"Oh, God, why can't I do it," Leslie Carson muttered to herself as she sat back against the door.
Her silk robe was over her shoulders, and her long, brown hair flowed downward. Her breasts were fully naked, her legs spread, her womanhood throbbing, but she could neither touch it nor call it by any other name but her "thing." She would try to call it something else, she would really try, and maybe that would make her sexier. Even in her mind, she barely got out the "p."
"Pu … pu … pu … pussy," she whispered. Yes, that was it, she could say it, but she couldn't say it a second time, and she could not even touch it. She wanted so desperately to touch, to massage it, to play with and pleasure herself the way so many other women did. She wanted to be able to do it, but it was not only difficult – it was impossible.
She could no longer stand the sounds of pleasure that came through the door, because she wanted to be here with Brandon, her husband, making love. Yes, making love. She wanted to be able to cry out the way Judy had cried out, but she was afraid to cry out even when she was alone with Brandon. Brandon didn't seem to care so long as he … so long as he finished and went to sleep.
Now he was back in America, making love to that bitch secretary of his while she was here in Paris, alone with her friends. She wanted Brandon, and she wanted love. She needed it. Oh, yes, she wanted to make love if only to herself. But all she could do was listen and try to watch and continue to be sick about her own inhibitions, and her own failed marriage; and it was all her fault.
For a long time, she leaned against the door, brushing her fingertips over all the non-sexual parts of her flesh. The most she could do was touch the curls of the pubic hair that she had cut into "v" because Brandon said he would like it that way. Her mother had told her that sex was dirty. For the longest time, she believed it, but so many of her friends talked about the pleasures of sex that she wanted to believe them instead, but she never unlearned those early thoughts and fears.
"What's the matter with me?" she whispered to herself, and she sighed.
After a long time, she rose from the floor, and padded away from the sounds of love that came through the door. For a moment, she stood in front of the dresser and studied herself in the mirror. She slipped out of her pale robe and let it slide over her shoulders, down her body, and to the floor. For just a moment, she studied her body. When she looked at her face again, she was flushed with embarrassment, and she started to sob, her whole body quaking.
Finally, she crawled into the bed. She stuffed one pillow hard between her thighs, and brought the other over her head to block out the sounds of Rick and Judy's pleasure. She remembered that she had not put her nightgown back on, but she did not want to move. It had been a long and painful night, and she was not satisfied. She was not happy with the beautiful views of Paris, nor with the nightclubs they visited along the Champs Elysees, or the way the handsome goateed man in the bistro had looked at her – and especially not with herself.
She thought about it for a long time before she passed of into dreams of romping naked in a pasture with Judy's husband Rick, dashing after her with his, his "thing" bouncing in front of him. It excited her, but at the same time it frightened her, because she thought that Brandon would surely know that she had the dream.
***
LESLIE
"Come on, sleepy," Judy said, shaking Leslie awake. "Let's get ready for our day at the Notre Dame."
"Huh? Oh, yes," Leslie said. "I had such a terrible night."
Judy raised her eyebrows. "Terrible? Well, I guess if you're not getting any, you're not getting any. Come on, sleepyhead. Let's get ready."
Judy pulled back the covers and looked down at the friend who so many people thought of as her sister. "Damn you have a nice body. It's a shame to see it go to waste."
"It's not wasted. I have a husband!" Leslie defended herself and at the same time, she felt sorry for herself. She should not let anyone know that her marriage seemed to be crumbling.
Naked, she slid quickly from under the raised sheet and grabbed her pale robe. As soon as she slipped into it, but before she sashed it, Judy took her hand and led her to the bathroom that was between their adjoining rooms. Leslie followed as if in a daze. Only in the glare of the florescent light did she realize that everything was visible through the sheer red material of Judy's robe: the aureoles, the hard nipples, and even that thatch of dark hair at her pubis.
"I saw you watching us last night," Judy said, looking in the mirror.
"Wh … what do you mean, you saw me watching?'"
"I saw you peeking through the door. I'll bet you had as much fun as we did. Rick really is good, isn't he?"
"Judy, I don't know what-"
"Sure you do. Don't be shy – well, maybe you should be. I'll bet a lot of guys would really be turned on by your shyness."
Leslie looked down into the sink.
