Mai Bailey: For All Kinds of Reasons, Chapter Twenty

 

 Photograph property of Breath-Takers. Of course.

 I don’t want you to think that Mai’s time in Toronto was all spent fucking. That is pretty much the case, but I don’t want you thinking that.

    LOL

    Seriously, we did leave the hotel room. As witnessed by the excursions to ice skate, to get pizza at midnight via the streetcar, as well as a movie here, a restaurant there.

    Oh, and sex at the Winter Garden theatre.

    Yeah.

    You’re going to have to look that one up. Here’s a URL.

    Now, the Winter Garden interlude requires its very own section in this tale. So while I’d love to tell you to take a pee-break, grab a drink, let the cat out, and when you come back, I’ll tell you all about Mai and I having our way with each other in a century-old theatre...

    ...I think I’m going to leave that for another time.

Mai Bailey: For All Kinds of Reasons, Chapter Ninteen

  Photograph property of Breath-Takers. Of course.

    “You drained my bladder!” she says to me a long while later. Smearing her pussy, her ass all down my torso, she pins herself on my cock, but only just, and then decides to do some teasing of her own. 

    “I did.”

    “Could you suck it out of me? My pee? You know, from my- What do they call it...?”

    “Your urethra.”

    “Yeah!” she says, bobbing up and down on my erection. Well, to be precise, she’s sliding back and forth, because she’s flat on my chest. 

    “Yeah!” I mimic, and push her down all the way, so I’m in her to the max. 

    I watch her face crumble, watch how the gesture affects her, watch her eyes squeeze down into nothing...then watch her features expand, watch her moxie rise, watch her as she proceeds to fuck me. 

    “I wish I could squirt. I’d love to have you suck my cum out of me. Out of my urethra...”

    “We could work on that.”

    “Ha!” she laughs. “Now you’re telling me you can teach me how to squirt?”

    “Gush,” actually. 

    “Hmm...”

    “In the meantime, want to hear what the part of you is that charms me the most?”

    “My titties!” she says, shaking them after having gotten up into a pushup position. 

    “No.”

    “My eyes.”

    “No.”

    “My lips?” she asks. “What about my pussy...?”

    “I am utterly and completely charmed by your stain.”

    “My what...?!?”

    “Your stain.”

    “Where?!?”

 “It takes up most of your undercarriage.”

    Her eyes narrow. 

    “Your colouring is different ‘down there’. And I’m not talking about your pussy. I’m not talking about your pussylips. I’m talking about your stain down below. The hue of your skin.”

    “My stain.”

    “Your stain.”

    “You love my stain.”

    “I’m beguiled, bestotted by your stain.”

    “You’re insane.”

    “Just insane enough,” I confess, knuckling her nipples, making her eyelids flutter.  “You do know what I’m talking about.”

    “Not really!”

    “Everyone’s undercarriage is shaded a little differently than other parts of their bodies.”

    “Darker.”

    “Yes. But depending on the light, yours appears inky.”

    “Inky.”

    “Yeah. It’s as if- It’s as if you grew bush all over, and you shave, but the ‘shadow’ remains.”

    “So it appears ‘inky’.”

    “Yes.”

    “On my ‘undercarriage’.”

    “Yes.”

    “So I have a ‘stain’.”

    “Yes. And the stain is what charms me the most about you. But you don’t believe me.”

    “No.”

    “About which part?”

    “I’m not sure I believe you about this ‘stain’, but I definitely don’t believe you that- No, I don’t want to be believe you that the thing you find most charming about me is my stained undercarriage.”

    “I never said I wasn’t quirky.”

    “That’s true.”

    “Would you like to see what I see? When I’m adoring your pussy, when I’m munching on your ass...?”

    “Sure. Show me my stain.”

    I scoot off the bed and go to my luggage. From my toilet kit, I retrieve a small mirror. I bring it back to the bed, where Mai’s already reaching out for it. “Uh-huh... This is my presentation, if you don’t mind...”

    She pouts. “Fine. How do you want to do this?”

    “I’m not sure we can do it all here,” I say, pushing her back onto the mattress. “But let’s give it a go,” I say, arranging her so that I can place the mirror just so... “Can you see?”

    “No. Tilt it up. No, not that much. OK, now I can-”

    I look over at Mai’s face. “I don’t see anything.”

