Chapter 2: The Biggest Tip Ever

Aoife was asleep in her own room, her dad's pillow was back under the quilt, the bathtub sparkled again, and my clothes were clean and dry. I was sitting on the sofa in the Adamses' living room, giving myself a gynecological examination.

After everything that happened, I was curious about my body, and more than anything, how I could go nuts just by touching myself, so I went to Dr. Adams' little study up in the turret (it's a weird room: the windows and the bookshelves are actually curved) and brought down one of his heavy textbooks. I couldn't find anything in it about those awesome feelings, but I did find plenty of bright, full-color drawings of the female genital area. I laid the book open on the cushion next to me, and, with my skirt hiked up and my panties on the coffee table, I matched my real girl parts to the labels in the book. It was a confusing at first, because I was looking at my vulva upside down, and the mons pubis in the drawing was shaved, but, as you can guess, I learned a lot of new words.

I separated my labia minora with two fingers and ran a finger of my other hand all around my vestibule, and down my perineum to my anus. I found my vaginal orifice, and my urethral orifice, but I couldn't see and the openings of my greater vestibular gland, whatever that is. I think I located my hymen, too, even though it didn't look anything like the drawing.

But I saved the best for last, gently pulling back my fleshy prepuce and exposing my clitoris. I couldn't pronounce it — I didn't know if was CLIT-or-us or cli-TOR-us — but I knew what it could do. It's amazing such huge feelings can come from something so tiny. It didn't look like much of anything, either. It was colorless and kind of translucent, nothing but a sliver from the inside of a vanilla jellybean, and it glistened the way a jellybean does when you've been sucking on it.

Ohhh, sucking on it ... what would that feel like? My face tingled just trying to imagine it. My vaginal orifice started oozing again. I mopped up some of the slippery fluid with my fingertip and applied it gently to the bare vanille pulp.

But it was too sensitive. As gently as I was touching it, it felt scratchy and harsh. I took my fingers away, letting it slip back under my prepuce, and tried again. That was much better. The little hood made all the difference. It cushioned the pleasure point and let it roll around freely. My toes curled up on the edge of the sofa. I laid my head back and closed my eyes.

There are some things you don't learn from books.

I was so wrapped up in my medical experiments that I didn't hear the Adamses' car on the drive. I didn't realize they were back until I heard the back door open. Damn it — I was so close. I jumped off the couch and smoothed my skirt just as Mrs. Adams stepped into the archway from the kitchen. At least I was thinking clearly enough to snatch my panties and stuff them in my pocket. I hurried through the dining room.

"How was it?" I said, too loudly.

"It was the social event of the season," Mrs. Adams said.

She was carrying a clear acrylic tablet stuck in a shiny black base. It had some words etched into it. Dr. Adams' Golden Hymen, I assumed, even though it wasn't gold at all. I got the joke now.

"It was very nice," Dr. Adams said. He put his umbrella in the rack by the back door. I was glad the dining room was dark. The only light came from the kitchen and the living room. My face felt hot, and I was scared they'd guess I'd been doing something bad. Adults have a way of figuring things out.

Mrs. Adams dumped the award on the dining room table. Then she gripped the back of a chair and whipped off her shoes and her knee-high stockings. There were wet polka dots on her dress.

"Darling, my feet are soaked!" she said.

"You'll live," he said, stepping through the archway behind her. There were wet spots and streaks on his coat, too. "It's started to rain again. Let me drive you home."

"It's only a couple of blocks," I said.

"It's coming down too hard," he said. "You'll catch your death."

"I'm going to get out of these clothes and take a hot bath," Mrs. Adams said.

She went into the living room barefoot, carrying her shoes. We followed her.

"Check on Aoife first," Dr. Adams said. "How was she?"

"She was an angel," I said.

"A naked angel," her mom said.

"It's like a deal we have," Dr. Adams said. "She does anything we say, as long as we let her keep her clothes off. She's only fussy when we make her get dressed. — Do you think you'd like to be a doctor?"

The question startled me. I didn't know what he was talking about, so I didn't answer. He pointed past me to the sofa. I forgot to close the textbook. The female genital tract was open to the world, a gaping pink and red hole. My face turned scarlet.

"She was curious about her body," Mrs. Adams said. "Weren't you, dear?"

"That book is twenty years out of date," Dr. Adams said.

"I don't think cunts have changed much since you were in school," she said.

"No, but you meet a lot more of them these days."

