Chapter 1: Teammate's Encouragement
The fluorescent bulb above Joanna's desk buzzed like an injured fly, a sound she'd grown so accustomed to that she only noticed it when she was trying not to think about anything else. Like now. She sat cross-legged on her twin bed, fingers absently picking at a loose thread on her comforter, the screen of her laptop glowing with the mandatory orientation module she'd been avoiding for three days.
The poster on her wall seemed to mock her. Orgasm Therapy: Your Body, Your Health, Your Right. The government logo sat tucked in the corner like a stamp of approval on something her grandmother would have called nonsense. Joanna pulled her knees up to her chest and stared at the cracked mirror on her desk, at her reflection warped by the fracture running diagonally through the glass.
"I'm not going to lie," she said, not looking at Katie. "This feels like a really elaborate prank that got way out of hand."
Katie laughed from her spot on the floor, where she'd sprawled out on a pile of throw pillows in nothing but a sports bra and faded shorts. Her blonde hair fanned around her head like a halo, which felt deeply unfair given the topic at hand. One of her tattoos—a detailed koi fish winding up her ribcage—caught the dim light as she stretched.
"Babe, it's been mandatory for ten years now. You really think the government would commit to a prank that long?"
Joanna scowled at the poster. "I think they'd commit to anything that keeps the voters distracted."
Katie rolled onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. Her eyes had that glint they always got before she said something that would make Joanna's ears burn. "You want to know what it's actually like?"
"Is it everything the pamphlets promise?" Joanna's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Life-changing. Liberating. A constitutional right to... satisfaction?"
"It's better than the pamphlets."
The way Katie said it, low and deliberate, sent a flush creeping up Joanna's neck. She looked away, focusing on the biomechanics textbook sitting open on her desk, the diagrams of muscle groups blurring into abstract shapes.
"What I mean is," Katie continued, sitting up and crossing her legs, "it's not clinical. The instructors, they're not like doctors or whatever you're picturing. They're actual people, trained people, who know exactly what they're doing." She paused, and Joanna could feel her grin without having to look at it. "And I mean exactly."
"Katie."
"I'm serious. My session on Tuesday? I was in there for the full hour and I walked out feeling like I'd been reset. Like everything tense and tangled up inside me had just... floated away." Katie hugged her knees, her expression softening. "The guy I have, Marcus, he's got these hands—"
"I don't need the details."
"You kind of do. You're going tomorrow."
Joanna finally looked at her roommate, at the earnestness etched into Katie's sun-kissed face. There was no judgment there, only patience. Katie had been like this since freshman year—endlessly open, endlessly unbothered, treating her own body like a playground rather than a puzzle she couldn't solve.
"What if I can't..." Joanna trailed off, gesturing vaguely at her own lap.
"Can't what? Come?"
"Jesus, Katie, the walls are thin."
Katie burst out laughing, the sound bright and unapologetic. "Babe, everyone in this dorm has heard everyone else. It's a rite of passage. You could set off fireworks in here and the RA would just ask you to keep the noise down after midnight."
Joanna dropped her face into her hands, but she was smiling despite herself. That was the annoying thing about Katie—she could dismantle any wall Joanna built with nothing but sheer, unshakeable confidence.
"It's different for you," Joanna mumbled into her palms. "You've always been... comfortable with all of that."
"I was a virgin when I started. Like, a full-on, never-been-kissed, still-believed-in-fate virgin."
Joanna's hands fell away from her face. "Wait, seriously?"
"One hundred percent. I showed up to my first session shaking like a chihuahua in a thunderstorm, and my instructor—her name was Elena—she just talked to me for the first twenty minutes. Didn't touch me at all. Just asked me what I was scared of, what made me feel good, what I thought about late at night when I couldn't sleep and my hand kept wandering somewhere I was too embarrassed to admit." Katie shrugged. "And by the end of that first session, I'd cried, laughed, and come harder than I'd ever managed on my own. And I'd been trying. A lot."
