Chapter 8: The First Squirting
The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, and Joanna stood in the sudden quiet, her reflection staring back from the mirror above the sink. Her hair was a disaster, tangled and wild from Rachel's hands. Her lips were swollen pink. And her eyes—those hazel eyes she'd looked at a thousand times—seemed to belong to someone else.
She pressed her palms flat against the cool marble of the counter and took a long, slow breath.
Her legs were still trembling. Her skin still hummed with the ghost of Rachel's lips. Between her thighs, she could feel the slick evidence of what had just happened, and when she shifted her weight, a fresh wave of warmth spread through her.
She used the toilet, wiped herself clean with a soft cloth Rachel had left folded by the sink, and stood for a moment under the bathroom's warm lights, trying to piece herself back together.
It didn't work.
Something had shifted. Something fundamental. The Joanna who'd walked into this suite was not the Joanna standing here now. The old version had been so certain of her edges, so confident in the boundaries she'd drawn around herself. The new version felt those edges blurring, felt herself expanding into spaces she hadn't known existed.
She splashed cold water on her face, dried off with a towel, and walked back into the living room with her chin held high.
Rachel had been busy.
The blanket nest had been rearranged. Where there had been a chaotic pile of cushions, there was now something more deliberate—a wide, flat expanse of dark waterproof fabric spread across the quilts, its surface glinting slightly under the golden bioluminescence. It looked medical. Clinical. And yet the way Rachel had layered pillows around its edges gave it a cocoon-like quality.
Rachel herself was kneeling at the edge of the mat, adjusting the ice bucket and a fresh bottle of water. She heard Joanna's footsteps and looked up, her expression warm.
"Feel better?"
"Cleaner." Joanna wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly self-conscious of her nakedness. "What's all this?"
"Forethought." Rachel patted the waterproof pad. "Come sit."
Joanna crossed the nest and lowered herself onto the mat. The fabric was cool against her bare skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the blankets beneath.
Rachel settled beside her, cross-legged, her knee brushing Joanna's thigh. "I told you there's more. The G-spot. And I promised I'd be honest with you about what that means."
"You said some women ejaculate."
"Most women can. With the right stimulation." Rachel's voice was calm and clinical. "It's not urine. It's a clear fluid from the Skene's glands. Some people call it female ejaculate. Some call it squirting. Whatever word you use, it's completely natural."
Joanna's jaw tightened. "I've never—" She stopped, corrected herself. "I didn't know that was possible. For me."
"Most women don't. Not until someone shows them." Rachel's hand found Joanna's knee, a warm, grounding pressure. "The first time can be overwhelming. Some women cry. Some laugh. Some feel nothing, or feel everything. There's no right way to react."
"I feel like I've been doing this wrong my whole life."
Rachel smiled, and there was no judgment in it. "You haven't been doing anything wrong. You just haven't had a map." She shifted, her hand sliding from Joanna's knee to the mat. "Lie back."
Joanna obeyed, her body sinking into the layered quilts. The waterproof pad crinkled softly beneath her, a reminder of what was coming. She stared up at the bioluminescent vines, watching golden light pulse through their veins.
Rachel moved between her legs, her touch deliberate and unhurried. She didn't dive in like before. Instead, she started at Joanna's ankles, her fingers tracing slow circles over the delicate bones, working their way up her shins, her knees, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
"This is about trust," Rachel said, her voice a low murmur. "Your body needs to know it's safe before it can let go."
"I thought we already established trust."
"Physical trust. Not just mental." Rachel's fingers reached the crease of Joanna's hip, skating over the smooth skin there. "The kind of trust that lets you release something you've been holding onto your whole life."
Joanna's breath caught. "That sounds dramatic."
"It is dramatic." Rachel's eyes met hers, dark and serious. "You've been taught to hold everything in, Joanna. To control your body. To make it perform. Golf taught you that. Society taught you that. Your own mind taught you that." Her fingers dipped lower, brushing through the neatly trimmed hair at the apex of Joanna's thighs. "Tonight, you're going to do the opposite."
"What if I can't?"
"You can." Rachel's fingers found her opening, already slick with arousal, and pressed gently, a single fingertip circling her entrance without penetrating. "Your body knows how. I'm just going to remind it."
She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Joanna's inner thigh, then another, higher. Her breath was warm against Joanna's skin, a teasing promise. Her fingers kept circling, never pushing inside, just tracing the edge until Joanna wanted to scream.
"Rachel—"
"Patience."
"I've been patient." Joanna's hips shifted, seeking more contact. "I've been extremely patient."
Rachel laughed softly. "You've been patient for maybe five minutes." She pressed her lips to Joanna's mound, a chaste kiss that sent a jolt through Joanna's entire body. "The first session, I was teaching you technique. Tonight, I'm teaching you surrender."
