky removed her clothes on her way to the bed before the door finished closing. She locked it, but by then she’d draped her shirt and bra over her desk chair. 

Vicky stopped at her desk, opening and closing a drawer. Then she slid into bed in nothing but her panties, her mini-skirt resting on the floor between their beds. 

Mary could tell what would happen next without having to see what Vicky was doing. Mary was a heavy sleeper, but sometimes had trouble falling asleep. With Mary’s back to Vicky, it was a matter of seconds before the soft buzz of a battery-powered toy hummed into existence. Vicky’s blanket did its best to muffle the sound, but there was only so much it could do to silence a motor whose sole purpose was to cause vibrations. 

Mary’s body ached. She clenched her core, but it didn’t help abate her longing. Her body begged her to slide her fingers between her legs, but she refused. She never touched herself there. Even the touch of her hand on her hip, her fingertips grazing the bare skin beneath her panties’ waistband, caused a total overload of shame and guilt. 

Lots of people didn’t believe it was wrong, especially if she was by herself, but Mary wasn’t one of those people. Others had said it was wrong her entire life. Most things that brought pleasure were morally reprehensible: drinking, dancing, smoking, even watching certain movies and TV shows were against the moral rules her parents set. 

Her parents weren’t zealots or cultists. They were decent people with a small farm who raised her and her sisters right. That meant going to church on Sundays, following her parents’ advice, and doing her best to be a good person. Her social work degree would help her support others, and she’d consider dating and finding a husband after graduation. Until then, she had to stop recalling the young man who had caught her mid-fall. Remembering his large, firm hand gripping her side, the tension in his arm when he moved her as if she weighed nothing to him. The firm grasp of his fingers around her hand, and the soft note of concern in his voice. 

Sometimes she wished she were Vicky, who didn’t consider self-pleasure to be a moral issue but a private one. There was a habitual lack of privacy in these small dorm rooms. Vicky’s breathing shifted as the muffled buzzing continued. It grew faster, as if she were exercising, coming in quick pants. 

Mary squeezed her thighs together, hoping to relieve the building pressure inside her, but it only made her shame worse. She clenched her eyes shut, hoping to dull the sound of Vicky’s pleasure, but it amplified it instead, or Vicky grew louder. Her panting sounded as if it came from her open mouth, not her nose, which meant she was close. 

Tonight wasn’t the first time Mary pretended to be asleep while Vicky masturbated. The first time had been freshman year, and Mary's shocked reaction to it had long since faded. She wasn’t even embarrassed to hear the buzzing now, but jealous. 

Mary wished she were brave enough, even to slide her hand or pillow between her legs, to rub against that part of her that begged for relief. She was ignorant, but she’d figure it out, right? How difficult was it for her to bring herself to orgasm? She just had to slip her fingers under her panties and push them inside. 

“Mm.” The grunting noise of Vicky’s shifting movement was unavoidable as she closed her mouth. The rubbing and vibrating from her bed made Mary want to turn around. She wanted to learn what Vicky was doing with her fingers and her toy. 

No, she was better than that. Mary wasn’t an animal in heat or a lust-filled man desperate for sinful pleasures. She was a grown woman, and God intended her to enjoy those pleasures under particular circumstances, with her future husband. 

A future husband who might resemble her brown-haired boy from that afternoon. She pictured him in a tuxedo, standing at an altar. They’d say their vows, marry, dance at the reception, then he’d take her to the hotel room and they’d—

Mary stopped herself from imagining that. It only led to sex. She was supposed to be better than that. Yet, her thoughts confirmed her worst fears. She was a shameful slut, like Vicky, at heart. Vicky didn’t care what other people thought. She came to college to study social work, but she had her fun, too. She partied, flirted with guys, led them on, had her fun with them, then came back to the room as if her soul wasn’t in turmoil. 

How did she do it? How did Vicky lie on her back, lift her hips in the air, and fuck herself with a vibrating dildo until her whole body came? Mary couldn’t even picture that without her conscience screaming at her for being a harlot. Picturing Vicky in that position was even worse. She didn’t think her body should react to women the same way it responded to men.

And yet, her body didn’t listen to her. A majority of the people at her church considered homosexuality a sin. Her family believed it was a private matter, that people should just keep quiet about it and not mention it if they were abnormal. Mary’s education had led her to realize that wasn’t right either. People didn’t need to hide who they loved. 

This reaction wasn’t love, though. It was lust, and that made it wrong. She loved Vicky, sure, but she couldn’t be in love with a woman. Vicky was her friend who cared about her, looked out for her, and protected her when others tried to bully her. It didn’t matter if it was a guy or a girl. If someone was mean to Mary, Vicky didn’t let them get away unscathed. 

Oh, she still teased Mary for being a virgin, but it came from a place of love, not condemnation. Women who considered themselves better than Mary because they didn’t have the same difficulties she did with their sexuality. 

Mary couldn’t even explain it. Was it religion? Maybe. Was it her raising? Probably. A therapist might help, but the last time she’d discussed her urges with anyone, her counselor said it was normal, but she shouldn’t act on them. Other girls didn’t seem to take that advice. Everyone around her acted on their urges, even if they shouldn’t. Mary’s peers made shitty role models for self-discipline, denial, self-control, or wholesome romance. 

So she let her family set the example. Her parents loved each other, but they never shared more than a quick peck between them in front of anyone else, if that. Mostly, they yelled at each other. They weren’t happy or romantic, like people in movies. Life wasn’t cinema. True love wasn’t infatuation, lust, or happiness every day. Young men didn’t become Prince Charming, and no great romance spun out of a strong, muscular man catching a clumsy woman on the stairs. Desire melted, and years later, she’d be left holding nothing but a baby if she gave herself away before graduation.  

Mary sighed and then realized she’d made too loud an exhale as the buzzing from Vicky’s bed cut off. Both women froze in place, listening in the darkness for any sign of movement. Mary opened her eyes to see her wall. The cement squares looked like sponges. No amount of white paint or 3M-mounted posters hid the pockmarked surface of each brick. 

When Mary didn’t move or make any other noise, Vicky let out a sigh. The buzzing began again. 

Guilt poured into Mary for interrupting. Vicky had to start again from the sound of her breath, no longer panting but taking long, shallow breaths of air that she held before releasing in quiet, frustrated puffs. 

