Chapter 2

Gender stereotypes be damned. Guys, I can’t stress enough just how sexy it is to hear about all the criminals your girl beat up that day as you’re taking off each other’s clothes. We had a pretty good sex life. We had expanded our repertoire of positions to most of the classics. She found that she liked doggy-style best, and that became our go-to finisher. She was happy to receive oral, as well as give it. She frequently warmed me up with blowjobs. She couldn’t make me come that way, but that’s not her fault: I’d only had one girlfriend who could, and I have no idea what her secret was. Every piece of furniture in both our apartments had hosted at least some heavy petting.

Most guys like to think that they please their woman better than the guy before, but I have actual proof. Quake Girl’s fans tracked all of the tremors she had caused, from almost the very beginning, based on national seismic data. Back when she had been with Mark, the measurements had stayed level, but since she got together with me the tremors had been steadily increasing in intensity. The climbing trend in intensity was a hotly debated topic on the fan forums. They spotted other trends, too, like the five day downturn every month. Everyone had chastised the poster who suggested it had something to do with her menstrual cycle, calling him a misogynist troll. But he was right - that was a sexual blackout time for us. She wasn’t comfortable breaking that taboo.

We talked very frankly about her boundaries, and my efforts to push them. Julie felt that she had benefited, both as a superhero and as a sexual being, from letting go of her old inhibitions. I was allowed, and even encouraged, to keep coaxing her to try new stuff, as long as I didn’t overdo it.

Take masturbation. She had never done it - ever. She had been taught that it was wrong. And now that she was sexually active, she claimed, why would she ever need to? I tried to explain that it doesn’t cheapen what you have with your partner. That it should be a guilt-free indulgence that you do whenever you want to, like ice cream. I explained that women who’ve learned how to make themselves feel good can use that knowledge to make their partners even better. And I made the case that I could get hit by a bus and she might not have time to find a quality new guy before she has to save the world. But those were all intellectual arguments that had little power over deeply-rooted feelings about propriety.

So I tried another approach. After one tiring day I coaxed her into the bath tub with me. There were candles, classical music, and some bath oils that a friend had insisted Julie would like. There was also a brand new hand-held shower head - also recommended by a friend who said it, “made me scream more than Stephen King.” As Julie leaned back into me and I rubbed lavender-scented bubbles across her chest, I positioned the nozzle between her legs and stroked her pussy with pulsing water. For fifteen minutes she contented herself in the feeling. The next day I installed the same shower head in her bathroom, without asking.

About a month later I figured it was time to take another step. After once again consulting with my sexually zealous friend, I bought a small vibrating dildo. I snuck it into Julie at first, unpowered, while fingering her. I decided against turning it on without warning, but I did run it all around her labia before showing it to her. I revealed it to her by sticking it in my mouth and sucking all of her juices off of it. After giving her a good look, I teased her lips with it, still unpowered. It wasn’t until I was circling her tiny brown areolae that I turned it on. “Oh!”, she said. I let her feel the vibrations on many parts of her body, at first: her belly, boobs, pubic mound, knees. When I did finally tease her clit with it she bit her lip. I wanted to ease her into sex toy play, so I didn’t stay at it very long. She was, however, very eager for me to fuck her when I was done.

She didn’t let me leave the dildo in her apartment at first. “What if I’m killed and somebody finds it while going through my stuff?!” she teased. We did keep using it sometimes when we made love, and we did work our way up to vibrator-induced climaxes. Sometimes she would even guide my hands. One day I left it in her nightstand drawer, and she didn’t argue.

All this preparation was put to the test when I had to spend a couple of days in the hospital. It was a fairly minor surgery, but the doctor warned me that sex would probably result in ripped stitches. On the third day when Julie visited me, some staff were changing the linens of the bed next to mine. Julie bounced as she entered the room, and silently mouthed the words, “I masturbated!” at me. To be sure I understood she pulled the vibrator part way out of her purse, and then quickly buried it back in again before anyone could see. I winked my approval.