She pulled back then, reaching for something beside the mat. Joanna lifted her head to see what she was doing.
A bottle of clear gel. Rachel squeezed some onto her fingers, warming it between her thumb and forefinger.
Just in case the body needs some help relaxing, she explained. No shame in lube. The most natural thing in the world.
She returned her hand to Joanna's center. This time, when her fingers circled, they were slick, gliding effortlessly over the sensitive skin. Joanna's breath hitched, her hips tilting upward involuntarily.
"Better?" Rachel asked.
"Yeah."
"Good. Now, I'm going to go inside you." Rachel's voice was steady, instructional. "Two fingers. You'll feel pressure. Maybe some fullness. That's normal."
Joanna nodded, but her throat was tight.
"Tell me if anything hurts."
"I will."
Rachel's fingers pressed against her entrance again, firmer this time, and Joanna felt the slow, inexorable stretch as two fingers slid inside her. She let out a long exhale, forcing her muscles to relax around the intrusion.
The fullness was immediate. It wasn't the same as the orgasm she'd had earlier; that had been all surface, all external. This was deeper. More substantial. She could feel Rachel's knuckles pressed against her opening, could feel the precise weight of her touch against walls that had never been stretched this way.
"Okay?" Rachel asked.
"Yeah. Just... different."
"It should feel different." Rachel's thumb found Joanna's clit, pressing down with a soft, steady pressure. "Maybe even uncomfortable at first. That's because you're not used to it. Your body wants to push me out. I need you to relax and let me stay."
Joanna closed her eyes. She focused on her breathing, on the slow expansion of her ribs, the gentle contraction. She imagined her muscles loosening, softening, opening like a flower under the sun.
Rachel's fingers began to move. A slow, gentle thrust, in and out, shallow at first. Her thumb kept circling Joanna's clit in counterpoint, a steady rhythm that sent sparks shooting up Joanna's spine.
"There it is," Rachel murmured. "You feel that?"
"Feel what?"
"Pressure. Deep inside. Like you need to pee."
Joanna's eyes snapped open. "Yes. Exactly that."
"That's your G-spot." Rachel's fingers pressed upward, toward the front wall of Joanna's vagina, and the sensation intensified—a strange, unfamiliar fullness that made Joanna gasp.
"It's... intense."
"Good intense or bad intense?"
"I don't know yet."
Rachel kept moving, slow and deliberate. Her fingers curved upward on each stroke, pressing against that spongy patch of tissue. Her thumb maintained its rhythm on Joanna's clit. The dual stimulation was almost too much—not physically, but sensorially. Joanna's brain couldn't process it all.
"Relax your jaw," Rachel said. "You're clenching."
Joanna hadn't realized she was. She unclenched her teeth, took a deep breath.
"Better. Now, this is the part where most women get scared." Rachel's voice was gentle, almost coaxing. "The pressure builds, and it feels like you're going to lose control of your bladder. It's a reflex to pull away. To tense up. To stop."
Joanna bit her lip. "I feel it."
"Good. Don't fight it." Rachel's fingers pressed deeper, curved further, found a rhythm that made Joanna's vision swim. "Push into the feeling. When it builds, lean into it."
"I'll try."
"No." Rachel's voice sharpened. "Not try. Do."
Joanna's hands found the mat beneath her, gripping the waterproof material. She felt the pressure building, felt that strange, insistent need to release something. It was terrifying. It was electric.
"I don't know—" she started.
"You do." Rachel's thumb was relentless now, matching the thrust of her fingers. "You're right on the edge. I can feel it. Your walls are fluttering."
"What if I—"
"You won't. Whatever comes out, it's supposed to come out." Rachel's eyes were locked on hers, fierce and unblinking. "Trust me. Trust your body. Let it go."
Joanna closed her eyes. She stopped thinking. She stopped analyzing. She stopped worrying about the waterproof pad, about Rachel's hand, about the clear fluid she was terrified of releasing.
She just felt.
And then.
The pressure crested. Her body clenched. She felt something give way, some internal dam she'd never known was there. Her hips arched off the mat, and she pushed, and—
The release was on her.
It wasn't like the orgasm earlier. That had been concentrated, focused, tight. This was expansive. Her whole pelvis convulsed, her muscles contracting in waves that seemed to go on and on. And she felt the fluid leaving her, warm and clear, soaking Rachel's hand and the pad beneath her, a gush that seemed to come from somewhere deep and untapped.
Her eyes flew open. She saw Rachel's face, calm and pleased, her fingers still working inside Joanna, extending the pleasure, drawing it out.
"Oh my god," Joanna breathed. "Oh my god."
"Keep going," Rachel murmured. "You're not done."
The orgasm rolled through her again, a second wave that crashed over the first. Her vision blurred, white spots dancing at the edges. She clutched at Rachel's shoulders, her nails digging in, and cried out—a sound she didn't recognize, a raw, primal noise that came from somewhere ancient.