Mary wondered why the guy Vicky was with hadn’t given her an orgasm. Vicky had told her she didn’t always cum from her experiences with men, which shocked Mary. Why did she do it then? Vicky assured her it was still pleasurable, even if she didn’t cum, and she could always take care of herself later. She’d said it with a wink, but that was her ritual every time a man disappointed her. 

Were their penises not big enough? Did they not know what they were doing? How did men know what to do? She supposed it was because they were such lustful creatures that they knew by instinct how to bring themselves and their partners to orgasm. 

Mary had never experienced one. She didn’t know what they were like outside of what she’d heard Vicky undergo. Her biology textbooks hadn’t told her much either. The female orgasm wasn’t necessary for procreation, so science didn’t care. Or, men wrote her science textbooks, and their knowledge of female pleasure wasn’t as complete as they thought. 

Vicky gasped behind her and grunted, stiffening as the vibrations clicked upward in intensity. Her blankets rustled. Mary didn’t need to roll over to know that Vicky was clenching her legs shut, changing the vibrator’s pitch, and holding in her noises as she came. The vibrator clicked off, and the blankets rustled as Vicky relaxed on her bed, panting to catch her breath. 

Mary clenched her insides once more, trying to smother the fire, but it made things worse. Her body fought harder for pleasure every time she tried to suppress her baser instincts. 

Mary rolled over, and Vicky froze as Mary stared back at her. 

“Was I too loud?” Vicky whispered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“It’s okay,” Mary said, keeping her voice soft out of instinctive respect for the darkness. “How do you do it?” 

“Do what, Honey?” Vicky asked. 

“How do you…” Mary hesitated, unsure she wanted to know the answer. If she didn’t know, the knowledge couldn’t tempt her. “Nevermind.” 

Vicky waited in the darkness, as if Mary should say something else. So she did. 

“How was your date?” 

“Good,” Vicky said. 

“Do you think you’ll go on a second one with him?” Mary asked. 

“Nah,” Vicky said, curling up and cuddling her pillow as she faced Mary. “He was hot, but too self-centered.” 

“Was he a gentleman?” Mary asked. 

Vicky chuckled. “No. Nice guys finish last. Justin was more of a race to the finish and leave you in the dust kinda guy.”  

Mary chalked it up to Vicky being delirious from exhaustion, but she didn’t know what was so funny. Had Justin left her somewhere? Had they gone for a walk and raced? 

“How do you,” Mary started, but stopped herself. She couldn’t ask Vicky. The answer was practice, which Mary couldn’t do. 

“How do I, what?” Vicky asked. “You can ask me.”

Mary braced herself. “How do you know what to do with guys, or with yourself, when you’re, you know, doing the deed?” 

Vicky winced. “Was the buzzing that loud?” 

Mary didn’t answer. 

“I’m sorry, Honey, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just had to take care of certain needs.” Vicky explained. “I can move to the bathroom next time.”

Mary understood that. She sympathized with it too much. Her body had needs, no, not needs; wants. Desires. It wasn’t right to give in to them, though. Still, curiosity tugged at her. She wanted to know how Vicky knew what to do. If she learned, she could take comfort that one day, when she had a husband, she’d be a good wife.

“No, it’s okay,” Mary whispered. “I just… I’ve never done that before, and I was wondering.” 

Vicky bit her lip, not in a sexy manner, but in a holding-in-laughter manner. Mary watched Vicky’s face in the dim glow of the window and the alarm clock. Her eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness. 

“Nevermind,” Mary blurted. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate of me.” 

“No, here,” Vicky reached under her bed and tossed a book across the gap. It landed against Mary’s stomach, and she checked the cover. She couldn’t make out the words. 

“What’s this?” Mary asked. It felt like a cheap paperback, so she knew it wasn’t a textbook. 

“Recreational reading,” Vicky said. “You’ll enjoy it. It’s a fantasy novel about a young woman who gets lost in an enchanted forest. She meets a handsome woodsman who’s a fae prince in disguise, and well, it’s steamy, but not too spicy. There’s a chapter in there that’ll explain what you need to know about masturbating. They do it together. He guides her through it. It’s hot. Just read and follow along.” 

“Oh,” Mary said, unsure of how to respond. Reading was fine, but she didn’t think she’d touch herself while doing it. That crossed a line in her book. She went with the default for whenever someone gave her something. “Thank you.” 

“Thank me later,” Vicky said, chuckling. “Maybe for Christmas I’ll get you a Clitiator of your own.” 

“A what?” Mary asked. 

“You know, gladiator, but you know what? Nevermind. You’ll get the pun eventually.”  

“Okay,” Mary said, putting the book beside her head. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome, Honey. Now go to sleep.” Vicky yawned. “We’ve got to be up early tomorrow.” 

“Sure,” Mary said. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” 

~~~

Now

~~~

Mary considered how many steps forward she’d taken in the last hour. The sight of Henry’s cock excited her. She’d imagined it, but seeing it had made the fantasies she’d accumulated over their relationship into something tangible. It wasn’t overly handsome. It was weird when she thought about it for too long, but it was his body, and he’d shared it with her. 

She wondered how it tasted, but she wasn’t ready to lick him, suck him, or blow on it. Her nerves still shook from how far they’d come tonight. The intense experience of overcoming her barriers and hurdles to this point left her exhausted, even if curiosity drove her imagination to sin. She hadn’t even orgasmed herself, but her body shook with endorphins in the wake of her adrenaline. 

Vicky proved instrumental in getting this far. Her friend might be a slut, but Vicky was a good person. Vicky’s company was more comfortable than that of her other female friends. She’d known her the longest, and just being near her calmed Mary’s anxieties and lowered her heart rate. She might not understand Mary any more than Mary understood Vicky, but Vicky never pressed her to do anything or mocked her the way her other friends did. 

Oh, she still mocked Mary, but it came from a place of love, not condescension. She’d earned that right through their years of friendship. 

Mary wasn’t sure she could have done this without Vicky's help. 

Not that giving Henry a handjob was a traumatic ordeal. To the contrary, her body yearned for more of it. Pumping him with her hand, pleasuring him, making him gasp, moan, writhe, and cum had thrilled her to no end. She saw why Vicky enjoyed sex now, but Mary’s conscience shouted at her when it was just her and Henry, and lustful thoughts crept in. 

