Tavis and I spent every moment outside of class huddled together on the upper levels of the student union or in the stacks of the library, trying to make up for the years Grandmother had kept us apart. Over time, those years apart began to seem like an unfortunate dream.

“Tavi! You do it, too? How?”

“When I first started, I would wrap my sheet around my parts and rub against my bed. I would do it every night after Mother left my room. I wanted to come to your room to show you. I would get long and firm and just running my hand along it made me light-headed. Then I used spit, but now I use baby oil.”

“What on earth for?”

“To make it slick; it’s easier for my hand to rub up and down.”

“I get wet all by myself. I put my fingers in my opening to get the wet part, and then massage it into my…uh.”

“It’s called a ‘clitoris.’ I’ve found books. The textbooks talk about penises and vaginas, but an author named Henry Miller calls our parts cocks and cunts.”

Heat flushed not only my face, but spread between my legs. “You have to show me these books.”

We read everything we could find. We would take our books to an unused room on the top floor of the library, and Tavis would help me put together the pieces.

“I rubbed myself in my room. I think all of the blood in my body rushed to my…my cunt. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears and I was breathing so hard.”

“I jerk off as much as I can.” Tavis enjoyed using our new language.

“Show me. Show me how you do it.”

He unfolded his legs and leaned against the wall. I bit my lip as he opened his trousers and pulled out his pink flesh. It was bigger than I remembered from years ago. Limp and wrinkled, it had a bulbous head with the same slit in the end. It didn’t seem as imposing as the pictures showed or the stories described.

Tavis spit into his hand and began running his hand over his penis. He pulled on it in such a way that I was sure he would hurt himself.

As I watched, the flesh in his hand grew. It lengthened and became fatter. Oh, how it changed!

Tavis closed his eyes and stroked up and down his length. He would pause and roughly handle the full head. Moisture formed at his opening. I wanted to reach out and touch that glimmering drop. Tavis began making low sounds. I watched in amazement of his obvious pleasure. I wondered if his thighs tingled like mine did when I touched myself, like they were at that moment.

I pressed my hand between my legs to calm the growing rush. Instead of peace, I found I needed to press harder.