Rachel held her through it. Steady. Present. Her fingers stayed inside Joanna, gentle now, coaxing the last aftershocks from her trembling body.
"Good girl," Rachel whispered. "That was perfect."
Joanna's breath came in heaving gasps. Her entire body was shaking, fine tremors that ran from her scalp to her toes. She could feel the wetness beneath her, her own fluid cooled against the waterproof pad.
"That was..." She couldn't finish the sentence.
"I know." Rachel slowly withdrew her fingers, and Joanna felt the emptiness like a loss. "You did so well."
Joanna let her head fall back. The bioluminescent vines overhead swayed in her peripheral vision, golden and surreal.
"I came," she said, dazed. "I mean, I really came. Like... everywhere."
"Three times, by my count." Rachel's voice was tinged with pride. "The first two were G-spot orgasms. That last one was a full-body release. That's the one that produces ejaculate."
"I didn't know I could do that."
"Most women don't. Not until someone shows them." Rachel reached for a towel, wiping her hand clean before tossing it aside. "You just unlocked something, Joanna. Something that's been dormant your whole life."
Joanna tried to sit up. Her muscles protested, weak and watery. Rachel helped her, an arm around her shoulders, easing her onto a pile of pillows.
"How do you feel?" Rachel asked.
"Like I ran a marathon." Joanna let out a breathless laugh. "Everything from my ribs down is tingling."
"Good tingling?"
"The best kind."
Rachel smiled. She reached out again, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from Joanna's forehead.
"You're going to be sore tomorrow."
At that news, Joanna actually laughed. The sound was coarse, unguarded.
Rachel's laugh joined hers, softer but no less real. She reached for the water bottle she'd set aside earlier, uncapped it, and pressed it into Joanna's hands. "Drink. You lost a lot of fluid."
Joanna took a long pull, the cool water sliding down her throat. She hadn't realized how parched she was until the first swallow hit her stomach. "That's so weird to think about."
"What is?"
"That I... that my body did that." She gestured vaguely at the waterproof pad beneath her, now stained with a Rorschach pattern of her own release. "I've been living in this body for twenty-one years and I didn't know it could do that."
Rachel capped the bottle and set it aside. She settled onto the pillows beside Joanna, her shoulder pressing warm against Joanna's. "There's a lot your body can do that you haven't discovered yet."
"That sounds like a threat."
"An invitation." Rachel's smile was small and private. "But not tonight. Tonight, you rest."
Joanna let her head fall against Rachel's shoulder. The contact was simple, uncomplicated—two bodies sharing warmth in the aftermath. She could feel Rachel's heartbeat through her ribs, steady and slow.
"I should probably go," Joanna said, though she made no move to leave.
"In a minute." Rachel's hand found Joanna's hair again, fingers combing through the tangles with patient care. "There's something I want to talk to you about first."
Joanna tensed. "That sounds ominous."
"It's not." Rachel's voice was gentle. She shifted, turning so she could see Joanna's face properly. Her hand moved from Joanna's hair to her cheek, cupping it with a tenderness that made Joanna's chest ache. "Listen."
She leaned in, pressing her lips to Joanna's. The kiss was soft, unhurried. No urgency. No demand. Just a gentle affirmation, a punctuation mark at the end of something profound.
When she pulled back, her thumb traced Joanna's cheekbone. "I know this was a lot. Tonight. The intensity. The release. It's a big deal."
Joanna swallowed. "Yeah."
"But I'm going to give you some homework."
"Homework?"
Rachel's smile widened, a hint of mischief creeping into her expression. "This isn't just about our sessions. It's about maintenance. About training your body to respond the way it's supposed to."
"Okay."
Rachel shifted again, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look down at Joanna. Her expression was clinical now, but not cold—professional and warm at the same time, the way she'd been the entire night.
"You're exceptionally tight," Rachel said. "That's not a criticism. It's an observation. Some women are built that way. But it means penetration is more difficult for you than it should be. That's why the G-spot stimulation was so intense. Your body isn't used to being filled."
Joanna felt her face flush. "I've had sex before."
"I'm sure you have. But having sex isn't the same as training your body to accommodate." Rachel's fingers drifted down to Joanna's stomach, tracing idle patterns on the skin. "Your muscles need to learn to relax. To stretch. To accept something inside without fighting it."
"And how do I do that?"
"Practice." Rachel's eyes met hers, steady and serious. "Twenty to thirty minutes a day. That's all I'm asking."
Joanna's brow furrowed. "Practice how?"
"However you want." Rachel's fingers stilled on Joanna's stomach. "Your fingers. A toy. A classmate." She punctuated the last option with a slow, deliberate wink. "The method doesn't matter. What matters is consistency."
Joanna's heart stuttered. "A classmate?"