"I'll bet you had a good old time with yourself, while we made love."
"That's a terrible thing to say! I've never had a good time with myself in my life, I … that's wrong!"
"What's wrong?"
"You know … uh … masturbating."
"You think it's wrong. I mean Rick and I were having an absolute circus in there, and I was really turned on with you watching us. Don't tell me you weren't having a good time too?"
"I wasn't, I … I listened, but I didn't watch." She looked up into the mirror and saw that her face had turned crimson. She could not look at Judy, but she spoke at Judy's red sandaled feet. "Okay. I … I did watch, but I didn't do that … I don't do the other thing, that thing with myself."
"What other thing with yourself?"
"I don't … uh … I don't, you know, touch myself. I just don't, you know, touch myself for pleasure."
"You don't masturbate? I can't believe that with your husband back in America that you haven't found a way to satisfy yourself. Masturbation always works when I'm away from Rick. Hell, sometimes I even do it when he's watching. He loves it. And then we have one hell of a good time."
"Do we really have to talk about this?"
"Sure we do. Stand up for a minute."
"Why?"
"Just stand up."
Leslie slowly rose from the toilet lid. She looked into Judy's dark eyes, but Judy was no longer looking at Leslie's face. She was studying her. She was looking just below her chin and gently she slid Leslie's crossed arms away from the front of her robe.
"What are you doing?" Leslie said.
"Shhh, don't be a ninny. I'm not a lesbian or anything like that. I won't touch you, so don't you worry."
"But what are you doing-"
Judy slid her hand inside the smooth silk of the robe. The backs of her fingertips only incidentally brushed Leslie's nipples, but they sent a sensation through her body that was stronger than just the surface tickle. It was a sexual sensation, and it frightened her. She was frightened her more when Judy put her hands fully under the material and moved the robe open, exposing the entire front of Leslie's body.
"And you have a delightful aroma. What perfume is that?" Judy said.
Judy stammered as she named the perfume, and she watched as Leslie scanned her body. She was looking at Leslie's breasts, her stomach, her legs – even at the thatch "v" at her pubis. It was as if she were measuring Leslie for something.
"Do you always shave your pubic hair like that?" Judy said.
"Like what?"
"Like that 'V' thing. That's cool. I might try that."
"I … I … I only do it because Brandon asked me to," she said, suddenly ashamed.
"Well, it's not a bad idea. Like I said, I'm not a lesbian, but if I were, damn! Does Brandon know you don't masturbate?"
"Judy!"
"I'm just trying to help. Have you ever been unfaithful to him?"
There was a long pause, but Leslie finally told the truth. "No," she said, but a "yes" or a "no" would have been embarrassing.
"You told me you thought he was sleeping with that young secretary of his. Don't you want to get back at him?"
"I'm not sure he's doing that, I -"
"He is," Judy said. "Everybody in Delaware knows it. Now if you put up with that kind of thing, and you're not going to have an affair, you're going to have to find some way to get rid of your frustrations. Sit here on the edge of the tub for a minute, and spread your legs."
"What! Judy, this is just not right."
"We've been friends for a long time. You don't have to worry, I'm not going to touch you."
"Judy, I never-"
"I know, you've never done it with a woman. Neither have I, but that's not what this is about. There are other things you've got to learn. If you're going to be without your husband for a week, the least you can do is masturbate. When's the last time you did it."
Leslie's body went stiff, and strangely, her nipples jutted out hard. Obviously, the question had excited her on some level. "I did it last when, when… It was a long time ago."
"How long ago?"
"When my mother caught me. I was a little girl. I didn't know it was wrong. She yelled at me and told me I was a dirty girl. Only dirty girls did that, that -"
"Did she tell you would go blind? Catch a disease? Go to hell? What?"
"All of those," Leslie said. She knew her face had gone red, but instead of becoming more embarrassed, she grew angry, not at Judy for asking the question, but at her mother for threatening her so many years ago.
"You know she was wrong, don’t you?" Judy said.
"Yes?" The word came out as a question.
"You don't sound so sure of that, but she was wrong. Look, you're going to have to learn to do it for your own sake. I'm not getting smart with you, now watch me."