    “Here,” I say, running my finger around a large part of her inner thigh. “And here.”

    “That’s not a ‘stain’! That’s-” She takes a closer look.

    And then slides off the bed, steals the mirror, and sprints for the bathroom. “I want to see this properly.”

    When I get in there, Mai’s going through contortions. Rearranging herself this way, then that, bending over, looking backwards, both at once... “OK. I see what you mean,” she says, still going through some gymnastics. 

    “It’s charming.”

    “I don’t know why I’ve never noticed it before.”

    “You weren’t looking.”

    “It’s noticeable.”

    “Only if you’re looking.”

    “And you say it appears darker sometimes?”

    “Yes,” I say, picking her up under the arms, and plonking her on the counter. Then I kneel, place her heels on my shoulders...and I begin to kiss said ‘stain’.

    “You’re a little bit barmy,” she sighs, reacting to my touch. “But that barminess has you ‘charmed’ by my discolouration.” 

    I gaze up at her, and watch her reaction as I nibble on her ‘pastry’. 

    “You keep doing that, and I won’t care if you’re out of your head entirely.”

    “Head, huh...?”

    She watches me some more. “May I have all three...?” she asks quietly. 

    “You desire ‘The Great Triumvirate’?”

    “Please.”

    “Oral sex...” I begin, lapping away while my silence indicates the need for her to complete the recitation. 

    “Then vaginal...” she continues. “Then anal.”

    “You’re very demanding.”

    “I know. Forgive me...?”

Mai Bailey: For All Kinds of Reasons, Chapter Eighteen

      Photograph property of Breath-Takers. Of course.

      I’m as good as my word. 

   I make love to Mai throughout the night, intermittently-but-effectively, inducing more than a handful of orgasms along the way. 

    So those sites you’ve seen online, the ones where they have some sleeping gal fucked? Been there, done that. 

    And I’ll tell ya; there’s something very special about a woman climaxing while asleep. The process has its own characteristics, its own profile. 

    Not that any of them were alike. 

    I took her once from behind, spooning her, and when she came, it was like a tantrum. And then she was lost to unconsciousness once more. 

    I took her while she was on her back. Almost imperceptibly driving in and out of her. When she came, it was one elongated shiver. 

    On her belly, I hardly touched her. It was just my cock in her cunt, tenderly pushing in and out. When she came, she yelled into her pillow. 

    I masturbated her to orgasm. When she came, she mumbled a paragraph’s worth of declaratives. 

    I ate her to climax. When she came, she was all melodic moans and groans. 

    The final time was... Well, it was admittedly a little unusual: rolling onto my back, with her in my arms, her back to my chest, I fucked her with her sprawled out, facing the ceiling. And when she came, I came too, then settled in for some rest of my own.

    I awake to a combination of sounds and sensations. 

    The sounds are Mai licking her fingers. 

    The sensations are her scrounging around at her pussy...where my limp cock is stuck...and removing what’s left of my deposit. 

    “You owe me.”

    She stops, and considers my comment. “What do you want?” comes her whisper, the delivery of which is enough to make my heart flutter a bit. 

    “I want you to sit on my face,” I tell her. “I want you to ride my mouth. I want you to have your way with me.”

    “Mmm...” she trills, shimmying. “Let me go pee, first.”

    I grasp her arm. “No. Don’t use the toilet.”

    Once more, she considers. “You’re not serious.”

    “You owe me.”

    Sliding off me...leaving my cock behind...she gets onto her knees and in a crouch, she stares at me. “You’re kinky,” she says. “I didn’t know you were into kink...”

    I say nothing. I just wait. 

    And so Mai crawls closer, clambering up, mounting my face. 

    And I wait. 

    A minute on, she slumps. “I can’t! I can’t do it! I can’t pee on demand! And not into your mouth!”

    I wait. 

    And she steps up to the plate once more. 

    I wait. 

    I wait what seems five minutes. 

    Until at last, there’s a trickle into my open mouth, a shudder from Mai, and then a stream of very warm, very tinny liquid onto my tongue, splashing against my cheeks and streaming down the back of my throat. 

    I drink for what seems another five minutes. Gulping constantly. Swallowing it all. 

    Finally...after a dénouement that seems almost as protracted as the prologue, Mai shivers once again...and making a ‘V’ with her fingers, pushes her clit front-and-centre, swabbing it over my lips. “Eat me...”

