Chocolate. It’s like chocolate.

  I couldn’t remember when I first knew that girls were a Big Deal though some time before middle school there had been the moment when a switch in my brain had flipped from “Girls are yucky,” to “Girls are absolutely fascinating and you Must. Pay. Attention. To. Them!” But I remembered about chocolate.

  I’d always had a sweet tooth, but as a kid it had run to various fruity flavors like you’d find in suckers and hard candies. My favorite ice cream flavor had been strawberry, and chocolate hadn’t done much for me. Not until, as an adult, I’d discovered real chocolate. Not half-wax candy bar chocolate, no; real, rich, gourmet chocolate prepared by real chocolatiers. And then chocolate ganache ice cream. Chocolate truffles. Sipping chocolate (not just hot chocolate at all) had been a deep revelation. A switch had flipped in my brain and it had become a true craving that hadn’t helped with my weight. I’d even learned how to make the good stuff myself.

  This felt like that but far, far more fundamental; a flipped switch and suddenly boys were chocolate and I wasn’t me anymore. Through the rest of our awkward conversation on the Green my palms had been sweaty, my skin prickly—sensations I remembered far too well from my teens, my uncontrollable and embarrassing reaction to cute girls. A text from May telling me she was ready fortuitously cut the conversation short and I’d jumped at the excuse for us to go. Though I was pretty sure Brad had missed it, Pinky hadn’t and she was far too amused as we wound our way back to the school offices where May stood talking to a tall blond woman my new big sister introduced as her spawn point. (Said spawn point had just rolled her eyes.)

  We’d said our goodbyes and parted ways, May chatting about next week and everything that still needed to be done; not least of which was buying my school uniforms fast enough to have them tailored for me—I’d put it off with my studies and finishing boxing up everything that wouldn’t stay in my house. I’d nodded to everything and pretty much nodded through dinner, too. Even Carl noticed and started joking with Aunt Sophie, winding her up and taking all attention off me again. May knew something was up but let it go, allowing me to escape to my room afterwards, and I’d been unutterably grateful even if all that did was allow me to obsessively research.

  Upside, I did finally learn what the hell was going on inside me down there; it was called a “vagina pulse.” Big surprise, it was caused by quickly increased blood flow to my new clitoris (most of which was tucked up inside me to sort of wrap around my vagina, only the clitoral glans accessible to my touch) and to my vaginal walls. Lots of women felt it, the female equivalent of a throbbing stiffy, and despite the general understanding that sexually women “warmed up” more slowly than men it could happen with no warning too. I felt vaguely cheated; none of the literature Dr. James had given me had mentioned it. Fantastic.

  So just like in my first teen years, I had an embarrassing hair-trigger sexual response again only now the trigger was (oh, God) boys. Tall boys with muscular frames. Chiseled jaws. Curly hair. Deep voices. Big hands. Bare broad chests. Sweat. Just remembering my brief conversation with Brad got me hot and bothered again but if reacting like this to boys was my fate, at least now I wasn’t at risk of popping a humiliating public erection (God, had those been embarrassing). Shower time.

  Closing my laptop, I cleaned off my makeup (May had walked me through that, too) and undressed, looking in my bedroom mirror for a repeated This is me affirmation. In the bathroom I turned on the shower and removed and disposed of my current tampon. After getting me to describe the condition of my panties and first tampons after use, May had suggested I switch from regular to light. I’d done it and nothing had gotten through so far, but it was still annoying having to switch out every eight hours and I’d decided to try using a pad at bedtime when I wasn’t moving around so much.

  Getting in the shower, I went through the steps and as the water kissed my body I remembered the day and big warm hands and a nice smile and . . . Damn it. My scrubbing hands slowed as Brad jogged towards me in my mind’s eye. Then he was racing away with me running laughing after him.

  He would have fled–the god fleeing from the nymph!

  Over the past weeks I’d at least gotten used to this and, sliding both hands down my body, I double-cupped my vulva and turned my face into the spray, breath deepening as I felt my beating arousal deep inside. God, this is just— I slid a finger inside, my body tightening under my touch and fantasy, feeling shiveringly good. But that was all, I wasn’t peaking. Only getting more and more frustrated as the minutes passed, I finally remembered something else from the book. Grabbing the detachable showerhead and, setting it on massage and spreading my labia, I pointed it up into my center.

  Oh my God!

  Pulsing water met my own pulse as I rocketed up, breath quickening as I ran in my fantasy, closer and closer and closer until he spun around, this time grabbing me up and spinning me like he’d done with Pinky. Wrapping my legs around him as he brought his face to mine, I came hard, shouting and shaking until my knees gave out and I slumped to the floor of the tub, leaning against the side just shivering and feeling.

  *************************************

  It took a couple of minutes to get my feet under me and push myself up, another minute to remember to reattach the shower head, and another minute or two to rinse off and step out. Toweling off (by patting), I brushed my teeth and did all the other things before sitting down at my vanity and just staring at myself in the mirror. A few minutes later there was a knock on my door.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Come in.”

  May opened it, finding me sitting there. “Hi, sweetheart.”

  “Hey,” I said. “Thanks for, downstairs, um . . .”

  “Covering for you? Hey, it was fine. You seemed kind of overwhelmed.” Stepping up, she reached past me to retrieve my brush from where it sat on the new vanity. Even a month into this, our nightly ritual remained the same (and sometimes my favorite part of the day). Turning my head to face the mirror, she started her strokes.

  “I was,” I admitted. Biting my lip, I watched her in the mirror and wondered just what to say; I’d had a few minutes to pull myself together, but from the twinkle in her eye I was pretty sure she knew what I’d been up to in the shower. Did it show somehow? Was I still noticeably flushed?

  “Your big sister seemed nice,” was all she finally said.

