Chapter 2

In the morning, Patrick engineered an excuse to get Winston alone. It actually wasn't much of an excuse; both of them loved golfing. But the end result was that Amanda had Kerri all to herself. She was scared she'd get all sorts of grilling from Kerri over breakfast, but maybe Patrick had stopped that too: Winston took his wife aside for a palm-cupped comment, and suddenly sex was the furthest thing from Kerri's mind; it was like a personality transplant had happened. Amanda didn't know what the clinical definition of nymphomania was, but she was convinced Kerri was one anyway. But the reckoning could only be delayed, not averted completely; after breakfast and kissing their husbands goodbye, they retreated back to the suite for their discussion.

"So, Winston tells me there were some problems last night," Kerri said.

"Yeah," said Amanda.

She told the whole story from beginning to end--it didn't take long, since of course the whole problem was that nothing had happened. Kerri, to her credit, kept her comments to herself, limiting her responses to nodding and gesturing for Amanda to go on. And once Amanda was done, Kerri stood up and came over to her and wrapped her in a hug. "Oh, you poor thing," she said. "I can't even imagine how I'd feel if I couldn't satisfy my man."

"You were completely right," Amanda mumbled. "You were completely right. Because I can't satisfy him, not ... Not like..." Not if her body refused to work the way it was supposed to. "God, I feel so damaged."

"Why?" said Kerri.

"Well, just ... Why doesn't my body work right? Nobody else has problems like this when they get married."

"Well..." said Kerri. "Actually, hon, I don't know about that."

"What do you mean?"

Kerri sat down on the sofa next to her. "Well ... Do you remember back when you first heard about the birds and the bees, and what was involved?"

Amanda had been ten years old, in a 5th-grade public-school classroom. She had learned via the school district's mandatory sex-ed program. "Yeah."

"Do you remember how weird it sounded?"

"What?"

"I mean, seriously, Mandy. It's a weird thing. A man takes his penis and he does what with it? It gets hard? And then he puts that dirty thing in my dirty thing, and somehow this makes babies happen? How bizarre can you get?"

Now that Amanda thought about it, she could indeed remember having thoughts along those lines. "Yeah, I see what you mean. And I could never figure out just why anyone would want to do that. Like, voluntarily ... Come to think of it, I still can't."

Kerri poked her gently on the nose. "Bingo."

"What?"

"I think we're getting to the source of your problem."

Amanda tilted her head.

"Did you ever ask your teachers why people would want to have sex? Did you ever ask anyone?"

Amanda shook her head.

"Me neither. Nor did anybody in my classroom. I had a hunch that the teachers wouldn't tell me—I mean, this was all dirty stuff, you know? About private parts. Of course they aren't going to tell me anything. Plus, you know—bunch of ten-year-olds trying to be grown-up, trying to look like they know what's being talked about. You remember how it was.

"But I had an advantage. I was able to learn why people would do it, voluntarily."

"Why?" said Amanda. "Did you do it?"

"No," said Kerri. "I'd been masturbating since the age of seven.

"My mom had told me all the stuff we always get—you know, wipe forward so you don't get an infection, don't let the boys touch, babies come out of there, things like that. When I started my first period in sixth grade, I knew what was going on. But I also knew that my private parts were good for something else. I wasn't sure even my mom knew this about her body ... But I knew that, if I touched myself in certain ways, I could make myself feel really good."

Amanda, who was genre-savvy enough to see where this was going, said, "And you didn't think your mom knew about it? Even though she'd had enough sex to have you and your siblings?"

"Well, like I said, I didn't make the connection until later," said Kerri with an artless shrug. "And even then, it wasn't until I had the chance to do some research on the Internet that I understood what was going on. I was wondering what they meant by 'oral sex, ' and that led to the clitoris, and— Well, whatever, you don't care about that part. The point is that, eventually—like, four or five years later—I started to understand why people would voluntarily undergo intercourse."

"Because of the stuff that made you feel good."

"Right. I realized that that response, that feel-good part of my body, would be involved in sex. I realized that sex would—or at least was supposed to—feel good. And that realization was enough to get me into real sex, where I started finding out about the emotional stuff."

"There's emotional—? Never mind, I'll find out about that once I get there, I guess. So, how come I'm broken?"

"Hey." Kerri took her by the chin and made her look up at her face. "You're not broken. Don't give me that crap, Amanda. You're not broken and you know it. That's the whole point—that you're not broken."

"Then why doesn't it work?"

"Well, that's what I just went through a whole storytelling session to explain. I think that it doesn't work because you never had the chance to make that connection. Because that's the thing, the thing that's been such a defining factor of female sexuality throughout all of history: it's completely possible for a woman to go through her entire life without ever having an orgasm—much less a healthy enjoyment of sex."