Judy leaned back on the sink counter, and pulled her gown upward, letting it gather high on her waist. She slipped both hands down the front of her, over the material at first, then under. She pushed them between her legs. She did not touch the curls over her pubis, nor did she touch her most private parts, but her fingers grew closer with each stroke.
"Do just like I do," Judy said. "You don't have to touch your pussy. Just feel the way your fingertips brush against your inner thighs. Feel the excitement as your knuckles brush back and forth against each other. Feel the anticipation of where those fingers might actually go, but hold back. It's so much better if you hold back."
Leslie hesitated, but she did as Judy suggested and she began to feel what Judy said she would feel. Even without touching curls or folds or … little tingles of pleasure rippled like mild electricity over the front of her body, but she suddenly felt guilty and she pulled her hands away. "I can't do this."
"Of course you can. Go ahead, try." Judy gently took both of Leslie's wrists, and she pushed her hands back where they had been.
"Okay, okay, I'll do it myself. You don't have to help," Leslie said, as she continued to brush her fingers inside her thighs, and she watched as Judy did the same with herself.
Judy's fingers grew ever closer to the opening, ever closer to the curls over her, over her – oh, God – over her, her thing. At the last moment, her right hand turned over, and she brushed her pubic curls with the knuckles of her fingers.
"Oh!" Leslie said, realizing that in copying Judy's movements, she had let her own knuckles brush over her own pubic hairs, and just the tickle excited her.
"Feels good, right?"
"Yes."
"Mmmmm, to me too. That's it. You're doing it right. You're getting it."
Judy turned her hand over again. She slid the tips of her fingers through the opening of her pussy. Leslie tried to emulate the movement but she couldn't.
"Scaredy cat."
"No, I can't I-"
"Do it. Just like me."
Almost unconsciously, Leslie brushed her fingers through the wetness. "Ohhhhh," she went, but she withdrew her fingers quickly.
"It was good. Keep doing it."
"Yes," Leslie said, and she did do it again, touching herself a bit more deeply now. It felt so good, so damn good. Yes, it did. If there were only a way she could stop feeling guilty about it, everything would be fine.
"Yes, go deeper. Do whatever you like. Take the pleasure you deserve. Rick went out for croissants, come in when you're ready." Judy let the material of her nightgown cover herself.
"You're leaving?"
"Of course I'm leaving. Masturbation is something you learn better on your own. You can do it," Judy said. She kissed her friend on the cheek, and went through the other door, into her own bedroom.
She's right. Judy's right, Leslie thought. She could do this better on her own. Oh, damn it felt good, but she wanted to makelove. Where was that bastard Brandon when she needed him?
She moved her fingers gently, barely touching the wet, and she heard the little clicking sounds of her nether lips smacking against the wetness. She put one finger inside her and stroked inward and outward, but it did not feel like Brandon inside her. She wanted it to feel like Brandon. She wanted it to feel like a man inside her. She tried a second finger, then a third, and it was much better, but she could not get her fingers all the way inside. "Oh!" Her thumb brushed against her clitoris and there was an even greater pleasure.
"Oh, Brandon, you bastard. Why are you making me do this when you should be here with me," she muttered to herself.
Even as she began to sob, her fingers moved more rapidly, the way Brandon picked up speed when he made love to her. Yes, she would push them all the way inside.
"Yes." It felt good, but if her mother saw her or heard about it? What would she think? "Oh, Yesssss."
Leslie was touching her clitoris, massaging it, sliding it between her middle and index fingers. Sensations rippled through her, and they were stronger and more sensual than any she had experienced with Brandon. They made love on only a few occasions each month, and each time she was a failure. He always … he always 'finished,' he called it. But she never finished, not once in her … not once in her … oh, God … not once in her life did she ever …
"Oh, Yes, yes, yes," she said, and she sucked in a breath between her teeth. "Oh, yes," she finished, like in those lovely dreams, she finished, and she started to cry.
"I'm sorry, mother," she said, but she continued the slow stroking of her nether lips, and her pleasure overwhelmed her initial guilt.
"I did it," she said aloud. "I did it. I did it."
She flung open the bedroom door, but Judy was not there – just Rick, fully clothed with a paper bag in his hand.
He glanced down the front of her body, and she slammed the bathroom door and hurried into her own room.
What must he think of me?