Joanna chewed on her lower lip. The heat in her face hadn't subsided, but it had transformed into something else—curiosity, maybe. Or a kind of envy at how easily Katie could speak about these things, as if her body wasn't a constant source of quiet confusion.
"Elena was the one who told me," Katie went on, "that orgasms are like emotional weather. You can't force the rain to come, but you can stand outside and let it fall when it's ready."
"That's... surprisingly poetic for a government program."
"Right? They hire good people, Jo. People who actually care. It's not some cold, clinical lab. It's warm, and the sheets are stupidly soft, and there's this little lamp that gives off the perfect amount of light. Honestly, it's more like a spa day than anything else. A spa day that ends with your brain going quiet for the first time in weeks."
Joanna looked at the poster again. The model on it had her head tilted back, eyes closed, expression caught somewhere between serene and ecstatic. For the first time, Joanna allowed herself to imagine what it might feel like to let go like that—to stop analyzing, stop anticipating, stop holding every piece of herself in a tight, guarded fist.
"You chose female," Katie said, not a question.
"Obviously."
"Anyone you're hoping for?"
Joanna's face flushed again, and she hated how transparent it made her. "I don't know. I just—when I filled out the form, it felt safer. Less pressure, I guess."
Katie nodded slowly, a knowing smile spreading across her lips. "She'll be good for you. Usually the female ones are more patient. More willing to go at the pace you need."
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"I'm enjoying watching you squirm. It's one of my favorite hobbies." Katie pushed herself up off the floor and padded over to Joanna's bed, sitting on the edge and placing a hand on her bare ankle. Her touch was warm, grounding. "Listen. I know it feels weird, and I know you think it's some kind of surveillance thing or whatever, but it's not. It's the one hour a week where you don't have to think about anything except yourself. Your own body. What feels good and what doesn't. No scores to keep, no putts to miss, no coaches yelling at you to just relax like that's a normal thing to say to someone holding a club."
Joanna sighed, pressing her fingers against her temples. "Coach literally said that at practice today."
"See? That's exactly why you need this. Tomorrow, you go in, you lie down, and you let someone else take the wheel for an hour." Katie squeezed her ankle before letting go. "You deserve that much, Jo. You've been wound up tight since you got here."
A heavy silence settled between them, filled only by the hum of the fluorescent light and the distant thump of bass from someone's speakers down the hall. Joanna pulled her comforter up around her shoulders like a shield, though she knew it wouldn't protect her from what Katie was about to ask. Katie had that look on her face—the one that said she was about to wade into deeper waters, the one that always preceded a conversation Joanna couldn't talk her way out of.
"So," Katie said, drawing the word out like she was savoring it, "I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly."
Joanna groaned. "Do I have to?"
"Yes. It's roommate code. You can't refuse."
"Fine. But if it's weird, I'm going back to my biomechanics homework."
Katie laughed, but her eyes stayed serious. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and studied Joanna like she was reading a greens map, searching for the subtle breaks and undulations that would determine the perfect putt. "Have you ever been touched by a woman before?"
The question landed like a stone dropped into still water. Joanna's stomach did something complicated—a twist and a flutter that she couldn't quite name. She opened her mouth, closed it, and looked away. The crack in her mirror caught her eye, splitting her reflection into two versions of herself: one nervous, one something else entirely.
"I mean," she started, then stopped. Cleared her throat. "Not. Not really. No."
"Not really or no?"
"No. Never."
Katie nodded slowly, absorbing the information without judgment. The way she did with everything, like she had all the time in the world and wasn't going anywhere. "Okay. And has anyone ever gotten you off?"
"For fuck's sake, Katie."
"I'm serious. This matters. Not for me, for you. For tomorrow."
Joanna pressed her palm against her forehead, feeling the heat radiating off her skin like a sunburn on an overcast day. "I mean, I've hooked up with guys. You know that. There was—there was that guy from the biology lab last year. And the one from the beach house, the surfer. And—"
"And none of them got you off."