Amanda felt a surge of indignance—and then a spike of amusement. I was going to be one of those women, without ever knowing I was one. Why am I so angry? "Why is that? What's the difference between a man's orgasm and a woman's?"

Kerri peered at her. "You know men have orgasms?"

Amanda gave her a look. "I'm not that oblivious. I know that a man needs to have an orgasm to ejaculate sperm and semen." She decided not to mention that it was mostly Patrick who had taught her this. That part of her wedding night, at least, she had known about.

Kerri shrugged. "Coulda fooled me." Before Amanda could protest, she continued: "The difference between men's orgasms and women's are that, number one, a woman's orgasm is a lot stronger. Women climax harder. We don't know why, it's just known. The second is that pregnancy doesn't require the woman to climax, only the man. There's no equivalent or whatever where a woman has a physical deposit of genetic material. In fact, if you wanna get down to it, scientists aren't yet sure why women have orgasms. It seems to contribute nothing from a biological standpoint."

"Weird," said Amanda.

"Yeah. Now, quality-of-life standpoint, on the other hand ... But that's not really what science concerns itself with. The point that concerns us is that young boys are encouraged to explore their sexuality, or at least not discouraged from it. Young girls, on the other hand, are supposed to keep their hands out of their pants and not know anything about their sexuality at all. At least, until they get married."

"Well, speaking only for myself, that's not working out too well."

"I know. Our culture is backwards about sex in so many ways."

"So, what should I do?"

"At this point?" said Kerri. "I think what's warranted is a two-phase plan of attack."

"Okay," said Amanda. "What's the first phase?"

"The first phase is, we're going to the spa," Kerri said, waving her credit card with a wolfish grin. "W're gonna get you exfoliant and luxuriant and feeling good about yourself. Maybe go do a little shopping too."

"I like this plan," Amanda said, grinning. "What's phase two?"

"Phase two is, we get you some privacy and you start to explore."

"Explore what?" Amanda said.

Kerri fixed a deliberate look on Amanda's crotch.

" ... What?" said Amanda, apprehensive.

"Hon, we already talked about the crucial step you missed," said Kerri. "You know that people have sex, but you don't know why because you've never experienced sexual pleasure before. Which is understandable, considering that you've been expressly forbidden from learning. Well, this is your chance. We'll set you up with my vibrator and you'll get to just play around until you find out what feels good. You need to get to know yourself."

"Know myself?"

"You know, like in the Bible? I thought you might appreciate the reference. Adam knew Eve; Cain knew his wife; those girls who knew their dad because that was the only way to get pregnant ... They knew each other. Carnally. Biblically."

Amanda said, "My understanding of the matter was that the first person to know you ... is supposed to be your husband."

"I'm sure it was," said Kerri, not unkindly, "but, Amanda, look where that got you."

Amanda couldn't argue with that.

"You ... You have a vibrator?" she said.

Kerri nodded.

"You brought a vibrator on your honeymoon?" Amanda said, grinning. "What, did you think Winston wouldn't satisfy you?"

"You're one to talk," Kerri said, laughing.

So they went to the spa, something Amanda had never done before. She let Kerri walk her through the process and recommend the various treatments. Amanda herself felt very out-of-place—walking around with only a robe on, having all these people fuss over her—but Kerri urged her to enjoy it, and Amanda had to admit that she had never been pampered like this in her life ... and maybe would not be again, for a long time. Kerri walked her through a mud bath, a whirl in a hot tub, and finally a massage that left Amanda feeling as though her muscles had all turned to goo. At least she was getting used to the idea of being around someone while she had no clothes on. Most of them were women, and most of the time she at least had a towel draped over her, but there it was nonetheless.

They stopped for a late lunch, and unfortunately by the time they had gotten back to the room, Amanda had been forced to trade that delicious gelatinous relaxation for a much more rigid stance—one, at least, that was capable of walking. Too, she had begun to work herself into a state of high anxiety over the prospect of masturbation. The simple fact was, she had no idea what to expect, and she didn't like the idea of having to walk in blind. What exactly did a vibrator do? What if it was painful? What if she somehow misapplied it and damaged herself? She kind of wanted Kerri to stay in the room with her ... But she couldn't decide which was more embarrassing: having to masturbate, or having to masturbate with Kerri watching.

When Kerri handed over the vibrator it was smaller than she'd expected—a little plastic bullet smaller than the length of her little finger. But even that had its own pitfalls. Was she supposed to put that inside her, like a penis? What if she lost it? How embarrassing would that be? What would she tell a doctor? What would she tell Kerri??

Maybe some of this was clear on her face, because Kerri sighed and put the vibrator on the nightstand. "Amanda, sit down. I want you to just concentrate on breathing..." She felt Kerri's hands kneading her shoulders, shifting deep into the muscle, melting away some of the tension.

