The girls’ night had started innocently enough. With the boys away at that ridiculous comic-book convention in Vegas for the whole weekend, Penny, Bernadette, and Amy had Penny’s apartment all to themselves. Three bottles of cheap red wine were already half-empty on the coffee table, and the conversation had long since drifted from work gripes to the kind of raw, unfiltered sex talk that only happens when the men are safely out of earshot.

Penny lounged on the couch in a thin white tank top that clung to her full, braless breasts and tiny sleep shorts that rode high on her toned thighs. Her blonde hair was loose and messy, cheeks flushed from the wine. “Leonard tries, bless his nerdy little heart,” she said, swirling her glass. “But half the time it’s like he’s reading a manual. ‘Step one: kiss neck. Step two: insert tab A into slot B.’ I need more than that, you know?”

Bernadette giggled in that high, sweet voice of hers, legs tucked under her on the armchair. She was still in her work blouse, the top three buttons undone, revealing the lacy edge of a pink bra that barely contained her perky tits. “Howard’s got his kinks—role-play, costumes, the whole nine yards—but sometimes I just want him to pin me down and wreck me. Instead he asks permission like I’m his boss.” She took a big sip, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean, I love him, but ... damn.”

Amy sat cross-legged on the floor in her conservative cardigan and long skirt, glasses slightly fogged from the wine heat. Her mousy brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, but her cheeks were burning red. “Sheldon approaches intercourse with the same rigor he applies to string theory. Foreplay is a fifteen-minute lecture on the clitoris’s evolutionary purpose. I’ve never ... well, I’ve never experienced what the literature calls ‘female ejaculation.’ Scientifically fascinating, but empirically absent from my bedroom.” She pushed her glasses up, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve read the studies. G-spot stimulation plus clitoral pressure can produce it in up to fifty-four percent of subjects. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to ... you know ... squirt.”

The word hung in the air like a spark. Penny’s eyebrows shot up. Bernadette’s giggle turned into a full laugh. Amy looked mortified for half a second, then defiant.

Penny set her glass down hard. “Wait. You’ve never squirted? Girl, we have to fix that. I have. A couple times, when I was really worked up. It’s like ... everything lets go at once. Messy as hell, but hot as fuck.”

Bernadette leaned forward, voice pitching higher with excitement. “I did it once in the shower after a fight with Howard. Came so hard the neighbors probably heard. Felt like I was peeing and orgasming at the same time, except way better.”

Amy’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Empirical data suggests the fluid is mostly diluted urine with prostatic secretions. But the psychological release ... the distance some women can project ... it’s competitive biology at its finest.”

Penny’s grin turned wicked. “Competitive, huh? Okay, science girl. Let’s make it a competition. Right here. Right now. No boys, no judgment. Who can squirt the farthest using nothing but fingers. No toys, no vibrators, no excuses. We lay down some towels and plastic sheeting, strip, and go for it. Best of three rounds. Tape measure and everything. Loser buys brunch tomorrow and admits the winner is the undisputed Queen of Squirt.”

Bernadette’s mouth fell open, but her thighs pressed together. “We ... we shouldn’t. Howard would lose his mind if he knew I was doing this with you two. It’s basically cheating, right?”