It wasn't a question. Joanna hated how accurate it was, how the words pierced through the carefully constructed narrative she'd been telling herself since freshman year, that sex was fine, that it was supposed to feel like this, that the tight knot of disappointment in her chest was just part of the experience.
"One of them tried," she said quietly. "The surfer. He was—he was actually really patient. But I couldn't get there. My head was too loud, you know? I kept thinking about the laundry I needed to do, the exam I had coming up, whether I'd left my laptop charger plugged in. And he was doing all the right things, I guess, but I just couldn't stop thinking."
"The curse of the overthinking woman." Katie shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Anyone who's never lived inside our heads thinks it's so simple. A few touches here, a few kisses there, and boom. But it's not. It's a goddamn full-time job keeping our own minds from sabotaging us."
Joanna let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The tightness in her chest loosened, just slightly. "So you're saying I'm not broken?"
"Jo. Babe. Look at me."
Joanna lifted her eyes to meet Katie's, and what she found there wasn't pity or condescension. It was understanding. Real, lived-in understanding from someone who had clearly been exactly where Joanna was sitting right now.
"You're not broken. You're just not used to being the priority. That's all this is. For once, you're going to walk into a room where the only thing that matters is you and what feels good for you. Not the team, not your GPA, not what your parents expect from you on their Sunday phone calls. Just you."
Joanna's throat tightened. She swallowed against it. "And what if I go in there and I still can't stop thinking? What if I can't get out of my own head even when someone's literally trying to—"
"Then you tell her that. And she'll slow down. Or she'll change what she's doing. Or she'll just hold you until you're ready to stop thinking." Katie reached out and took Joanna's hand, her grip warm and steady. "That's the whole point of the program, Jo. It's not about the orgasm. It's about learning how to let go."
Joanna looked down at their intertwined fingers. Katie's hand was softer than she expected, her grip gentle but firm. "Since when did you become such a philosopher?"
"Since I started getting laid regularly on the government's dime." Katie grinned, and the tension broke. Joanna laughed despite herself, the sound startling in the quiet room.
"One more question," Katie said, and there was a mischievous edge to her voice that made Joanna's eyes narrow.
"I'm not sure I can handle another one."
"You can. This one's practical. Important." Katie paused, letting the moment stretch. "Are you fully shaved down there?"
Joanna's face erupted in heat. She could feel it spreading down her neck, across her chest, a tide of embarrassment that made her want to crawl under her comforter and never emerge. "Why—why would you even ask that?"
"Because it's mandatory, babe. For the program. They have a strict hygiene protocol, and if you show up not trimmed, she'll probably still work with you, but the experience is way smoother if you're prepared."
"Smoother," Joanna repeated flatly.
"Smoother." Katie winked. "Trust me. I've been doing this for two years now. Did you read the packet they emailed you?"
"I skimmed it."
"Skimmed it," Katie echoed, shaking her head with theatrical disappointment. "You're going to show up to the most important hour of your week and you only skimmed the packet."
"I thought it was just bureaucratic bullshit!"
"Joanna. Babe. It's a full-body experience. You need to prepare like you would for a tournament." Katie squeezed her hand again, then let go, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. Her koi fish tattoo rippled with the movement. "There's a shower down the hall. The water pressure's decent after midnight. I say you go wash up, clean everything nice and smooth, and get some sleep so you're not dead on your feet tomorrow morning."
Joanna blinked. "Tomorrow morning?"
"Your appointment's at nine, remember?"
"I was trying to forget."
"Well, don't. This is a good thing." Katie moved toward her side of the room, flopping onto her own bed with the boneless grace of someone who never carried tension in her shoulders. She propped herself up on one elbow, her blonde hair cascading over the pillow. "You're going to go in there, meet this woman, and she's going to show you a side of your own body you didn't even know existed. You might even learn a thing or two to apply on your own time."
"God, you make it sound like a class."
"It kind of is." Katie's grin was unrepentant. "The best class you'll ever take. No midterms, no attendance policy, and you get to come."
Joanna flopped backward onto her bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. The crack in the mirror had nothing on the cracks she could feel in her own carefully constructed walls. Katie's words had burrowed into her like a persistent weed, taking root in the fertile soil of her curiosity.