"Pay the girl and take her home," Mrs. Adams said, starting up the stairs. "And make sure all you do is take her home."

I heard her go into the bathroom and close the door.

"What does that mean?" I said.

"She's had too much wine," Dr. Adams said.

"She sounded mad."

"She's bored," he said. "She doesn't like this house."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's too old. And it's got all the antiques and the oriental rugs. She belongs in a high-rise condo somewhere."

"I like all the wood," I said.

"You're an old-fashioned girl."

Dr. Adams wasn't kidding — I mean about the rain. It was a deluge. Church Road was a river. We crawled up my street in his big silver Mercedes, peering through the windows for my house. We couldn't find it. The windshield wipers were on as fast as they could go, and we still couldn't see anything. I'd catch a glimpse of a streetlight or a stop sign, and then everything would go black behind a sheet of water.

"Can you see it?" he said.

"I think we passed it," I said.

We went through an intersection, and I was sure that was one too many.

Dr. Adams pulled over and put on the flashers.

"Let's wait a few minutes," he said. "This can't last long."

We sat there, listening to rain pound on the roof. All I could see outside was the heavy raindrops exploding on the hood of the car. Dr. Adams turned off the headlights and the wipers, but he kept the air conditioner on. It was weird, but I liked being there with him, with the storm all around. I felt safe, like he was my daddy.

"Didn't you wear shoes?" he asked.

"Oh, shoot! I dropped my flip-flops in your yard and I never went back for them."

"How did you do that?"

"I was carrying them because I couldn't run with them in the rain, and I stepped into a gopher hole."

"I thought we filled all of those," he said. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"I don't think so."

"You could have sprained your ankle. Here, give me your foot."

Well, he was a doctor. I guess I wasn't thinking, or maybe just wanted an excuse to let him touch me, but I undid my seatbelt right way, twisted around in my seat and raised my left foot. Dr. Adams undid his seatbelt, too. He took my foot in both hands and lifted it to his face, tipping me back into the gap between the seat and the door. The armrest dug into my side.

Dr. Adams pulled a hankie out of his breast pocket and dried off my foot. He squinted at my ankle in the blue light from the dashboard, squeezing it and flexing it up and down.

"It doesn't look swollen," he said. "How does it feel?"

"It's OK," I said.

He pressed his thumb into the ball of my foot. I couldn't help groaning a little.

"Feel good?" he said.

"Uh huh," I sighed.

I wiggled my toes in front of his face. We both laughed, and I wiggled my toes some more, flicking his nose. Suddenly his expression got serious. We looked at each other, holding our breaths, and then he ducked his head and planted a kiss on the arch of my foot.

I froze. Dr. Adams kept his lips on me a long time. Then something wet and soft tickled my skin. A chill went up my side when I realized it was his tongue.

"You're a beautiful girl," he said when he broke off the kiss. "Do you mind my telling you?"

All I could do in was croak. My mouth felt like it was full of sand.

"Was that a no?"

I coughed.

"No," I said. "I don't mind."

Dr. Adams didn't let go of my foot. He cradled it by the heel and ran his hand up my leg to the knee. My skirt slid up my thighs. I folded my hands together and pushed the material down into my crotch. I felt exposed, and I didn't want him to see I wasn't wearing panties.

He kissed my big toe.

And my little toe.

And he nibbled the ball of my foot.

My vaginal orifice was melting into a gooey puddle.

Dr. Adams set my foot on his shoulder. He slid his hand down my calf to my ankle, then went back up, only this time he didn't stop at the knee. He went halfway up my thigh.

"Such taut skin," he said. "You're the perfect age."

"What for?"

"For everything."

His hand wandered up my dress. Other than the rain, the only sound in the car was my deep, excited breathing. I took my fists out of my crotch, freeing my skirt and inviting him in more. I didn't care anymore if he found out: I got the feeling he would like it. He stopped an inch from my swollen vulva.

"All right?" he said.

"Uh huh."

And he went up the last little bit.

"You naughty girl!" he said. "Where are your panties?"

"In my pocket," I said.

"Just what were you doing when we came home?"

"Touching myself."

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"It's amazing."

"How's this?"

He stroked my vagina, upward, with the back of his hand.

"That's nice," I said.

He stroked me over and over, like he was petting a cat. With each stroke, my labia softened a little more, and his knuckle went in deeper.

"Did you have an orgasm — before we came in?"

"Is that what an orgasm is?" I said. "I knew the word, but I didn't know —"