    I go her one better: I make a bowling ball of her. 

    My mouth consuming her proffered clitoris, my thumb strokes her vaginal entrance, teasing her by way of labia and vulva and very slick aperture, while my fingers ...my two longest ones...probe her rectum. 

    “Fuck-a-duck, Carruthers!” she groans, and bears down on me all the more. 

    Now, while her pussy is slick...it’s not just ‘lubrication’, remember, there’s a load of me oozing out of her...her asshole is dry. So I don’t just jam my digits home. I worm around a bit, prodding her with a little bit of patience here, a little bit of teasing, there. 

    “Yes!” she growls. “Suck that clit!”

    I do. 

    And I also press home with my thumb, pushing on, its length and breadth clearly just the ticket for her vaginal needs this morning.

    “Here,” she whispers, and shoves my fingers up her ass. 

    She flinches...clenches...clenches in staccato form...and then begins fucking my digits. 

    And my thumb. 

    And my mouth. 

    “A girl could get used to this...”

    I grin at her comment...but keep doing what I’m doing.

Mai Bailey: For All Kinds of Reasons, Chapter Seventeen

  Photograph property of Breath-Takers. Of course.

     I used to live in Toronto. In The Beaches. It’s a community to the east. Down by Lake Ontario. 

    One of its foundations is the 501 streetcar. It runs right to the very margent of The Beaches, to Neville Park, where it turns around. 

    There was a pizza joint there I used to go to a lot. The pizza wasn’t ‘that’ good, but it became part of my routine, my life, so I guess it got jacked-up in status by that fact. 

    So that’s where we’re going. At 11:45 at night. 

    Mai and I sit at the back of the ‘red rocket’. With its expansive windows, the wraparound glass at the vehicle’s ‘caboose’. It’s a mid-week night, so there’s not a lot of activity; the streetcar’s mostly empty. 

    “This is a ‘date’, isn’t it?” Mai asks. 

    “I’m paying you,” I laugh. “I hardly think that it qualifies as a ‘date’.”

    “Okaaaay,” she whines, pinching my thigh, “maybe we could pretend that it’s a ‘date’.”

    “I’m glad you said ‘Yes’ when I asked you out on this date,” I tell her. 

    “That’s better.”

    We each stare at the sights, as we head east, the rumbling of the wheels counter-pointed by the rising buzz of our progress, then the descending burr of us slowing down to stop. 

    “What are the chances I could get a hummer on a first date, anyway...?”

   
    It’s interesting how the weather can play on your appetite.
    That, and scads of sex. 

    “Where do you put it?” I ask Mai after her third piece. We’ve chosen to stand at the bar at the front window, once again sight-seeing. And there’s a surprising amount to see this time of night in this pedestrian’s enclave. 

    “On my titties,” she replies, poking her tongue out at me. “So you won’t be complaining, will you...?”

    I go close to her, putting my free hand against her lower back and bussing a portion of her ear. “When we get back to the hotel...”

    “Yes...?”

    “I’m not going to fuck you.”

    “Mm-hmm...?”

    “I’m going to make languid love to you.”

    She nods, keep munching on her slice. “Are you now...?”

    “Yes, I am. I’m going to gently and adoringly –and mindful of your full belly– make love to you until you drift off into a blissful somnambulance, your journey lubricated by orgasmic transcendence.”

    “I can let you do that.”

    “Yippee!”

    “With one condition.”

    “Carry on,” I say, kissing her cheek, the tip of her nose...then chastely, her mouth.  

    “Promise me that you’ll keep making me come throughout the night.”

    “While you’re asleep.”

    “While I’m asleep,” she says, her complexion deepening in the moment; I can tell that if she could, Mai would take me. Here. Now. At this bar, in this storefront window. “Will you do that?”

    “You’re asking me to not go to sleep so that I can service you.”

    “No...” she says, turning to face me. “I’m asking you to service me through the night. But you can take cat-naps.” She pulls back to nibble on her crust. “But maybe you don’t fancy me enough to do that...”

    “Mai...”

    “Callum...”

    “How much am I paying you to be here?”

    “Lots,” she grins innocently. “Lots and lots and lots.”

    It’s my turn to nod. “Deal,” I tell her, returning to my own pizza.

    “Yippee...”
    