Mary let her eyes linger on Vicky’s crotch. The front of her black thong was lace, and it glistened under the dimmed lights in Henry’s apartment. Her own arousal had wet Mary’s panties while they played, and soaked through the white cotton between her legs. She hid her privates with her hand, though, keeping her fingers over her underwear whenever she parted her legs. 

“Ready?” Vicky asked Henry. 

They’d given Henry his handjob; now it was Vicky’s turn. She’d agreed to teach Mary how to give Henry a handjob in exchange for an orgasm. Hopefully, Henry knew how to give her one. 

Mary’s knowledge of the female orgasm had grown since college, but it was theoretical knowledge from smutty books. The clit was where he needed to focus his attention, whether he used his hands or his tongue. Was he allowed to use his tongue? They’d given him a handjob, so shouldn’t he use his hands? 

Mary wasn’t sure how she felt about Henry using his lips and tongue on Vicky’s private parts. Imagining it did things to her insides that made her squeeze her thighs and regulate her breathing. She imagined Vicky wrapping her long, naked legs over Henry’s strong shoulders and squeezing his head between her thighs as Mary held her hand. That. She wanted that, but wasn’t sure how to request it. 

Shame blushed in her, but her body no longer cared what her mind thought was right or wrong. Nothing they were doing was wrong, because they were consenting adults, and if Vicky agreed to Henry’s tongue, well, Mary consented to watch. 

Maybe after he made Vicky cum, he’d use his fingers to bring Mary to an orgasm? He could give her a handjob, or whatever the equivalent was. 

She still hadn’t experimented with her body the way others might have. Masturbation was wrong. Everyone drilled that knowledge into her head forever. Every opportunity and urge met with a wall of shame and guilt, ruining the mood. 

Of course, men did it anyway, but everyone expected that of them. Women weren’t as lustful, but Vicky’s earlier comments on Mary’s views on gender led her to question that. Vicky enjoyed sex and lust, as did the others in their book club. They might process their lust differently than men did, and their stimulation was different, but that didn’t make it less enjoyable. Did women prefer reading while men preferred watching? Or maybe it wasn’t a gender issue. 

“Are you okay with this?” Henry asked, looking at Mary. 

Mary looked surprised. “Yeah, I mean, that was the deal, right? How do we, I mean, how does Henry give you an orgasm?” 

Vicky grinned. “Well, there are a few different ways…” Her eyes lowered to his lap, where he remained as rigid as ever despite blowing his load over Vicky’s face and body. “What are you comfortable with him using, Honey? I imagine you’re not comfortable with him fucking me?” 

Mary’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. She hadn’t even considered that. Was she comfortable with the idea of Henry putting his dick into Vicky? No, at least not down there. Not yet. Crimson shame blushed into Mary’s cheeks as she shook her head. 

“Go down on me,” Vicky suggested. “That’s the most surefire way.” 

“You don’t think you’d come from my fingers?” Henry asked, glancing between the two women as they sat on either side of him. 

“I might,” Vicky said. “But going down on me would be hotter. I’m much more likely to cum from that than I am from fingering, just from experience.” 

“Right,” Henry said, looking at Mary. “Is that okay? It’s escalating from what we’ve done so far.” 

“I can watch?” Mary asked. 

“Of course, Honey,” Vicky said, reaching across Henry’s lap and taking Mary’s hand in hers. His dick twitched as Vicky brushed it with her forearm. “We’re not kicking you out or anything.”  

“Can you start with your hand?” Mary asked. “I want to learn how to, um, how to use my fingers, like that.” 

Vicky raised an eyebrow. “How to finger a woman, you mean?” She tilted her head. “I get learning how to pleasure Henry as part of your whole good wife fantasy, but why learn to pleasure a woman? You’ve learned that by now.” 

“I want to learn everything,” Mary said, not expanding her explanation more than necessary. 

“How to masturbate?” Vicky asked, surprised. “What works on you should work on me.” 

“The reverse should be true, too, right?” Mary asked. 

Vicky and Henry looked at each other. Mary witnessed the silent communication, though Vicky and Henry didn’t know each other well. She interpreted it easily. They didn’t understand, but she wanted to watch, so they were checking each other’s comfort levels. Vicky had been willing to touch Henry and bring him to orgasm. So, it was only fair, but Henry still made sure everyone was on board. Bringing Vicky to orgasm was one thing, but doing it in a way that displayed her to Mary was another. 

Henry swallowed, shifted in his seat, and sat up. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do if it’s okay with you, Vicky.” He patted the couch cushion between his legs. “You can sit here and lean against me. I’ll use my fingers, at least to start. We’ll switch it up if you need a break, and then we can use other things.” 

“Not your penis,” Mary said, which made Vicky giggle. 

“Not my penis,” Henry agreed before Vicky said anything. 

Vicky looked confused but impressed at Henry’s restraint. Most men who met Vicky wanted to fuck her, and here she was asking Henry to make her cum, and he ruled out using his dick to do it? 

“Mary, you can sit in the recliner, pull it over, and angle it toward us,” Henry said. “Then you can watch. Whatever I do to Vicky that she enjoys, do the same to yourself. Okay?” 

Mary looked at Vicky as if asking for permission. “How will I know if you enjoy it?” 

Vicky laughed. “Oh, I’ll let you know. This isn’t college. I don’t have to be quiet.”

“I have neighbors,” Henry reminded them. 

Mary giggled. They’d been quiet so far. Henry didn’t scream or make passionate moaning noises when he came. The guys in the books she read didn’t do that either. The girls, however, were loud. Was that how Vicky came when she didn’t have to hold back? 

Mary wanted to see that. 

“Well, if I get too appreciative, use a throw pillow to shut me up,” Vicky said, looking around the apartment. 

“I don’t have any,” Henry said. 

“No throw pillows?” Vicky asked, surprised as she stood. 

“Uh, this is a guy’s apartment. You’re lucky we have a couch,” Henry said, scooting back on it so that Vicky could sit in front of him.

Mary stood and moved over to the recliner. She scooted it, turned it, then dragged it to the other side of the coffee table. 

“Damn, Mary, you’re strong,” Vicky said, eyeing the chair, before her eyes fell to Mary’s swinging breasts and stayed there, following their arc.

