TWENTY-FIVE

Billie

"WHY WOULD YOU think I know anything about whatever sex thing you've yet to ask about, Billie?" Maria queries with a saucy smile. She knows exactly what I want to know about. We're huddled close together over a table in the back corner of the cafeteria for dinner. I asked her to meet me fifteen minutes early so she and I could talk. In private.

Taking a bite of my mashed potatoes, I swallow and clarify. "It's not that I thought you for sure would know anything about it, but out of all of us, I thought even if you didn't personally know, you might have more of an idea at least."

Maria takes a few bites of pasta, grinning and humming to herself. Canting her head to the side, she probes, "Why do you want to know?"

My face heats and my throat dries. I put my fork down and tersely state, "You know why I'm asking."

Maria cackles so hard she starts coughing. "You're gonna have to tell me, Billie," Holding up a finger, she gulps down some milk. Once she's good, she drawls, "Because I'd never want to assume anything."

I hide my hot face under the visor of my sleeve-covered hands and whisper, "Because maybe I'm interested in trying it." Am I sweating? I feel like I'm sweating. I wipe my, yup, sweaty face off with my sleeves and bluster, "Or at least, like, you know... being open to it."

Maria throws herself back against her chair, laughing hard enough she can't even eat. All while I sit here, red hot and apparently sweating with embarrassment, wondering why the hell I even asked her.

Pushing her tray forward, she leans her forearms on the table in front of her, no doubt to get a closer look at my awkwardness. She bites her smiling lower lip and pushes for more. "And, um, what is IT, exactly?"

Feeling myself getting agitated, I pause and take a deep inhale. I will not shout in the cafeteria. I will not shout in the cafeteria. Pursing my lips together, I grit out "Anal sex. I'd like to know how one goes about preparing for possibly trying it out."

And we're back to a cackling Maria, and I've had enough. "You know what, just forget it," I exhale and start to stand, no longer interested in this conversation or dinner.

Maria jumps to standing and grabs my wrist. "Hold up. Seriously, Billie, hold up," she pleads, humor replaced with concern. "I'm sorry, okay? Please sit back down." I eye her warily and she frowns. "Please, amiga ."

I nod once, and she lets go of my wrist, both of us finding our seats again. Maria returns to her leaned-forward position. The loose bun holding her thick curls slides with the tilting of her head to the side, as if the weight of her hair is too much for the elastic. Raising her brows, she asks, "This is something you're really considering?"

My jaw drops open, and my eyes go wide. "Maria, do you think I'd be suffering through this awkward Q and A if it wasn't something I was seriously considering?"

After having her fill of entertainment at my expense, feeling assured that I'm not leaving and that we're good, Maria returns to her dinner. "Right, my bad," she playfully teases, her head bent while twirling some spaghetti and capping the end of her fork off with half a meatball. Looking up at me through her long lashes she says, "I can see how hard this is for you to talk about, and I'm really glad you came to me and feel comfortable enough to." Placing what Ethan would say is the perfect bite into her mouth, Maria chews and swallows, and I also return to my dinner. Lifting the index finger of the hand not holding her fork, a coy smile tugs at her lips. "Rule number one for anal play: lube, lube, lube." Pointing the prongs of her fork at me, she warns, "Don't believe anything you've read or heard about not needing it. YOU NEED IT. The butt does not get wet when we're turned on. Know what I'm saying?"

An unexpected laugh falls from my lips, and I lean closer. "Okay, lube. Got it. Is there any one in particular?"

Maria bobs her head vigorously, her bun seconding that bobbing. "Go for silicone based unless you're allergic to the ingredients, but in general, the water-based ones are too thin."

I dip my chin. "Okay." This is good, real information here. Noteworthy, but I will not take notes on anal sex. Huh, I wonder if there's an Anal Sex for Dummies book out there.

Maria lifts two fingers up and waggles them. "Rule number two, make sure you've showered and preferably have already pooped that day. Not essential, but you'll feel more comfortable. Poop then shower, in that order, and"—the corner of her lips hitch up on one side— "I mean a deep shower. If you're thinking about opening up that back entrance, your own fingers should be treated like they're VIP. Always first to enter."