    She’s dead tired when we get back. 

    Part of this is the time-change, part is the fresh air she’s been out in, part of it is the skating, the walking, the having outdoors-fun. 

    And yeah; part of it is the sex we’ve been engaged in. 

    So she sits in the bathroom, on the toilet, an upright sphinx, while I remove her makeup. 

    She says nothing. 

    I say nothing. 

    It’s just me returning her to her natural state, and Mai...peeing. 

    “Don’t wipe,” I tell her. 

    Her eyes open. 

    “I’m going to spend some time eating you. I like the taste of your urine.”

    She just stares.


    I lead her to the bed, peeling off her robe as she goes, so that when she’s arrived, she’s naked. 

    Mai climbs up onto the king-size playground, adjusts the pillows, lies down...grabs another pillow and shoves it under her rump, and closes her eyes. “Good night, Lover...”

    I take in the sight of her...and feel myself harden. 

    “Don’t forget your promise,” she adds, already sounding dopey. 

  
    I crawl to her. Then begin kissing her legs. Her knees, her thighs. 

    “I’m not going to be able to sleep if you’re tickling me.”

    “You’re right,” I murmur, pushing my beard up to her crotch, scratching her all the way. 

    “Stop it!” she laughs. 

    “A friend’s girlfriend had a name for his beard.”

    She waits. 

    “His ‘womb-broom’.”

    There’s a slight delay, then Mai is buckled-up with laughter, holding her tummy...

    ...until I plant my face between her thighs and proceed to make love to her with my mouth. 

    “Oh... Oh, blimey... No sleep for me for a while... Goddamn, I love the way you give head...”

Mai Bailey: For All Kinds of Reasons, Chapter Sixteen

 

 Photograph property of Breath-Takers. Of course.

 It’s dusk. So the sky is darkening. From deep-azure through the shadings that lead to black. The lights have been on in the square for a couple of hours. The strung ones along the fifteen foot high concrete border that frames the rink, along its base, as well as on the trio of arcs that reach from one side of the structure to the other. 

    To the east, the clock tower of Old City Hall. Its faces are illuminated brightly, while the main structure is adorned in red and green; it looks like a perfectly-wrapped present, except it’s courtesy of light and not paper. 

    All around us, the bright panes of office towers, hotels, and the bulk of City Hall itself. 

    Glistening, sparkling faeryish brilliance combines with the chill, with the piped-in music, with the laughing, the talking, the chattering...and the slicing-and-dicing of steel-on-ice, and we’re in a winter-wonderland.

    None of this is lost on Mai. She’s a kid. A kid at Christmas. Shining eyes, grin as big as anything, and energy coming off her like sparks. 

    Only she’s not a kid. 

    She’s so not a kid in that outfit, and with those looks that even doing the gangly fawn thing, moving ungainfully, she’s attracting stare after stare, ogle after ogle. 

    Not that she notices. 

    Because she absolutely, positively doesn’t. 

    She’s having too much fun. 

    “You’ve never skated.”

    Shaking her head, she’s a mass of frantic giggles. “Yes, I mean! I’ve skated before. But it was years ago. And I fell down a lot.”

    “You haven’t fallen yet.”

    “Because you’re here.”

    I keep skating us backwards, all the way down to the end. Where I stop. “Let’s try doing it side-by-side.”

    “Yippee!” she squeals. “We’re gonna spoon!”

    “Such a letch,” I mutter, pulling her to me so that her hip is against mine.

    “I have a secret,” she whispers, nuzzling up against me, her cold cheek against my beard. “My pussy’s getting all chilled.”

    “Did you forget to put on some panties?”

    “I didn’t ‘forget’ anything...”

    I look her plainly in the face. And find a catch in my throat. I’m so utterly bedazzled by her. 

    So I kiss her.

    She rides me. 

    She sits high above me and she rides me. 

    But it didn’t begin here. 

    It began once we got into our hotel room. 

    It began when she ran to the couch, got herself propped up against it, and waggled her ass at me. 

    It began when I went to her, when I placed my hand on her hip, when she peered back at me, still saying nothing, when I tugged down her leggings...

    ...and when I pushed into her, into her chilled pussy, her slippery, slideful pussy, and started fucking her. 

    But here, now, a load of my scooge providing even more lubrication than her own effluvia has, she rides me. 