Mary blushed, shaking her head to dispel the attention they gave her. She adjusted the seat so it faced Henry straight-on, then sat. 

He spread his legs wide, and Vicky settled between his legs. She eased back, pressing her butt cheeks against his cock. 

“Pity you can’t use that dick,” Vicky said, wiggling. “It’d feel great splitting me open while you rub my clit.” 

Mary blushed as her eyes met Vicky’s crotch. She could imagine Henry’s thick rod stuffing Vicky from below, spreading her slick pussy lips, and throbbing inside her as she rode him.  

No, she wasn’t ready for that. As happy as they made her doing this to each other, Mary’s jealousy tingled when she pictured Henry using his dick on someone else. He was her boyfriend, not Vicky’s. If anyone took his dick, it should be Mary, even if she wasn’t ready yet. She still wasn’t willing to relinquish that claim. 

“Just use your hand,” Vicky said. “If I’m too loud, clamp your hand over my mouth. And you can touch my neck, just don’t choke me unless you know what you’re doing.” 

“Understood,” Henry said, stiff and uneasy, but he’d warm up to it in no time. Mary was sure he and Vicky would get along, even if they were doing things out of order. She was close with both of them, but they weren’t close with each other. She’d have to think of a way to fix that. 

“A throw pillow would be better, though.” Vicky sighed. “Then I’d bite down. Next time we’ll do this at my place.” 

“Next time?” Henry asked. 

“That works for me,” Mary said, nodding. 

“It does?” Henry asked, still just as confused as when they’d started. He was trying, bless him, but his brain wasn’t following the paths hers took to bring them here. She was glad he went along with it, though. Henry was a good man. He deserved a girlfriend who made him happy and participated in those aspects of sex that he enjoyed. 

Mary wanted to be that girlfriend, but she wasn’t ready yet. She wanted to be. She tried to leave the stigma of her upbringing and her baggage behind and abandon them for sexual pleasure and bliss. That didn’t make her a terrible person. She was a consenting adult, and so were Henry and Vicky. God didn’t care about insignificant personal pleasure, not when there were genuine atrocities in the world. Engaging in sex didn’t affect her soul the way she once believed. No, if anything, it lightened it. 

“Yes,” Mary assured him.

“Is there anything else I should or shouldn’t touch?” Henry asked. 

Vicky grinned and looked over her shoulder at him. “Henry, I’ve jacked you off, and you’re about to finger me, so… touch me wherever you want. Make me cum.” She purred the last words, then grinned. Mary didn’t doubt that Henry reacted the same way she did. Warmth spread through her at Vicky’s encouragement. 

Henry moved Vicky’s hair aside, pushing it to the front and sweeping it away from her right side. Then he kissed her neck. 

Mary’s eyes flared. She hadn’t expected him to do that, but she didn’t hate it either. Vicky looked surprised too, but she didn’t protest. She gripped his thigh beside her and moaned. 

Henry cupped her breast, kneading it in his palm. Mary mirrored him, massaging her own boob. Pleasure rushed through her at the sensation, causing her nipples to stand at attention. 

“Mm,” Vicky moaned as Henry’s hands rubbed and massaged her. She spread her legs, pressing them against the side of Henry’s. Her ass was on the edge of the couch, with her feet planted on the floor. Henry was as far back into the sofa as he could go. He had one hand on her breast and the other slid over her stomach in a firm, smooth motion. 

Mary licked her lips. Her eyes met Vicky’s, and Vicky’s lips parted as Henry nibbled on her neck. She gasped, shifting her hips to rub her ass against Henry’s stiff member behind her. Henry moaned with his mouth clamped over her clavicle, and Vicky’s eyelids fluttered. 

“That’s it, Henry,” Vicky whispered. “Show me how much you enjoyed that handjob.” 

Henry slid his hand along Vicky’s torso and over her black thong panties until his fingertips reached the sofa. Instead of curling in toward Vicky as Mary expected, he flattened his palm against the sofa cushion. 

Confusion wrinkled Mary’s brow, but Vicky used his wrist, rubbing herself against him as she rocked her hips in subtle motions. With every wiggle, she ground against his forearm between her legs or his dick behind her. Both seemed to enjoy it. 

“Why didn’t you enter her?” Mary asked, confused. “Shouldn’t you use your fingers to rub her, then enter her?” 

“She’s not ready for that yet,” Henry said, concentrating. “She needs to be nice and wet first. That’s why I kissed her neck, and why I’m massaging her breasts and letting her rub against my arm.” 

“Always start with indirect pressure. Good instincts, Henry,” Vicky said, closing her eyes as she ground against him.

“They don’t do that in the books,” Mary argued. 

“Well, in books, women are always wet and ready, right?” Henry asked. His voice was tight with focus and concentration as Vicky reached around his legs and spread her fingers under his thighs.  

“Yeah,” Mary said, trying to match their position on her own. She placed her head flat on the recliner cushion she sat on, letting her wrist and forearm press against her sex.

“Well, in real life, arousal waxes and wanes. So I want to build Vicky’s arousal before I touch her aggressively,” Henry explained, though his pinch of her nipple appeared aggressive. 

Vicky closed her eyes and grunted her approval as Henry manhandled her breast with one hand, and she rubbed herself against his forearm and cock. 

It proved more difficult for Mary to make the motions that Vicky made. She scooted forward, sitting closer to the edge of the recliner and planting her feet on the ground. Then she rubbed, and the recliner shifted beneath her, making the motion much greater than she intended. She didn’t fall off, but it took her a moment to adjust, and seeing stars at the sudden rush of pleasure didn’t help matters. 

“Oh!” Mary cried, her arm seizing as it flexed and adjusted her position to catch herself. 

“Are you okay?” Henry asked, keeping his eyes on Mary. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Mary said, her breath catching between her words. “It just moved more than I expected, but I’m good now. Indirect pressure. Check.” 

“Good girl,” Henry said. 

Mary’s face heated with pride. She released the arm and moved her free hand to her breast, keeping the other between her legs. She pinched her nipple, trying to match Henry’s treatment of Vicky, but pain spiked through her, and she released it with a yelp. 

“Ow!” Mary cried. “That hurt!” 

“You have to build up to it,” Henry said. “Rub first, then when you’re nice and warm, pinch the base of your nipple gently between your thumb and forefinger.” 

