Page 106 of Look, Don't Touch

“No more refills for you.” She fishes her phone out from between the cushions, opens the screen, and tosses it to me.

I barely catch it with my drink in hand. My chest makes a good backstop. I shift the phone and read. My cheeks blush, and then I hand it back. “Read it to me.”

“Hailey!” she growls.

“It’s practice, Astoroid Belt.” I Vanna White my free hand around her apartment. “If not in the safety of your own home and in the comforting care of your best friend, then you’re wasting your money on this exploratory guide.”

“You’re annoying. Like him.”

“Like who?”

“Mr. Stalker Eyes.”

I wink. “I know. I just wanted you to use his cute pet name again. Now, read!”

She makes a bubble with her mouth and pops it. Her hands shake as she lifts her phone. It’s amazing the things she faces head-on at work, and she’s about to wet her pants reading a mildly dirty text.

“When I…devour your parts, would you rather be bent over my desk, spread out on the table like my main course, or…sitting on my face like the queen you are?”

“That text didn’t say your parts.” I narrow my gaze at her.

“For Christ's sake, I’m a good girl, Hailey.”

“And good girls don’t say pussy?”

“No, they don’t.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone I went to church with for my entire life.” She stands and begins to pace. “I never once heard that word come out of any of their mouths.”

“You know they said it, though, right?” I set my glass on the table.

“No.” Astor shoves a hand into the pocket of her wide-leg trousers. “No, I don’t know that."

“They did. They touched pussy. They licked pussy. They said pussy. They fucked pussy. Even some of the women. Hell, even some of the married men. The least you can do is say it.”

Her face is awash with horror.

“Say it,” I demand.

She looks at me like she could snap my neck. “Pussy!”

“Looks like it’s my turn to be your therapist.”

My dearest friend collapses onto the couch next to me as though she’s run a mile. “I know.” Her groan is precious.

“Sexual repression brought on by religious shame.” I sigh. “I’ve seen it before, but most who experience it will never, ever seek help. And that’s tragic. Your body is a gift. As is your sexuality.”

“Fine. I’ll seek help.” Her long lashes bat in my direction. “Do you know any good therapists?”

“Bitch.” I chuckle. “Do you know which exploratory guide you have to choose?”

“Bitch!” Astor actually shoves my ass with her socked foot.

“Before that, though, you have to answer his text. And make it good.”

“Not another word about you-know-who and you-know-what.” Astor points the fork at me like she intends to use it.

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