She'd never seriously considered being with a woman. There had been moments, flickering and quickly suppressed, where her eyes lingered a little too long on a pretty professor's lips or the curve of a stranger's collarbone. But she'd always shoved those feelings aside, telling herself it was just aesthetic appreciation, nothing more.
But the program's first rule was honesty. And if she was being truly honest with herself, the thought of lying down on that warm, soft sheet and being touched by a woman who knew exactly what she was doing sent a thrill through her that she couldn't quite dismiss.
"Katie?" she said, her voice quieter than she intended.
"Yeah?"
"What if I'm nervous? Like, actually, genuinely, might-puke-in-my-own-mouth nervous?"
Katie shifted to a 90-degree angle against the wall, her legs fully extended. "You're overthinking it, Jo. I've been doing this for a year now. It's not a big deal."
"Easy for you to say. You actually like it."
"I do." Katie grinned, propping herself up on her elbows. "Look, I know it sounds weird at first. But honestly? It's kind of great. My instructor—this older woman, super chill—she literally asks me what I want every session. Like, *anything*. Hands, toys, whatever. If it gets me off, she's into it. It's not just, you know, a finger and done."
Joanna shifted on the bed, pulling her knees up. "That's... a lot."
"It's a luxury, Jo. Think about it." Katie sat up fully, ticking points off on her fingers. "You're hot. You're a D1 athlete. You're going to college for free in San Diego, and you're about to have a hot woman do anything you want to you in order to get you off."
She dreams of fingers.
Not her own, not the ghost of some long-forgotten high school boyfriend. These fingers belong to no one she can name, and yet they move with an authority that feels almost paternal, almost clinical, almost gentle. They trace the curve of her hip in the dark, mapping territory she's never let anyone chart before. They slide up her stomach, slow and deliberate, pausing at the swell of her ribs. She can feel the heat of them through the thin cotton of her shirt, can feel the way they seem to know exactly where to press, exactly where to linger.
In the dream, she is lying on a bed that isn't hers. The sheets are impossibly soft, the color of cream, and the light is warm and golden, like late afternoon sun filtered through gauze. She can't see the woman's face—it's obscured, like a photograph developed in the wrong chemicals—but she can see her hands. They're elegant, with long fingers and a silver ring on the middle finger that catches the light. The hands move without hesitation, without asking permission, and somehow that's what undoes her.
The fingers trail lower, tracing the waistband of her underwear, dipping just beneath the fabric. Joanna gasps in the dream, her body arching off the bed, and the fingers pause, hovering, teasing. A low voice says something she can't quite hear, words muffled like she's underwater, and then the fingers slip fully beneath the elastic and—
Joanna wakes with a jolt, her heart hammering against her ribs. The fluorescent light above her is still buzzing, still humming its steady, indifferent tune. The room is dark, the only illumination coming from Katie's phone screen, which glows from across the room as she scrolls through something that makes her snicker.
"Good dream?" Katie asks without looking up.
Joanna's face flushes so hot she can feel it radiating off her skin like a space heater. "What makes you say that?"
"You were making little sounds." Katie finally glances over, her grin sharp and knowing. "Cute ones. Like a puppy getting its belly rubbed."
"I was not."
"You definitely were. Also, your hand was doing that thing." Katie gestures vaguely at her own crotch, wiggling her fingers.
"I'm going to kill you."
"No, you're not. You're going to shower, shave, and thank me in the morning when you're walking out of the Wellness Center feeling like a new woman." Katie sets her phone aside, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head with a groan. "Speaking of which, I know you skipped your grooming routine tonight, so get your ass in the shower before I have to shove you in there myself."
Joanna looks down at her legs, at the faint stubble already making its presence known. She'd meant to take care of it earlier, but she'd gotten distracted by the orientation module, then by the conversation, then by the strange, restless energy that had settled into her bones like sand.
"Fine," she mutters, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "But if I wake up tomorrow and this entire program is some elaborate prank, I'm blaming you."