“Okay…” Mary said. She trusted Henry and followed his example. Vicky enjoyed what he did to her with his hands. Her thong had been slick before, even if her arousal faded, but it glistened again and caught the light as Mary watched them. 

The two of them looked at ease together. The lust between them helped that. Henry had an impressive body, and Vicky had a sexy body for a woman. Sexier than Mary’s. Mary could admit that to herself without envy or guilt. Mary had her charms, but guys went crazy for Vicky. The guys in college barely gave ‘Virgin Mary’ the time of day, and her ex-boyfriends had lost their patience with her. 

Henry was the one she was determined to keep. He was a good man, and she loved him with her whole heart. Vicky had her love, too, even if that love was of a different kind. Poor Vicky needed a man like Henry, but she couldn’t keep a boyfriend either. That might not be the guys’ fault as much as Vicky thought. She was hunting for Mister Perfect rather than Mister Right. She always found something wrong with the people she dated, no matter how much she liked them at the start. 

Mary did her best not to dwell on those thoughts. She needed to stay in the moment and enjoy the pleasure rushing through her body. It started low, like the embers of a cooled fire glowing red amid the ashes. Each breath or moan from Vicky became a new log on the fire. Lust crackled within her core and spread as its flames licked through her. Mary’s breath shuddered in her throat, and she moaned as her grip tightened on her breast. 

The pliable flesh of her chest was round and heavy. The apartment was warm, even with the air conditioning keeping the summer heat outside. Gradually, her touch and massage warmed her chest, turning the pale flesh red with heat, as if it were blushing as fiercely as her face. Her nipples stiffened against the air, breaking into thick points at the end of each breast. 

She didn’t know whether she was ready. She pinched the base, as Henry had told her to. The pinch of pleasure sent a jolt through her body, but it wasn’t pain. Each sensation was unfamiliar. The pleasure wasn’t as direct as the growing friction below against her forearm and privates. It was playful but momentary until she slid her thumb across her nipple and the jolt forked into a hundred tiny pricks of pleasure. 

“Oh,” Mary panted, then repeated the process with her other nipple. “Oh.” 

Vicky opened her eyes, meeting Mary’s open gaze with half-lidded lust. “Good girl,” Vicky said, grinning. “See? How pleasurable life can be when you do as your boyfriend tells you?” 

“Mm,” Mary moaned. The jolts of pleasure from her chest flickered through her. Lightning flashed above the ever-increasing bonfire, and Mary swallowed her words. Her brain refused to form them. She only had enough brainpower to move her body, to rub herself, and to match Vicky’s and Henry’s movements. For every rock of Vicky’s hips, Mary rocked hers. 

Henry kissed Vicky’s shoulder once more. 

“Bite me,” Vicky whispered, and Henry obliged her. He opened his mouth, set his teeth against her flesh, and bit, holding her in place. She stiffened, her upper body freezing in place as her lower body quickened. 

Mary didn’t have a partner to bite her shoulder, but she could pinch herself. She set her nails against her flesh and clamped her shoulder until the soft dents registered in her brain. The sensation was more enduring than the jolting pleasure from her nipples, a low heat compared to a flare. She shuddered and panted, speeding up her hip movements to keep pace with Vicky.  

“That’s enough,” Henry said, his voice low. He moved his hand, dragging it along the inside of Vicky’s thigh from her knee to her panties. 

Mary mirrored him, leaning back against the recliner. She spread her legs wider, letting her hand slide against her flesh. The heat in her body begged for her hand to touch herself. This desire had burned in her before. A furnace of lust burned within her, and her brain told her to quench it with the gentle caress of her fingers. 

Henry wasn’t as gentle as Mary expected. He was a gentle giant by nature, but he pulled Vicky’s thong aside as if it had wronged him. Vicky gasped as his knuckles scraped against her shaved mound. Mary’s eyes lowered, and she stared into Vicky’s slick, parted labia. The pink folds of flesh opened, begging for a caress. 

Mary dragged her white cotton panties aside to reveal herself. Henry and Vicky’s eyes lowered, but Mary ignored what they were staring at. Her own pussy wasn’t as clean-shaven as Vicky’s, but she kept it trim for hygiene. The dirty blonde hair matched the hair on her head, except it was softer and curlier. Velvet hairs brushed against her fingers as she dragged her panties to the side, revealing her vertical slit and puffy outer lips that glistened with arousal. 

The wetness of her panties and herself against her fingers startled her, but Henry had said that was necessary. She needed the wetness for what she was about to do. She swallowed the spike of startled panic and cleared her throat, adjusting. 

Henry set his middle and ring fingers at the very top of Vicky’s pussy, not entering her lips, but pressing against her flesh firmly. Possessively. 

Mary bit her lip. 

She matched him on herself, and the pressure nearly sent her over the edge. She released herself, not sure what had just happened, but leaning forward with her elbow on her knee in shock. 

“Are you okay?” Vicky and Henry asked simultaneously. 

“I’m okay,” Mary said, her voice more like a croak. “It was just a lot.” 

“Be gentle,” Henry said. “It’s sensitive, so you have to start light and tender.” 

“Okay,” Mary said, catching her breath and relaxing once more as she reclined. 

“Gently,” Henry reminded her. His grasp on Vicky’s pussy hadn’t appeared gentle, but it was hard for Mary to gauge how much pressure he was using on her friend. 

Mary resumed pressing against herself at the top of her pussy. She used much less pressure this time, resting her fingertips there before escalating her grip. It was the difference between jumping into a pool or wading in, letting the pleasure swallow her without drowning her in its depths. 

“Mm,” Vicky moaned. “You’re good with your hands, Henry.” 

“Thank you,” Henry said. “Let me know if you need a change.” 

“I know my safewords,” Vicky said. “Go on. Don’t make me beg.” 

“What if I want you to beg?” Henry asked.

“Please,” Mary said, begging for both her and Vicky’s sake. “This feels so good. I’m ready. I want to cum. Please?” 

“Oh, he liked that,” Vicky said as Henry’s fingers twitched against her. “His dick is fucking adamantium right now.” 

Mary swallowed, not sure what that meant, but taking Vicky’s tone to mean it was a good sign. 