  I almost nodded. “She is. I think— I think we’re going to be friends.” And how strange that felt. Carl and May, almost thirty years younger than me, had become my friends easily—though in hindsight I thought May might have always had a bit of a big-sister attitude towards me. Had I been kind of pathetic even then? But applied to Pinky, a smart, happy kid not quite yet an adult, the thought of being friends seemed . . . off. Not wrong, just, like she was a puzzle piece with the right image but the wrong shape to fit, or the correct fit but at right angles from the image. Adjustment seemed too small a word for the way it felt.

  “That’s good.” The strokes continued. “And the school itself? Any second thoughts?”

  “Not . . . really? I don’t think I’m going to be bored.” I forced a laugh.

  “So, are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you?” she asked gently.

  I groaned and covered my face. I was going to sound absolutely insane. “Pinky introduced me to a boy!” The brushing stopped for a moment and I heard a suppressed snort.

  “A boy? And this has you bothered?”

  “Yes! Because his hair was nice and his smile was nice and he’s tall as Carl and he’s got these shoulders and nice big hands and he acted so nice!” I was ranting and couldn’t stop. “And it’s like chocolate but it’s so much worse, it’s like chocolate always tasted like asparagus before and now suddenly it’s chocolate and I want it so much!”

  The brushing had stopped, and when I lowered my hands to peer at May she had the strangest look on her face. “So, you met this boy and you’re twitterpated? Crushing on him?”

  “No. It’s just—it was Brad, one of the boys we met our first day out? And he apologized so politely for making me uncomfortable then even though he didn’t do anything really wrong? And I got so—uuurnh.” It was almost a snarl.

  “That bad?”

  “I acted like an idiot in front of him, and masturbated in the shower fantasizing about chasing him and letting him catch me! And I can’t even imagine doing . . . stuff! All that! Not with him, not with anybody! Not, not like this.” A month wasn’t enough time for me to be ready to even think about that, not the details. I didn’t think even a year would be.

  May didn’t laugh. Instead she hugged me, arms around my shoulders our heads together in the mirror, and I realized I was crying. Again. Why? Some days it felt like my new ground state.

  “Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered into my hair. “You’re having to learn so much, so fast.”

  “Yeah,” I snarked, wiping my cheeks. “I’m learning so much. I know my nipples like attention once they’re hard, I lube up fast, my clitoral glans doesn’t like direct stimulation but overall vulva massages are wonderful, and oh yeah, it looks like hitting my g-spot hard will light the match on my fireworks fountain every single time. And I may squirt all over any hypothetical future sexual partner if I’m too relaxed and turned on at once, I’m not sure about that one yet.”

  Against my back, head still resting on mine, May started laughing. Hysterically. “What?” I groused. “You’re the only one who can absolutely overshare?”

  “I’m sorry!” she gasped, hugging me harder. “I’m sorry, it’s just, as David you were so contained, you kept everything in, always. And as April you’ve been so—horrified and shy and open at the same time? Come on.” Straightening, she put the brush back and pulled me up from my chair, pushing me at the bed. “Get in.”

  The queen-sized bed they’d bought for me was so big that when I got under the covers and scooted into the middle she had to climb all the way onto it to sit beside me, feet tucked under her. Once I’d settled, she reached out to play with my hair. “Tucking me in” wasn’t part of every night anymore, but sometimes when we talked she still liked to do it.

  “You’re so handsy,” I grumbled.

  She shrugged. “I’m a very tactile person, you didn’t know that by now? Feel better?”

  I did. Huh.

  “I know this is hard,” she said, a whole world of understatement. “You’re a stranger to yourself and the whole world’s strange because of it. But I’m so proud of you. You get up every day, you’ve got a list, you check off the list, you keep going no matter what happens next even if you cry a little. Carl’s right, you can do anything you set your heart on. Tomorrow we finally get your school clothes, but remember, if you change your mind—well, a year of state-sanctioned homeschooling isn’t off the table. Just say the word.”

  “Oh, like you don’t so want a Hadley Girl,” I said, but I couldn’t put any heat into it.

  She chuckled. “I do so want a Hadley Girl. But it’s not about me, and Steph will be old enough soon enough. Years fly.”

  Didn’t I know it.

  Scooting away she started to rise, but I stopped her and sat up. She looked at me, still with a small smile. “What is it, hun?”

  Leaning in, I wrapped my arms around her waist, dropping my head to bury my face in her shoulder as I squeezed.

  “I love you,” I said, and the world didn’t shatter. “Mom.” I tested the word.

  Wrapping her arms around me she squeezed back, holding me carefully. “I love you, too, dearest girl.” And she waited, like she could do this forever, until I finally drew back. Letting go I scooted back down in the bed as, pulling up the covers, she leaned over and kissed my forehead, lingering a little before straightening. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Swinging her legs over and scooting off the bed, she stood and turned out all the lights and, with a last look back, closed the door. Listening to her steps going down the hall, I turned on my side, hands tucked beneath my chin.

  I had a list. We had a list. And I’d get up tomorrow, and we’d check it off, May and Carl and me. Mom and Dad and me.

  After the past quiet weeks in this house, sharing breakfasts and dinners, sometimes almost nightly chess with Carl, taking turns watching the little goblin and studying my way through days under May’s gentle and, except for in the evenings, mostly unobtrusive care, the thought didn’t feel alien or like a betrayal anymore. Now it felt . . . frightening but warm, like my heart was suddenly too big for my chest, like there was too much feeling in me.

  After the mess I’d turned into just interacting with Pinky and Brad today, the thought of walking into school on Monday, of diving into a sea of teens again as April Seever, scared the shit out of me. But I was going to do it with May and Carl helping me.

  Hugging the thought tight, I closed my eyes.