“Professor Bell,” she rasped, and it was like those two words by themselves somehow forced pre-cum to ooze out of my cock. Fucking A, I was really never going to let any student ever call me that again. “I don’t know what you’re staring at down there, because I’ve seen it and it’s honestly not that exciting, but if you don’t put your mouth on me soon I’m going to lose my mind. Just as an FYI.”

I laughed, and it loosened my nerves.

I opened her up with my fingers, and she was so wet, so slick on my fingers and my tongue, that it gave me all the confidence I could ever need, and it was easy. So easy to lick her where she needed to be licked, to hum my pleasure against her clit when she voiced hers. I loved how she tasted, the intimacy of oral, how it brought you to the earthy, carnal realness of sex, the weird wonderfulness of our bodies. That our pleasure centers were these odd fucking aliens but there were so many ways to make them feel good, so many ways we could make each other feel good, no matter what kind of body we had. Which was why I increasingly hated the entire concept of gender the more I let myself think about it.

We were all just aliens. We all fit together.

There were probably so many ways to fit together that we hadn’t even thought of yet.

“Sam.” Lily’s voice was oddly high pitched, and it made me pull away in alarm.

“You okay?”

I had been sort of involved in my clit-labia-alien world down there for a while, and I blinked up at her, taking in that her chest was rising and falling in heavy gusts, that her forehead was damp. She grinned at me, eyes sparkling, and I tried, for about the fortieth time in her presence tonight, to not combust.

“Yes. But come here.” She motioned limply with a hand and I followed, my knees aching as I readjusted, locking my elbows at her sides. “Just give me a second.” She ran her hands over my shoulders, down my chest. “I’m not good at multiple orgasms. I don’t want to come yet. Want to come with you, when you’re inside of me.”

This sounded hot and vulnerable all at once, and I rested my forehead on hers, taking in some needed breaths of my own.

“Okay,” I said. “We can make that happen. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

Her hands kept traveling over my chest, my stomach. I tried not to wince. Even though I loved how it felt.

“You don’t like your body,” she said, so softly, and I wanted to die a little. Although, as if to soften the blow, she reached down and gently cupped my balls, and honestly, it helped. “Is it dysphoria or something else?”