"Blaming me for what? For making sure your first session goes smoothly?" Katie's voice is warm, teasing. "I'm doing you a favor, Jo. You'll thank me when you're walking out of there on legs that don't quite work."
Joanna rolls her eyes, but she's smiling as she grabs her towel from the hook on the back of her door. The hallway is quiet, the hum of the fluorescent lights even more pronounced outside her room. She pads down to the shared bathroom, the tile cold against her bare feet, and locks herself in the last stall.
The shower takes forever to heat up. She stands under the spray, letting the water run over her shoulders, and thinks about the dream. The fingers. The way they'd moved with such confidence, such certainty. She's never been touched like that before—not by anyone, not even herself. Her own hands are hesitant, always rushing, always trying to get to the end without savoring the journey.
She imagines what it would feel like to let someone else take the lead. To lie back and not have to think, not have to perform, not have to pretend she knows what she's doing.
The thought makes her shiver, and it has nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
She shaves carefully, methodically, gliding the razor over her legs in long, steady strokes. She smooths the cream over her bikini line and bites her lip as she works, imagining a stranger's hands in her place. The idea is equal parts terrifying and thrilling, and she can't decide which feeling is winning.
By the time she steps out of the shower, her skin is pink and goosebumped, her legs smooth as glass. The mirror is fogged, and she wipes a clear circle in the middle, staring at her reflection. Her face is flushed, her eyes bright. She looks like a version of herself she doesn't quite recognize.
Back in the room, Katie is already in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. She glances at Joanna as she pads in, towel wrapped around her body, a grin tugging at her lips.
"There's my main character," Katie says, her voice thick with sleep. "Get some rest, Jo. Tomorrow's a big day."
Joanna crawls into her own bed, pulling the comforter up to her chin. She stares at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the fluorescent light and Katie's soft breathing. Her body still tingles from the shower, and her mind keeps drifting back to the dream, to the hands that moved with such intention.
She falls asleep hoping she'll forget, and wakes up hoping she'll remember.
The morning comes too fast. Her alarm screeches at seven forty-five, and Joanna groans, rolling over to smack the snooze button. Katie's already up, standing in front of the mirror with a hair tie in her mouth, pulling her blonde hair into a messy ponytail.
"Morning, sunshine," Katie sings, her voice far too chipper for this hour. "How'd you sleep?"
Joanna grumbles something unintelligible, burying her face in her pillow.
"That good, huh?" Katie laughs, and Joanna feels the mattress dip as Katie sits on the edge of the bed. "Come on, up and at 'em. You've got an hour 'til your big moment."
"I'm starting to regret ever telling you about this."
"No, you're not. You're just nervous." Katie's voice softens, and Joanna feels a hand brush her hair back from her face. "But you're going to be fine, Jo. I promise. These people are professionals. They know exactly how to make you feel good."
Joanna peeks up from her pillow. "That's what I'm afraid of."
"Being made to feel good?"
"Not knowing—" She stops, swallows. "Not knowing what it's like. Not knowing if I'll even like it."
Katie studies her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she smiles, gentle and warm. "You'll like it. I've never met anyone who didn't."
Joanna takes a breath. The knot in her chest loosens, just slightly.
"Okay," she says. "Okay."
Getting ready is a blur. She pulls on a pair of running shorts and a loose t-shirt, the same thing she'd wear to practice. Katie tells her to change into something cuter, but Joanna ignores her, stubbornly staying comfortable. She brushes her teeth, braids her hair, and stares at her reflection for longer than necessary.
"Stop stressing," Katie calls from the doorway, already fully dressed in a sundress that probably cost more than Joanna's entire wardrobe. "You look great. You smell great. You're about to go get your back blown out by a professional."
"You're a terrible roommate and a worse friend."
"I'm the best friend you've ever had and we both know it." Katie grabs Joanna's hand, pulling her toward the door. "Now go catch your Uber. I'll see you at lunch where you can tell me everything." She smacks Joanna's butt on the way out with a giggle.