    Mai’s face is still flushed. It’s a combination of the frosty outdoor air and the exertion of our couch-scene. It adds a superlative glow to her features. 

    Her nipples are rock-hard. 

    And her skirt’s still on. 

    And she rides me. 

    “Good day?” I ask, enjoying the show. 

    “I’m getting my pussy properly fucked,” she replies. “I already have a load of my lover inside me, and I’m going to milk him for another.”

    “You are, are you?”

    “He took me ice skating today.”

    “That sounds nice.”

    “He skated with me! All around this beautiful outdoor rink!”

    “Did he get funny with you?”

    She pulls a face. 

    “You know; try to cop a feel? Pinch your ass?”

    “No!”

    “Why do you say that so defensively?”

    “Because that’s not who he is! He’s a gentleman.”

    “So he wouldn’t try to cop a feel or pinch your ass?”

    “No!” she says, falling down so that her hands are on either side of my head, and she’s barely apart from me, her face hovering. “Not there. It was too... Too nice.”

    “Oh.”

    “My lover knows what’s appropriate,” she adds. “He knows what I-”

    She stops. 

    And begins shaking her head. 

    And riding me harder. 

    “What...?”

    “You’re doing it, aren’t you?” she asks, and as she does, she makes it so that she can feed me a breast. 

     Naturally, I suckle. 

    “You’re making me fall for you, you bastard...”

Mai Bailey: For All Kinds of Reasons, Chapter Fifteen

 Photograph property of Breath-Takers. Of course. 

 “What do you like?” I ask after a long spell of contentment on her part. 

    “Don’t be a bastard!” she laughs. “I like it all.”

    “So you’re OK with this?” Here, I feather slurps all around the stem of her clit before taking the bud into my mouth...sucking hard as if a bellows...then releasing the morsel, and returning to worrying the surrounding skin. 

    “I need to finger my asshole,” is her answer, and so I watch as her hand appears under her, her middle digit swab up some of her greasy effluvia, then poke past her rubbery ring of a sphincter...and plunge deep. Very deep. 

    “Nice!” I quip, sliding my own fingers into her vaginal canal...and searching out what’s on the other side of a wall of a couple of membranes. “Hello!” I eventually say, pressing against her, rubbing through to her digit. 

    “Fuck, that’s hot!”

    There’s a moment of silence before she erupts into laughter. “Don’t tell me that was Morse code you were tapping out!”

    “I was a boy scout.”

    Mai’s eyes narrow in interest. “What did you say?”    

    “I said ‘I’m in love with your pussy.’ And ‘I want to eat you from the outside-in.’ Just small talk,” I add, lapping at her labial folds. 

    “You’re in love with my pussy...and I want to marry your mouth.”

    “My mouth brings you pleasure?” I ask, corkscrewing my hand, having teamed-up two other digits. 

    Mai shakes her head. 

    “It doesn’t bring you pleasure...?”

    “I don’t know why you’re different,” she says, clearly holding her breath. “But even your fingers inside me feel different.”

    “Like I went to the University of Mai and got my doctorate in pleasing you?”

    “Something like that!”

    “Know what I like? Know what I like to do, even if it’s not on your ‘Must Have’ list?”

    “Show me.”

    And so I apply my mouth to her cunt...and I suck. 

    My tongue’s fluttering, like some sort of mono blender-blade that’s acting schizoid, even as I suck. 

    “Oh.”

    I lift my head off her to silently enquire. 

    “Don’t stop!”

    I kiss her twat. And pause. 

    “I liked that! Keep doing it!”    

    So. Three fingers in her pussy...her own finger up her ass...my mouth performing its ‘burbling’...and for good measure, a hand on a breast, twirling its stud, forearm making contact with her ribcage, elbow with her belly, contact, contact...contact. 

    “Fuck!


    She stares down at me. 

    I look up and see her staring down at me. 

    Anyone in the vicinity would see us staring at each other.

    With the ambient sounds of skating. 

    We’re at Nathan Phillip’s Square. At Toronto City Hall. I’m tying Mai’s skates. She’s gripping the wooden bench, hunched over a little, staring down at me. 

    “Tight enough?” I ask. “Too tight?”

    “I can’t believe you bought me an outfit!”

    “Pshaw!” I say, waving a hand in dismissal. “It’s nothing.”

    “It’s not ‘nothing’!”