"You'd be surprised how many women in the program find study partners." Rachel's voice was light, almost teasing. "It's not a requirement. But it can be helpful. Having someone else there—someone to hold you accountable, to help you relax."
Joanna thought about that. Thought about Katie, who had been gently pushing her toward openness for weeks now. Thought about the other women on the golf team, some of whom had mentioned their own therapy sessions in hushed, knowing tones.
"I don't know if I'm ready for that."
"You don't have to decide right now." Rachel sat up, reaching for a throw blanket draped over a nearby pillow. She shook it out and laid it over Joanna's legs. "Just think about it. Twenty to thirty minutes a day. That's the goal. Your body will thank you."
Joanna pulled the blanket up to her chin. The soft fabric smelled like lavender, same as the oils Rachel had used earlier. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is simple. It's just not easy." Rachel stood, gathering the scattered wine glasses and the empty bottle. "The hard part is making yourself do it. Especially on the days when you're tired or stressed or just don't feel like it."
Joanna watched her move around the suite, collecting the detritus of their session with the same easy efficiency she brought to everything. The bioluminescent vines had dimmed to a soft amber, casting long shadows across the room.
"Can I ask you something?" Joanna said.
Rachel paused by the kitchen counter. "Of course."
"How many women have you done this with? Like, been their therapist?"
Rachel set the glasses down and turned, leaning back against the counter. "I've been doing this for five years. I've worked with hundreds of students."
"And all of them..." Joanna gestured vaguely. "Like tonight?"
"Not all. Every woman is different. Some take more time. Some take less." Rachel's expression softened. "But most of them walk out that door feeling something they've never felt before. That's why I do this job."
Joanna considered that. "Do you ever lose count? Of the orgasms?"
Rachel laughed, a genuine sound that filled the quiet space. "I stopped counting at ten thousand."
"Ten thousand?"
"Give or take. I keep a running tally in the back of my mind." Rachel pushed off the counter, crossing back toward the blanket nest. "You just contributed three to the total. Consider yourself part of the statistic."
Joanna laughed again, the sound easier this time. "I'm honored."
"You should be." Rachel knelt at the edge of the nest, her knees pressing into a pillow. "You did well tonight, Joanna. Really well. The first time is always the hardest."
Joanna clutched the blanket to her chest, suddenly aware of her nakedness again. "What happens now?"
"Now, you go home. You sleep. And tomorrow, you start your homework." Rachel reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind Joanna's ear. "And next week, we do this again."
"Same time?"
"Same time." Rachel stood, offering Joanna her hand. "Come on. I'll walk you to the door."
Joanna let herself be pulled to her feet. Her legs were still unsteady, her muscles still humming with the aftereffects of everything that had happened.
She found her clothes scattered across the room—shirt, shorts, the underwear she'd arrived in, now abandoned somewhere in the nest. Rachel watched her dress with an expression that was almost wistful.
"One more thing," Rachel said as Joanna pulled her shirt over her head.
"Yeah?"
"Don't overthink this." Rachel's voice was quiet but firm. "You're not broken. You don't need fixing. This program isn't about correcting something wrong with you—it's about expanding what's right."
Joanna pulled her shorts up and fastened them. "That's a nice way to put it."
"It's the truth." Rachel crossed to the door and pulled it open. The hallway beyond was quiet, lit by soft amber sconces. "Remember what I said. Twenty to thirty minutes a day. And Joanna?"
"Yes?"
"Relax. You're doing great."
Joanna stepped through the doorway into the hall. She turned back, one hand on the doorframe, and found Rachel watching her with that same patient, knowing expression.
"Thank you," Joanna said. "For all of it."
"You're welcome." Rachel's smile was warm, genuine. "See you next week."
She closed the door softly, leaving Joanna alone in the hallway.
The walk to the elevator felt different than the walk to the suite had felt earlier. Her feet moved easier. Her shoulders felt looser. And when she caught her reflection in the polished chrome of the elevator doors, she almost didn't recognize the person staring back.
Her hair was still wild. Her lips were still swollen. But her eyes—those hazel eyes that had looked so uncertain in the bathroom mirror hours ago—were bright and clear and alive.
The elevator doors slid open, and Joanna stepped inside.
Outside, the night air was cool against her flushed skin. She stood on the sidewalk for a moment, her hands in her pockets, looking up at the half-empty skyscrapers and the dim glow of the city's mandatory pleasure hours.
She thought about the waterproof pad. About Rachel's fingers inside her. About the release that had felt like something cracking open inside her chest.
She thought about homework. About twenty to thirty minutes a day. About the wink that had accompanied the word classmate.
She started walking. Her dorm was fifteen minutes away, and the walk would do her good. She needed time to process everything that had happened.
But she was smiling. She couldn't help it.
The smile stayed on her face the whole way home.