Vicky rocked her hips again, pushing against Henry’s hand. Mary tried the same, pressing her fingers against herself, rubbing herself in the same slow circles that Henry dragged against Vicky’s pussy. She shuddered at the sensation. “Oh, oh,” 

“Look at her,” Vicky said, her voice low and whispering to Henry, even though Mary could hear her just fine. “Such a sexy sight.” 

“Mm,” Henry grunted. “That’s my girl.” 

Mary’s entire body fluttered at the praise, and her fingers spasmed, sliding past her labia and touching her clit. The pleasurable jolts from her nipples were nothing compared to the direct contact between her finger and her clit. The hooded nub sent shockwaves through her harder than the bass of any concert speaker. It was lightning and thunder in one, rumbling through her in echoes even after she yanked her hand away. 

Vicky moaned low in her throat, squeezing her eyes shut as Henry’s fingers spread her pussy wide open. His index and ring fingers pushed her lips aside, opening her to Mary’s view. 

Mary did the same, opening herself to Henry’s hungry gaze. 

His middle finger, free between the two fingers pinning Vicky open, scraped in one long drag from the bottom to the top, rubbing a small circle around the budding bean. Vicky’s exhale turned into a ragged moan, and she tightened her grip on Henry’s thighs, flexing her arms with the effort of holding onto him. 

“Please, Henry.” Vicky gasped. “Put it in me. I’m ready.” 

Mary gasped as she followed Henry’s example. Pinning herself open felt strange, but pleasurable. The exposure stoked her fears of inadequacy and unworthiness, but nothing in Henry’s eyes told her she was unequal to his expectations. The way he looked at her, she knew he’d toss Vicky off his lap and take her if Mary asked him to. She bit the corner of her mouth hard enough to make herself squeak as the warring sensations overwhelmed her. 

There was no conscious effort to communicate. Mary was past communicating. She had no words to beg or explain her desires. Her hand followed Henry’s movements, doing everything he did to Vicky to herself. Her middle finger circled her clit, stirring the thunder within herself. 

He slid his finger lower and hooked his middle finger inside Vicky. The base of that same finger clamped over her clit and moved in a small circle as he stirred his finger within her. 

Vicky shuddered and slammed her legs closed, making Henry cry out as she caught his fingers in her trap. 

Henry leaned back, and Vicky curled forward, grabbing his arm and holding it in place as she shuddered and shook. Her hands clutched him, holding onto his arm as if there were a storm tearing its way through the apartment, threatening to pull her away. She released a long, low moan that bore an undeniable tone of finality. He finished her, and she cried out before Henry’s other hand clamped over her mouth and cut her cry short. 

She moaned against his hand and slumped in place. He pulled her to him, leaning back on the sofa as she melted against him. She twitched as he pulled his finger out of her and wiped his drenched middle finger on her thong before he slid it back into place. 

Was that it? Henry had barely put his finger into her. That wasn’t so awful. Had her other lovers not been able to do that? If that made Vicky cum, why had she spent so many nights with her vibrator in college? Was she just addicted to it? 

Mary tested it, pushing her finger into herself. A brief resistance gave way, and the sharp sensation didn’t cause her to have Vicky’s same reaction. Once inside, it felt sloppy, like sticking her finger into stiff, molten jelly. Her muscles clamped against the intrusion, and the quilted walls trapped her finger. It reminded her of a finger trap, and sawing her finger back and forth made little difference. It felt good, but didn’t vent her heat or push her over the cliff edge Vicky had just crested. She pressed her palm against her clit, but she couldn’t move her finger in the same circle Henry made in Vicky’s. 

Mary withdrew her hand from between her legs, and the rumble within her faded. The warmth remained, but the blaze had burned through its logs and returned to embers. She lifted her eyes to Vicky, trailing the sweat on her brow as it caressed the sharp curve of her face. 

Vicky wiped the bead away with the back of her hand and reclined against Henry. 

Henry kept one arm wrapped around Vicky’s waist to hold her in place. Otherwise, they looked relaxed and content, except that Henry’s eyes remained locked onto Mary’s face. She raised an eyebrow.

“Are you okay?” Henry asked. 

“Yeah,” Mary said. “But I didn’t…” 

“It’s okay,” Henry assured her. “You can keep going. You don’t have to stop just because Vicky got there.” 

“No, I know, but the moment’s passed. It feels wrong to do it if you two aren’t going to.” Mary shifted, closing her legs and curling them under her, curling up in the recliner. 

Henry patted Vicky’s hip, and she shifted, moving to sit beside him as she had before. Then he patted the empty sofa cushion beside him, beckoning Mary to his side. She left the recliner and circled the coffee table. Mary sank into the cushion beside Henry, and he wrapped his arm around her. She melted, and he kissed her. The heat inside her blossomed once more, and she moaned into the kiss that grew in passion far beyond their normal. 

“Reclamation,” Vicky mumbled. She shot a wink at Mary, but Mary didn’t respond to it. Henry had her full attention as his hand slid to the inside of her thigh. Her legs parted for him of their own accord, and he cupped her, holding her and rubbing her with his palm. 

The thunder rumbled within her, and sparks of lightning flew. Jagged bolts of pleasure arced between Henry’s hand and her blushing skin. The bristles of her hair didn’t bother him, and her panties offered no resistance as he slid them aside and curled his fingers. The tips of his fingers pressed against her lower lips and caused her to shudder. She arched her back, tensing her muscles and gasping. 

Henry tensed his fingers, curling them through her and pinning her open the way he had Vicky. Every segment of his finger caressed her clit as he rubbed her. He didn’t enter her, but rubbed and played with her like a toy. 

Mary squirmed, the pleasure overwhelming her. The difference between his touch and hers was astronomical. Every scrape of his nails was keener than hers. His hand was firmer, and his fingertips were more calloused and stiff against her soft flesh. Between that and her total lack of control over his movements, her brain short-circuited. She gasped and clung to his arm, holding his hand against her when he tried to pull it away. No, he wouldn’t stop. Not until she reached that cliff’s edge and dove over it. 

Vicky wasn’t idle. She slid her hand along Henry’s thigh and gripped the base of his shaft. Mary clung to Henry, Henry pleasured Mary with his hand, and Vicky pumped his cock in her hand. Vicky leaned closer to him and kissed his neck. 