    “Maybe you could do a shoot in it,” I suggest. “Or out of it.”

    “I love it. I’m not sharing it with a photographer or wanking subscribers!”

    Standing up, I extend my hands to her. “Then let’s make some use of it.”

    So yeah, here we are in the middle of winter, in the middle of Toronto, me and Mai Bailey, skating. 

    Her outfit?

    Skates, obviously. White. Black leggings. A loden-green skirt. A brown jacket, with  faux-fur on the collar, the cuffs, cut short. And a chapeau. A white toque. With a green bauble. 

    Mai looks both cute...and radiant.

    And she knows it. 

    And she blushes because she knows that I know that she knows it. 

    She shrugs this off by asking the obvious question: “Do all you Canadians know how to skate?” 

    “It’s in our contract,” I tell her, gliding backwards at arms’ length, tugging her down the edge of the rink.

Mai Bailey: For All Kinds of Reasons, Chapter Fourteen

  Photograph property of Breath-Takers. Of course. 

“While I’m here,” she says to me afterwards burying her ass in my crotch, harboured there while we spoon, “I need for you to fuck me a lot.”

    “OK,” I laugh. 

    “No, listen: I need you to do that because I cannot be falling for you, Callum.”

    “Of course.”

    “You do understand, right? I can’t afford to fall for you. Too many complications. Even thinking about it gives me a headache.”

    Silence. 

    “So I need you to fuck me a lot. To make sure I don’t. Fall for you.”

    “OK.”

    “I’m serious.”




   
      I love pussy. 

    I mean, sure; what straight man doesn’t? But I’m not so much talking about fucking pussy as eating it. 

    And though I love gettin’ in there, really tongue-fucking a partner, or digitally-fucking her, what I’m talking about is mauing. 

    Feasting on pussy. 

    Vulva. 

    Labia. 

    Clitoris. 

    Vagina. 

    And bush. 

    It turns out that Mai loves being eaten. 

    And we know already that she loves being anally adored. 

    So is it any surprise at all that we spend an inordinately long time locked in cunnilingual/analingual bliss?
   
    “How did you get my number so fast?!?” she cries, slamming her fists on the mattress. 

    “I care,” I reply, executing more of what’s clearly working. 

  Lovers vary. Lovers’ needs vary, lovers’ capabilities vary. Sometimes things line up, sometimes they don’t. 

    Mai and me? We line up. Nicely. 

    How long did it take me to figure out ‘her number’? What she likes, dislikes, dreads-the-intensity-of-yet-craves-more-then-anything-else?

    About ten minutes. 

    Is that because I’m such a wonderfully instinctive lover? Probably not. I’m just really, really good at observing. 

    Because I’ve watched her masturbate. Both on film and in-person. That’s sorta like having the answers to exam questions beforehand. (No, masturbation ain’t the same as oral sex. and there’s nothing to replace being told what works and what doesn’t. But there’s no doubt that if you watch how a woman masturbates...with her hands...that you can pick up some clues as to her ‘topographical preferences’.)

    And unlike with men, who, while undoubtedly love having a good blow-job extended, still love the crescendo most...and then have to wait a while to have another, if in fact he’d still want another, and not move on to penetrative sex...women aren’t nearly as limited. 

    Especially Mai. 

    Not that she’s counting orgasms, of course. 

    “I love the spaces you leave.”

    I have to laugh; what she’s said reminds me of the notion that it’s often the space between words, or the spaces between lines where the magic happens in fiction-writing.  But I still play dumb. “Oh...?”

    Mai grasps my head, swishing my face around on her pudendum. “It’s not an endless race!” she laughs. “So many guys seem to think that it is.”

    “Unlike a blow-job.”

    “Whatever!” And with this, Mai lets go, throwing her arms over her head, and allows me to return to my mauing. 

    She has-

    Well, first off, her pussy lips are meaty. 

    They’re the perfect ‘puff-pastry’ delights. 

    A delicate collection of wrinkles and folds, a rainbow of colouration...

    Then there’s her vaginal entrance. It’s got its own complexities attached to it, all shades of pink, from rubescent to ochre to florals in-between, not to mention how intricate the flesh-carvings are, its shape, the particulars of place. 

    And her clit. 

    Oh, how we’ve become super-close friends. Her clitoris, my mouth, my fingers.