Written By: Eliza McHarty
“I’ve never had an orgasm,” Ivy suddenly blurted.
My head came up quickly, thinking it was some sort of joke. My gorgeous red-headed friend just stared back at me with wide, green eyes. Ridiculous.
She was the most sensual, uninhibited young woman I knew. Every move she made was filled with sexuality, every glance was flirtatious, every piece of clothing she wore was exotic and sexy. Especially now.
Ivy and I were on vacation on the coast far from our hometown, and she seemed to come alive beneath the touch of the sea breeze; her necklines had plunged lower to expose more of her breasts, her skirts had climbed upward to show off more of her large, long, curvy legs, and she flirted with every man she passed unabashedly. I think the anonymity of it all pleased her.
My mind slipped back to the day before when she had asked me to give her a back rub as we watched a movie in our hotel room. I had always been very good at massage and was frequently commissioned at sleep-overs to give massages to everyone present until my fingers ached, so I thought nothing of it. I grabbed my massage oil, put it in the microwave for ten seconds, and asked her to lay on her stomach.
Straddling her, I pushed her waist-length, straight, ruby-red hair to one side and pulled up her shirt briskly. She shivered at my first touch, and I frowned thoughtfully, wondering at her reaction. I put my usual vigor into the rub, and she moaned, occasionally arching her back sinuously, and her flawless skin shined blue beneath the flickering, ethereal light of the TV. I realized she had long ago stopped watching the movie, and her breath had become ragged, her moans more helpless. No, Ivy was too sensual to have never possessed her own orgasm.
I blushed now, looking into her coy eyes, hoping that she couldn’t see what I was thinking about, hoping that she didn’t remember or notice that her moans had elicited a throbbing between my legs, and that I had attempted to relieve it by rocking my hips slightly against her buttocks, hiding it beneath the guise of throwing my whole body into the massage.
I bit my lip, my cheeks burning at the memory. Hastily looking back down at the beach bag I was packing with lotion, sandwiches, beach towels, and a small radio I said, “That’s ludicrous. Why not?”
She sat down beside me on the bed, and still, I busied myself too much to look at her. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve had all those selfish bastards for boyfriends, you know. And I’m not sure how to go about…”
I looked up at her. “Masturbation?”
“Yeah.”
The image of her lush form nude, her legs spread wide, masturbating herself rose unbidden to my mind, and I pushed it away quickly.
I’d know many women who’d never had orgasms, who didn’t know how to masturbate, and I’d become something of a sexual guru amongst my acquaintances. I could explain the process to her, as I had too many women before her. But something stopped me.
“Ready to go?” I chirped, my voice a bit too high.
She flounced off the bed and walked toward the door, her full hips swinging rhythmically from one side to the ot