Henry made eye contact with Mary, who stared into his eyes and lost herself in them. They both moaned, his baritone providing the foundation for her soprano harmony. 

“That’s my girl,” Henry said, his voice low, deep, and thick with emotion as he kept his eyes locked on Mary’s. Her breasts pillowed against his arm. Her flesh rippled with pleasure as his hands worked between her legs, stoking the flames until the bonfire burned brighter than it ever had before. 

“Please,” Mary gasped. “Please, Henry, I want–” 

Henry slipped his finger inside her, passing her own paltry intrusions. Her internal muscles clamped against the intruding digit, but her arousal made that resistance futile. His finger squelched against her as it sawed in slow and steady strokes through the tight channel. The bonfire within her exploded as his firm grip rubbed her clit in tiny circles. Her entire body spasmed, and she cried out, loud, as the sudden rush overwhelmed her senses. 

She’d once gone swimming in the ocean and tumbled after a particularly nasty wave. It was a similar sensation, but there was no stinging salt or unpleasant queasiness. If that were hell, this was heaven. She’d dove over the cliff and landed in the waves. She washed ashore to find Henry holding her, rubbing her back, and assuring her in tiny whispers that she was a good girl. 

“I did good?” Mary asked. 

“Yes,” Henry assured her. “You did very well.” 

Mary swallowed and smiled. Her body was in a state of contradiction. Tired but energized; relaxed but ready; her head was adrift with exhaustion, but her pulse raced. She sucked in a breath, and her pulse slowed as she focused on breathing. 

Henry’s breath caught in his chest as he twitched, and Vicky slowed her pumping hand as he shot another release into the rag she’d pressed over his shaft. No, not a rag, a shirt. 

“You owe me a shirt,” Vicky whispered to Henry. 

Henry nodded, slumping against them both as they cuddled him on the sofa. 

Mary giggled. She hugged Henry, squeezing him closer. Mary couldn’t get close enough, even with her skin pressed against his, her leg hooked over his, and both arms around him. She squeezed his ribs with her head on his chest. 

Henry held her and Vicky, letting the clock tick as several minutes of peace passed. Cuddling against her boyfriend was Mary’s happy place. Henry’s presence, combined with Vicky’s, provided safety and security beyond words. Bliss lingered and didn’t fade as pride took root in Mary’s heart.

Vicky ran her fingers through Mary’s hair, brushing her scalp with her nails. “How are you doing, Honey?” 

“I’m fantastic,” Mary said, sighing. “That was everything I dreamed it’d be, and more. I’ve read descriptions of it before, but they don’t compare. It was everything at once. I can’t decide whether to close my eyes and sleep, or beg Henry to do it again, and again, and again.”

Vicky chuckled. “Ah, the joy of foreplay.” 

“Foreplay?” Mary asked. 

“Oh yeah. That was just foreplay. The main event can be even more intense.” 

Mary couldn’t imagine a more intense experience. She lifted her head from Henry and stared at Vicky in shock. 

Vicky grinned at her and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. 

“We should stop,” Henry said. “You need time to process, and I don’t want to push you past your limits. I’m okay with what we’ve done, but we should take this slow.” 

“Okay,” Mary said, knowing that he spoke sense. Half of her wanted to rest, so it was easy to yield to lazy relaxation instead of diving back into pleasure. 

Vicky lifted herself from the sofa, spotted the bathroom, and trotted to it, closing the door behind her. 

Henry and Mary watched her go, then turned to each other. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Henry asked. 

“I’m great,” Mary said. She hadn’t stopped smiling since her orgasm. At least, she assumed that was what she’d experienced. She believed nothing could compare to it, and she didn’t doubt her body had just been through a new experience—a transformative experience. 

She expected a sense of loss to arrive, as if indulging her lust might make her lesser somehow. Instead, a sense of accomplishment settled over her. It reminded her of when she’d won the blue ribbon at the barrel riding competition. The taste of victory was fresh on her tongue, and she relished it, sharing it with Henry as she kissed him and slid her tongue against his. 

The kiss was slow and tender, the opposite of their earlier, passionate kiss, but just as loving. 

“I love you,” Mary said when they broke apart. 

Henry kissed her forehead. “I love you too.” 

“It was good, yeah?” Mary asked. 

“It was great,” Henry said. “So long as you’re okay.” 

“It was fabulous,” Mary said, nodding. “So much better than I thought it might be.” 

Vicky returned from the bathroom after washing her hands. She was naked, having discarded her thong. It must have been uncomfortable. 

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” Mary said, frowning. “Can we wash our underwear in your unit?” 

“Sure,” Henry nodded. “Your clothes, too, if you need to wash them. I’ll grab you some T-shirts.” 

“It’s late,” Mary said as Vicky returned to the sofa and Henry left it. “Can you spend the night?” 

“Yeah,” Vicky said. “But I thought you didn’t want to go further?” 

“Oh, we don’t,” Henry said. “But you’re welcome to crash here. I can take the sofa. You and Mary can sleep in my room.” He stopped at the entrance to his bedroom with his hand on the knob. 

Vicky looked at Mary, read her expression, and then looked at Henry. “Is there room for three? I wouldn’t say no to a cuddle.” 

“That sounds nice,” Mary said, recalling the times she and Vicky had cuddled in the past. It was common for Vicky to need comforting after a breakup. So, it made sense she’d want someone’s arms around her tonight. 

“It’s a queen-sized bed, so it’ll be tight, but we can make it work,” Henry said. 

Vicky smiled. “Oh, good.” 

Mary stood from the sofa and cleaned up their clothes, gathering them from the piles they’d left them in around the apartment. 

Henry ducked into his room and returned with two clean t-shirts a minute later. Vicky raised an eyebrow at him as he handed her the folded green XL Zelda T-shirt. 

“You don’t want us sleeping naked in your bed?” Vicky asked. 

“I thought that might be presumptuous,” Henry said. He glanced at Mary, who shrugged, and his eyes dipped when she did. “You’re welcome to sleep however you’re most comfortable.” 

“Hm,” Vicky considered the options before her. “A T-shirt is a good idea. Otherwise, you might have a hard time falling asleep. Pun intended.” 

“Funny,” Henry said, chuckling as he offered Mary her T-shirt. She took the blue Mega Man tee and slid it on. Its hem fell across her thighs, and the baggy cotton enveloped her. Henry looked sad to see her breasts go away, but he’d see them again soon. 