"God, Kerri," she breathed. "You're really good at this."

"You pick up some things in life," said Kerri, and Amanda heard the grim smile. "Now, I want you to lie back..." Gentle hands helped smooth her down to the covers. "And, I want you to just relax and be calm. And then, whenever you feel the spirit move you ... I want you to just reach down and play around with yourself. Nothing weird, nothing goofy ... Just the most natural thing in the world. This is your body—the one God gave you, so that you could please yourself and your husband. Why don't you spend some time getting to know it?" When Kerri put it that way, it seemed so much less ... bizarre.

"If you need me, I'll be in my room," Kerri said, and shut the door behind her, leaving Amanda alone.

She wasn't at all sure how she should start this process. Be calm, Kerri had said. Very well. She began by breathing—nothing more, just breathing—and trying to listen to everything that was going on around her. The rough cotton of the bedspread; the whoosh and swish of the waves outside; the cool air-conditioned air on her skin. Her name was Amanda Greer. There would never be in all of human history another person quite like her.

She was a woman. That could mean any number of things, depending on the circumstances. It meant being shorter and having a higher body-fat percentage; it meant being less prone to certain types of cancer, living longer average life spans. It meant not having the vote until the early 1900s, being looked down upon and guarded, not being allowed outside unless chaperoned in some countries and eras. It meant having to endure whistles, jeers, cat-calls, unwanted flirtation; it meant being a second-class citizen in a world that, despite everyone's best efforts, was still a male-dominated society. It meant menstruation, monthly cramps, sanitary napkins; it meant breasts, ovaries, fallopian tubes. It meant being able to bring forth life out of her body, being able to bear children. And it meant a vagina, and it meant a clitoris.

At least I know about those. It could be much worse.

She let her fingers wander over her own body, testing, tasting. What did a man think when he felt what she felt now? Her breasts were heavy, the C-cups so beloved of modern America; she had small nipples but large areolas. If one day she should bear children, she would nourish them from those breasts. Today, though ... Well, Patrick seemed to like them; he seemed to like them a great deal.

Her belly was flat, but not as taut as once it had been; she'd been meaning to hit the gym, but never had time before the wedding happened. Below was pubic hair, dark and ruffled, and below that her own feminine secrets. It was funny, now that she thought about it, that she had been so discouraged from exploring her own body. Weren't these her secrets? Why should she ignore them?

Still, she wasn't entirely sure how to go about this whole 'explore yourself' thing.

Her hand down her pants, she began to re-acquaint herself with the geography; half-remembered anatomy lessons floated through her head. Here was the outer padding; down here was her rear; there was her clitoris—ooh, too sensitive. Her opening she found easily enough as well; she was always aware of this area, she realized, but just didn't tend to pay a lot of attention to it. She was sure the same must be true of anyone else.

She felt a little silly, lying here with her hand down her pants. So, after a moment's thought, she shimmied out of them, leaving herself bare from the waist down. A moment later her shirt was off too; her bra followed it, and now she was as naked as she'd been in the spa. She hoped Patrick wouldn't walk in right then; that would be too embarrassing to be borne.

Her fingers continued their walking tour of her body. Now she could spend more time on herself—on the smooth texture of her own skin, the tiny bumps ringing her areolas, the softness of her pubic hair. Still, her main goal was to learn to understand this pleasure thing her body promised.

It soon became clear that just touching her clitoris directly was not going to work: oh, sure, it made her feel something, but those feelings were so strong they were almost dizzying. Did it feel that way to Patrick when his penis was being touched? Or was it because her clitoris was so much smaller?—the same number of nerves being packed into a very dense package. Whatever the case, she soon found that she could achieve something by, not stimulating her clit directly, but by moving her fingers up and down on her mound right near her clit.

That was when she felt it—a tingling sensation that swept through her, faint but unmistakable. She had never felt anything like it before, but she knew instantly that this was what she was seeking. It was ticklish, almost, and a little bit squirmy, but it made her whole body feel alive ... And her whole mound tingle. And she knew that, whatever this was, she wanted more.

She began to masturbate in earnest (at least, assuming this was masturbating) and soon she noticed that there was wetness under her hand. Had she urinated on accident? There didn't seem to be enough of it, and when she raised her hand to her nose the smell was not the sickly scent of urine, but rather something more acrid. She decided to ask Kerri about it later. And, as she moved her hand back down, her arm brushed against her breasts and she noticed, almost by accident, that her nipples were tight and hard, as though in cold weather. But it wasn't that cold. The connection was to remember back to that first night with Patrick—all of sixty hours ago—when this had happened too. She'd wondered about it at the time, but decided not to ask; obviously, he'd had other things on his mind, and she too. Now she began to wonder if all this was normal.

