"So you never do it then?"
"Do what," Jane said, twisting the olive around in her third martini of the evening. "I don't know what you're talking about, Rachel."
"Oh come on, you know exactly what I'm talking about," Rachel, she having had more Cosmopolitans than she could count. "You know, when you're on the road and you are feeling lonely and, you know, horny...Don't tell me you never touch yourself, down there."
Rachel, leaning forward across the table so as not to be heard over the din of the crowded hotel bar, looked slightly comical. Her face was flushed in a mixture of intoxication and sexual euphoria over the building sexual conversation she was having with a woman she had only met that day at the trade show. Rachel was a vice president of a large pharmaceutical company in New York City and had met Jane, a sales rep from a 70-year old Midwestern HMO. The moment she met Jane, she could tell by her cheap suit and wholesome goodiness that she was a woman ripe for excitement; something different a new that could open new doors for her.
Jane, on the other hand, was taken aback by the brashness of this high-powered woman. She barked orders to her underlings and signed at least two multi-million dollar deals with major drug companies that day alone. Sent by doctors at her hospital, Jane would be happy to return to the Minneapolis suburbs with a couple of brochures for cheap medicines.
They met while waiting in line to talk to a syringe manufacturer and instantly struck up a conversation about how excruciating these trade shows could be. After chatting in line about work and careers, the two decided to blow off the rest of the show curriculum and take in an early dinner. A bottle of wine at dinner turned into three, which led to drinks at the bar, which led to Rachel grinning at Jane across the table and asking her the most intimate of questions.
"Well, I kind of grew up in a religious household," Jane said, feeling the color rise in her cheeks. Despite herself, this randy talk before a relative stranger was making her squirm in her chair. "It's not that I never tried to or never wanted to. I mean I read all those articles in the woman's magazines on how women should take, err, matters into their own hands, but to tell you the truth, I never really understood what the big deal was."
Rachel leaned back, looking totally shocked. Who was this little miss goody two shoes? She didn't think people like this really existed, other than on Little House on the Prairie.
"You've got to be kidding me," she said, finishing her martini. "You've never masturbated, ever? I mean never, not even once?"
"I've tried a couple of times, you know they say its good for reliving stress or menstrual cramps," Jane said, blushing another three shades of crimson. "I don't know, my mother stuck the idea in my head that my dead grandmother was up in heaven watching me when I'm alone in bed."
Rachel doubled over and started giggling uncontrollably. The couple at the next table over looked over in amusement as she nearly fell out of her chair and knocked two classes onto the floor, spilling Jane's drink onto a potted palm plant. Jane looked on extremely puzzled as to why her mother's words could be so funny to this woman.
As she slowly recovered with an audible snort through her nose, Rachel leaned forward over the table, close to Jane's face. "Jane, have you ever had an orgasm before, in your whole life, I mean?"
The younger woman looked shocked momentarily, but then determined to show this big shot power chick that she was no country bumpkin.
"Yes, of course I have, I'm not a child," Jane said, puffing out her chest and straightening her shoulders. "All the time, lots of them, lots and lots..."
Jane's voice trailed off as she lost momentum and looked off into space, lost in a moment.
Rachel was skeptable. "Ok, when was the last time you had one, when you really came hard. One of those orgasms that shakes your whole body and makes you squeal like a little girl?
Jane thought for a moment, started to reply and then looked down at her spilled drink, like she was concentrating on an algebra problem.
"Well, there was my boyfriend in college," she said, suddenly enlightened. "Brad Lynch. He was great, he made me squeal. He even put his face down there and everything."
"My, that sounds really exciting," Rachel patronized. "And how long ago did Brad and his super tongue get you off."
"Not that long ago," Jane said, still trying to make her case. "It was my senior year. That was only three years ago."
Jane felt her hollow words and suddenly felt like an insignificant hick on Wall Street. Rachel was right, although she really didn't want to admit it to herself. Besides, sex wasn't that important, any way. She was engaged to a resident at the hospital who was in line to take over the entire radiology department. He was a good man who was going to build her a new house in Saint Paul, if the bank came through on the loan. It really didn't matter that her sex life with him basically consisted of a few rough thrusts and a kiss on the cheek before he passed out.
"That's unbelievable, Jane," Rachel said, really feeling empathy for this poor girl. "I can't remember going longer than a couple of weeks without a good cum. God, how can you stand it?"
She once went a whole month without a good cum because an article in Vanity Fair said sexual frustration could actually raise your IQ. In the end it was easier to be sweaty, happy and stupid than smart, crabby and frustrated.
"This may come as a huge shock for you," Jane said, signaling the waitress for another round. "But there are some people in this world whose lives don't revolve around S-E-X."