Mary kissed his cheek. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Vicky said, sliding her arms into her new shirt. 

“Thank you, Vicky,” Mary said, returning and hugging her friend. “I couldn’t have done this without you.” 

“I’m sure you could have, but I’m not complaining,” Vicky squeezed Mary in her arms, then pulled away and pecked her cheek. “This was fun, and your boyfriend’s good at what he does. Then again, it’s been a while since somebody paid attention to my needs, so I was on a hair trigger.” 

“Well, I was going to say thanks for the compliment, but I guess I’m not that special,” Henry said. 

“You’re plenty special,” Mary said, grinning at Henry and letting her eyes wander over his beefy torso. “Neither of us could have done this without you, either.” 

“Now, there she has a point,” Vicky said, cupping Mary’s cheek. “You should drink more water, Honey.” 

“So should you,” Mary countered. “When’s the last time you had any?” 

“Book club?” Vicky asked. 

“That was wine,” Mary said, shaking her head. 

“Ah, I thought it tasted funny,” Vicky said, joining Mary as they laughed. 

“Help yourself to the kitchen. We keep a pitcher of water in the fridge, or water bottles if you’d prefer. Cups are in the cabinet next to the sink,” Henry said before sliding into the bathroom. 

Vicky and Mary moved into the kitchen. Vicky retrieved the pitcher, and Mary pulled the cups from the cabinet. She pulled three, and Vicky filled them. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Vicky asked. 

“Yeah,” Mary said, beaming at her. “This was good.” 

“Okay,” Vicky said, nodding. “I sure as hell enjoyed it.” 

“You’d do it again?” Mary asked with a tone of excitement she couldn’t hide from a stranger, let alone Vicky. 

Vicky paused, not hesitating, but considering the question. “I think you and Henry can figure out the rest without me, no?” 

Mary shook her head. “I can’t. My brain goes haywire when I try to do it with just Henry and me. You’re the only one I can trust to quiet it.” 

Vicky rested her hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Honey, are you okay? I know it was just foreplay, but you went through a lot tonight.” 

“I’m great,” Mary assured her. “But I never would have been able to go through with tonight without you.” 

“And how does Henry feel?” Vicky asked. “Are you sure he doesn’t want it to be just him and you?” 

Mary looked toward the bathroom door and frowned. She might have a point. Henry was dating Mary, not Vicky. He had every right to expect intimacy with his girlfriend without her friend. 

“I don’t want to be in the way between you two, or be a permanent third wheel,” Vicky said. “If you’re both into it, that’s one thing. But if I’m here for you and Henry’s just putting up with me, that’s gonna get old fast. And if you don’t want me here but your boyfriend is pressuring you for a threesome, that’s not okay either.” 

Mary drank more water to buy herself time to think. She looked at Vicky over the rim of her glass and glanced toward the living room again. She could see the fresh memories overlaying reality. Vicky and Henry had been in several intimate positions and done things no one expected. 

“This was my idea,” Mary said, still pondering how to make things less weird. “You and Henry should get to know one another better,” Mary offered. “You two have a lot in common; you’d get along well if you went on a date.” 

Vicky’s eyebrows rose as she sipped her water. “You want me to go on a date with your boyfriend?” 

“Is it stranger than asking you to give him a hand job?” Mary asked. 

Vicky shrugged at that. Mary realized it was weird, but it was more of a passing observation than a serious suggestion. They couldn’t share a boyfriend. But what if they could? That seemed like it’d be a perfect way to keep Vicky involved and help Mary work through her intimacy issues for Henry’s sake.

Would Henry object? She didn’t think so, but they hadn’t asked him either. 

“Let’s see how breakfast goes.” Vicky winked at her. 

Henry exited the bathroom and approached them, joining them at the counter in a fresh pair of boxers and a plain black T-shirt. 

“Shall we turn in?” Vicky asked. 

Henry nodded. “Give me five minutes?” 

“That’s fair. I’d have to clean up my shit if I had unexpected overnight guests, too.” Vicky said. 

Henry chuckled. Vicky had hit the nail on the head. She checked her phone, and Mary went to the bathroom while he cleaned. He opened the door to his room six minutes later, and they turned in for the night. His bed, dresser, nightstand, and desk were the only furniture in the room. No pictures or posters decorated his walls, but his desk held a few family photos. Vicky spent a few minutes admiring the gaming rig he had set up on his desk. 

Mary sat on the bed, watching as Henry answered Vicky’s questions about the specs and where he’d bought the pieces. It wasn’t a conversation she felt qualified to join. Computers and video games were further outside her area of expertise than sex. 

She kept waiting for envy or jealousy to strike, but they didn’t. Vicky and Henry were sharing a moment she couldn’t join, but wasn’t that a good thing? It didn’t take away from her relationship with Henry; it provided him with something she couldn’t give him. Henry lit up when Vicky mentioned Baldur’s Gate 3, and Vicky lit up when he mentioned something called Chrono Trigger. 

“Do you two want to stay up and play video games?” Mary asked just before a yawn struck. 

Vicky yawned after her. “No, it’s late. We should go to bed. Do you want the middle?” 

“No, Henry should take the middle. It’s his bed, after all.” Mary said. She scooted to the wall-side of his bed and rested on her side. 

Henry climbed in after her, lying on his back. 

Vicky settled in after him, lying on her side and facing Mary. Each of them hugged his sides, looped one leg over his, and rested their heads against his pillows. He might not have throw pillows, but he had multiple pillows for his bed. 

“This was fun,” Vicky said, her voice drowsy. “And you smell nice.” 

“Thanks,” Henry said, though he sounded unsure.

“Give him a handjob if he can’t sleep, Mary,” Vicky said with her eyes closed. “It’ll knock him out.” 

“Do you need one?” Mary asked, her voice soft. 

Henry swallowed. “I think I’m okay. Three in so short a time might be too much to ask.” 

“Oh,” Mary said, not understanding. “Okay. If you need one, just wake me.” 

Henry chuckled. “Sure.” 

Mary was the last to fall asleep, watching Henry’s face as he drifted off to dreamland. She kissed his cheek and let sleep take her, even if she didn’t know how any dream could beat the experience she’d just had.