My, um, back entrance squeezes at the thought, and I'm looking at my fingers wrapped around my fork in a whole new light, kind of wary of them but also wondering if they need to be pampered, a day at the spa perhaps. "Yeah, I sort of assumed the cleaner, the better," I reply with a wisp to my voice.

Maria hums and adds a finger. "Rule number three, start small. Fingers, trimmed. No hangnails. The skin is sensitive up there. Maybe just have them hold a finger or two in there while you do other stuff. Get off like that so you can associate your orgasm to it. Then level up to moving in and out." I eat some chicken, fully engrossed in absorbing this information. Damn, Maria should offer a lecture on this. I wonder what other sex skills and knowledge she holds inside that beautiful, smart head of hers. She adds another finger. "Rule number four." She waggles her brows and grins. "Based on the height and overall size of your boyfriends, I'd assume they're fairly well endowed."

My face heats like a simmering geyser, pretty sure steam is radiating off the top of my head. Maria claps her hands and stomps her feet, laughing. "Oh fuck, Billie, totally knew it, girl!" Then she offers me a high five, and well, I've just got to comply. High five for big dicks. "Okay, four," Maria continues. "I'd suggest buying some toys, but make sure they're for anal, not a regular dildo."

I look at her quizzically. "They're not the same?"

Shaking her head, she swallows some more food. With her milk gone, she takes a sip of water and exhales. "Nope, they are not. Anal ones have a wider plug base that stays outside of the hole and won't ever be able to be pulled in. Don't want one to get lost up there. And also, never use one in your va-jay-jay that you've used in the bum."

Glancing around, I see Heather and Taylor getting in line, and Maria spins her head around. Turning back to me, she smiles. "Start there, see where it goes, and we'll talk later about moving up. If you do grant one of them access, have them use a condom, and even if lubed ADD MORE LUBE. Oh, and make sure you're turned on. Really important." An endearing grin sweeps across her face. "I know this will sound weird, but thanks for coming to me with this. It's nice to feel like I can help and that you feel comfortable enough with me to ask."

I laugh. "Dude, nothing says true friendship like asking about anal sex, right?"

Heather and Taylor join us full of enough excitement that neither of them notices how little food Maria and I have left on our plates.

"Did you guys hear about the two new courses being offered next semester?" Taylor gushes, pulling out the chair next to me while placing her tray down on the table.

I look to Maria, she shakes her head, and I reply, "Nope," switching out my dinner plate for my dessert plate, a big caramel-fudge brownie. Get in my belly!

"Really, Billie, you don't know anything about it?" Heather, now sitting down next to Maria, asks with a tilt of her head.

My fingers pause their task of breaking my brownie up into pieces, and I swing my gaze between her and Taylor. "No, I really don't know. Should I?"

Taylor places her napkin on her lap and starts cutting up everything on her plate. She does this at every meal. She cuts everything into bite-sized pieces before eating one bite. She tosses a grin at me. "Actually, probably not since I only knew because I was up in the administration offices today, trying to get info on possibly changing my major." Taylor originally came in majoring in business at her father's and Derek's suggestion. Since she broke up with Derek, she's started to realize just how much control she willingly gave to him, giving his opinion on her life more weight than her own. When she talked to her parents, she expected her dad to push her to stay with business. But he waved it off, telling her that just because it was good for him didn't mean it was good for her, and he was only speaking from his personal experience. She seems lighter and happier and is now considering elementary education.

I smile at her. "How'd that go?"

Now that all her food is cut up, she forks up some cow and vegetable medley. "It went really well. First semester of freshman year is probably the best time to switch majors. But. . ." She pauses, and a sly smirk pulls at her lips, "It was what I found out while I was up there, and who I saw, that was more interesting." As if she wants to draw out the dramatics, which I totally don't expect from Taylor, she decides this moment is the best to put food in her mouth.

Heather, however, can't seem to wait. "They're offering Italian and Combat Skills next semester!" she shrieks out, clapping her hands ecstatically.

Swallowing down my brownie, I look at her with confusion creased between my brows. "Okay, but my major is more psychology based, so I don't know how I would know about an Italian or a combat course being offered."

"It's not the course. It's the professors." Taylor giggles. "An Alessandro Volpati and an Assad and Heydar Behnam," she purrs.