Curious, she slipped one finger inside herself, encountering ridges and folds half-remembered from childhood exploration. She noted that her whole area seemed more slippery—and that the moisture she had encountered seemed to be coming from inside her. Of course, she could hardly say with any certainty, but maybe this was her body's way of making intercourse easier. Another thing her classes hadn't covered—when she first heard about sex, she had wondered how this could possibly be comfortable. Would her vagina grow substantially as she passed puberty? It hadn't. Would it be rough and painful to have sex? All in all, it had seemed as though sex must be something you only did to have babies; surely there was nothing else to recommend it.

Boy, was she learning.

Now she had lots of questions, and so she donned her clothes again to go ask Kerri for some help. True to her word, Kerri was lounging in the common area of the suite, reading a book. "Hmm, is that pussy juice I smell?" she cried.

"... 'Pussy'?" said Amanda. " 'Juice'?"

Kerri took the hand Amanda had used down below and smelled it. "Yep, that's pussy juice. Amanda, you've come a long way!"

"So it's supposed to make that stuff?" said Amanda.

"Well, of course it is!" Kerri exclaimed. "How else do you make yourself hot and wet for your man! Did you come? Did you have an orgasm?"

Well, evidently there's still a lot more to go, Amanda thought. "No, I didn't wanna strain myself, you know? Like you said, I've come a long way."

"That you have, that you have," Kerri agreed. "But don't forget to try it, hon. It's the best!"

Amanda was sure that Kerri might've dug further, but that was when the men returned—Winston in his plaids, Patrick with his silly visor that she'd always laughed at. They seemed to have had a very productive day, at least as far as the golf chatter seemed to indicate: topics ranged from the consistency of the fairway (excellent) to the quality of the golf clubs available for rent (excellent) to their overall scores that day (excellent, with both of them convinced that, with a little luck, he would've beat the other). They were so excited they could barely sit down; eventually Kerri plunked herself down in Winston's lap to get him to calm down. It seemed to work, and it certainly saved Amanda any embarrassment when she decided to do the same thing. Her explorations in the bedroom had made her suddenly and intimately conscious of Patrick's presence in her life. He had been a perfect gentlemen for the three years of their courtship, and an even bigger one for the three days of their marriage; he had unending patience and a generosity of heart, and she felt sure that, given time and what she'd learned Kerri that morning, he could've brought her to the arousal and understanding she'd gained for herself, but in a lot faster time. As it was, she couldn't wait until they could be alone together and she could put her knowledge to good use. (Suddenly she realized that he must have felt much the same eagerness about her, except for the past three years. This, if anything, only strengthened her resolve.)

It was her first real experience with delayed gratification, with wanting something and having to resist that want, and it left her antsy. Despite the beautiful environs, despite the tasty and creative cuisine, despite the gorgeous moon-lit beach which she and Patrick strolled along, her mind was elsewhere. It was so hard to focus when something she wanted was just out of reach! Kerri must've seen, or maybe even Winston, because the two of them retired early; but it was then that Patrick insisted on the beach-walk. She should've been delighted.

"What's going on, honey?" Patrick said to her. "Ever since we got back from golf you've been just on the edge of your seat."

Oh, go figure that he would choose this moment to suddenly become observant.

"Winston had some more ideas about how to ... Ease you into things," Patrick said.

"So did Kerri," Amanda said.

"Oh," he said. "Did any of them seem like they would work out?"

"You mean, of the ones I tried while you were gone?" she said.

He stopped short and stared at her.

"I mean, why do you think I've been edge-of-my-seat this entire time?" Amanda said.

"I, umm. I take it you'd like to head back to the room." He was grinning.

"About time!" she said.

For the first time, she was an active participant in the kissing, the undressing, the eagerness. It felt good to be active, to be a part of it, to not be at his mercy. Not that she thought he would abuse his power over her, over her body. But it was nice to be in the driver's seat. It was nice to feel that, for once, she had some control over her fate. Proudly, she presented her breasts to him, and settled in to await that tingling feeling of excitement.

It never came.

"Umm, honey—"

"Keep going!" she said.

But it was no good. He suckled at her breasts, and she tried to make herself relaxed and open, but all she felt was empty. His mouth, his lips, his brassy hair—they did nothing. She even opened her legs and bade him work below, but all she felt was that intense over-stimulation. And then gradually she felt nothing at all, and she realized there were tears burning on her cheeks.

"Baby?" he said. "Baby?"

"It worked earlier," she said, her voice shaking. "It worked earlier but it's not working now and I don't know why and it's not working—" And that was the end of speech, as she flung herself over, face first into the pillows, and wept with rage. She felt his hands gentle on her bare back, and his kisses, and knew that he still loved her—and yet his touch made her feel worse, and she gave an inarticulate roar and felt him jolt away.