Me: Two. You have stop. They want phone. Can’t. Can’t do more
Another whoosh of warmth makes me collapse onto the closed toilet seat, phone forgotten on my lap while I writhe.
Finally, the buzzing stops.
Panting, I pick up my phone.
Grant: They?
Me: Sisters. Need phone. Photos.
I shut my eyes, gasping for breath, half laughing at what I’ve just done. What we’ve done. How on earth did I come so hard here, of all places? It had to be the slow build, the way I’ve had to hold it in and hide it from everyone out there. The secretiveness to this orgasm somehow magnified my body’s reactions, until…
Me: Wow.
Grant: You okay?
Me: That last one makes three.
Grant: I’ll bet you’ve got one more in you.
A knock at the door.
I type out a quick thumbs-down, exit the messages app, and say a nonchalant, “Be right out,” tucking my phone into my bra.
“Beanie? You all right?”
“Fine. Fine.” I fish the vibrator out of my underwear and, with nowhere else to put it, shove it into my other bra cup. The darn thing’s starting to weigh me down.
“Sorry if we pressured you.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“No. No, I’m fine.” I run water over my face, step back, and stare into the mirror. Pink cheeks, eyes at half-mast, lips trembling.
“We didn’t mean to, Beanie,” Otty slurs. Definitely drunk.
I look at my hand. Shaking.
Okay. Calm. Deep breath.
“You guys. I’m fine. You didn’t pressure. I’m good.”
“We love you, you know,” says Hannah. Also drunk.
“I love you too.”
“We know it’s hard for you to share your book nooks. We just want the world to see your talent.”
I sigh. “I know. And I love you for it.”
“Need a huggle?” Otty asks.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Hey, I want a huggle!” says Hannah.
What can I say? A huggle request, in our family, is a call that cannot be denied. So, with one last inhale, I pat my face dry, open the door, and accept the big fat group hug from my sisters.