Brownie forgotten, same as my manners, my mouth hangs open, most likely with bits of brownie stuck to my teeth. "Are you serious?"

Taylor and Heather both nod enthusiastically. The girls finally cornered me about my new European friends after our away game this week. Between Xander hauling me off the bleachers when they first tried to ask, my eye color change, and then the talk about Jimmy's big win, I had assumed they'd forgotten. They did not. I merely said we met up at a dinner of a mutual friend who wanted to introduce us since they were new to the area and we had mutual interests in fighting and music. Plus Alessandro comes from the same Italian island as my mother; we just kind of clicked. They pressed for more, but the men's team started their game, and our attentions were diverted to the field.

Taylor digs through her bag, pulling out several stapled packets. She hands one to each of us. There's an extra one, and I hope it's for Annabelle. With all the secret squirrel-shifter stuff going on, she and I have grown close, and because Annabelle is freakin' awesome, the girls have readily accepted her into our little group. I look at the form, and it's completely filled out, with the exception of my signature. The spot for it has been highlighted, and a pen is placed on top of it. Taylor was a Girl Scout, and though the motto Be prepared is associated with the Boy Scouts, it seems to have crossed gender lines.

"Sign it," Heather demands, looking at both Maria and me with raised brows. It's for preregistration for Italian 101 and Combat Skills 101 for the spring semester.

Maria snaps her fingers over her head and pairs that move with a few belly-dancer torso rolls while giggling in delight. "Hell yes! Let's do it!"

I lift my uncertain gaze to her. "Really?"

"Yes, really!" she exclaims. "They're all hella hot. I'll kick ass in Italian since I'm already bilingual, learning how to fight and defend yourself is never a bad thing, and"—her eyes move to each one of us— "it will keep us together next semester when we don't have soccer."

My first thought? Hell no. Coming to WMU, my plan was to graduate in three years, taking classes during both my winter and summer breaks. I don't have time for elective classes. Then add in learning how to be a shifter, how to use Little Fox's royal powers, and how the shifter world works in general. I seriously need a manual, standard operating procedures, or at least a welcome packet. Though my mates are trying to teach me, we've been more focused on surviving, meaning most of my learning has happened in the field, which is awesome. Gotta love learning through life experiences like almost dying.

I almost died.

That harsh reminder changes my perspective just a bit—like, tumbles it down a steep hill off a cliff onto a trampoline that bounces me up into the atmosphere, where I land on the back of a Pegasus flying through a stormy sky. Just a minor adjustment in my outlook. Soaring above and gazing ahead, I see a lot of storms, deluges, and blizzards. Sure, there'll be some sunny days with clear blue skies, but the real eye-opener is that I can't see out too far. I don't know if I'll make it through the next hurricane or over the next mountain. I'll fight to see the sunrise of a new day, but how many days do I have left? Totally morbid and somewhat of a bleak outlook, but if that is the case, what does taking a few electives courses really matter?

All things considered, if the rest of my college experience goes like my first semester, me living to graduation will be a serious accomplishment. It might take longer than three years—like maybe ten because I could be on the run from wolf-shifters. On the lamb, if you will. Or wait, maybe I'll be in some sort of fantastical battle of the shifters, causing foxtastic mayhem and destruction in the name of the greater good. If any of that happens, then my class load will need more manageable.

"Billie," Heather groans, interrupting my fear-induced but also epically cool fantasy of Little Fox and me kicking some shifter ass.

"Huh?" I query with pinched brows, my mind being flooded with images of Little Fox decked out in tactical gear, or wait, maybe chainmail? No chainmail. It pinches my fur, Little Fox asserts.

"As soon as anyone else hears about these classes and sees the instructors, there'll be no open spots," Heather points out, her blue eyes trailing to Taylor and then back to me. "Maybe Taylor was up there for a reason. Maybe it's so we can get in there before everyone else."

Feeling like there's a serious chance of Little Fox and I dressed in matching tactical gear in the near future, I quirk a lopsided grin and say, "Fuck yeah, why the hell not." Picking up the pen, I jot down my John Hancock just as Annabelle enters the cafeteria. I wave her over, and she sits down on my open side. Before she can even say hello, I push the packet in front of her and command, "Sign it."