A/N: Sorry this is a little late. I forgot to warn y'all that I'm really bad at updating on weekends. Thanks to everyone for the reviews, follows, and favorites. You guys are amazing.
Anyway, here's Part 2. First part is smutty; second part is Q&A. Last little bit leads into Chapter 3. Usual disclaimer applies.
If you are in any way uncomfortable with smut or frank discussions about sex and female reproductive anatomy, please do not read further.
The Birds and the Tease
2/3
She catches up with him as he's striding across the parking lot toward the car.
"Hey, I've been looking all over for you," she pants. "Where've you been?"
"The bathroom."
Understanding lights up across her face, followed by a smirk. "I see…"
"Yeah well, you weren't going to let me finish, so someone had to take charge." He points a finger at her accusingly. "And I'm not going to let go of this for a while, Dawson."
"But that's no fun," she pouts. She blocks his hand as he reaches for the car keys in his pocket.
"Aw, come on!"
"Nope, Austin, we're going to sit through the next forty-five minutes of class, and then we can go home."
To drive her point home (no pun intended), she confiscates his keys, reaching into his pocket and accidentally-but-probably-on-purpose skimming her fingers against him through his jeans.
Her touch lingers, and he forces himself to jerk away, dislodging her hand from his pocket. "You're mean."
And then her expression turns innocent. "I'm sorry, Austin."
"No, you're not."
"…But you'll forgive me anyway, right?" She nods her head in the direction of his crotch, where it's become rather obvious that he's already semi-hard again.
From just one effing brush of her fingers, too.
He glowers, but it wavers as soon as she rises on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek. And then he tries to stare her down, but she's smiling sunnily up at him, and it's not long before he feels the corners of his frown tugging upwards. It's difficult for one to look angry when the situation in one's pants clearly disagrees.
He almost gives in when she looks like she's about to say something, thinks better of it, and then bites her lip instead.
Crap. Big brown hopeful puppy eyes.
Austin groans in frustration and presses his forehead to the window of the car as she giggles, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. He tries to resist, tries to turn into a stiff, unbending statue. He's supposed to be mad at her. (Even though they both know he'd let her get away with murder.)
When Austin doesn't turn around and hug her back, Ally lets out a little pout, and he finds himself wondering how it's humanly possible for her to sound so blasted adorable yet turn him on so quickly. One of her hands wanders a little too close to his crotch, and a traitorous part of his mind wishes she'd move it just a bit lower…
What? its sane counterpart sputters. Here? In a parking lot?
In answer to his silent prayers (or maybe just to drive him completely insane), Ally lets her hand drift to the buckle of his belt.
"Ally, what the hell are you doing?"
The leather strap falls to the ground. Her fingers drift to the fly of his jeans. A thumb slips under the waistband.
"Trying to show you how…sorry I am."
His breath hitches, and he knows he's losing major masculinity points, but he really can't bring himself to care. Already his pants have become unbearably tight, and the fact that Ally is now unzipping them somehow only makes it worse, and there's a growing wet spot on the apex of his boxers… She's pressing kisses to the back of his neck, and her hand is palming him through his underwear in just the way she's long since found out drives him absolutely insane. He doesn't moan, doesn't give any indication that he's aware of what she's doing, but he knows that she's smirking and that she knows she's won.
After all, she's spent the past three years getting acquainted with his body, and she probably knows it better than he does at this point. She knows exactly what he loves, what he hates, and how to use that knowledge to her advantage. Love and hate typically blur into one anyway, the demarcation between them dissolving into nothing as quickly and completely as the space between their bodies. Especially whenever she makes eye contact with him from where she's propped between his legs on their bed, eyes twinkling as if to say, "You can give in now; we both know I win," because her mouth is otherwise occupied…
It's times like those that, on a scale of one to five, he'll rate her performance a seventy-quadrillion without hesitation. Because that's pretty much how many stars he sees by the time he's too worn out to go another round.
At the moment, her touch is feather-light, and he knows she's teasing again, so he clenches his fists and grits his teeth to hold back a groan and to keep from grinding himself into her hand. Because she always stops when he does that, refusing to continue unless he begs, and he always resists even though they both know he'll wind up begging anyway. Because he only comes when—if—she gives him permission to, and he really doesn't give a damn about how whipped that sounds because holy shit, her hand is now in his boxers, and the feel of her skin against his is doing all sorts of crazy things to him, and he's this close to swinging her around onto the hood of the car and ravishing her for everyone in this godforsaken building and the parking lot to see. Because Austin Moon refuses to go down without taking Ally Dawson with him. He won't go down without a fight.
Oh dear god, the mental images of Ally's face whenever he goes down on her…
(There are also times when she's writhing on her back and his mouth and fingers are otherwise occupied, and he's supposed to be teasing her and relishing the power he has over her, but then her little mewls and helpless whimpers are too much for him, and he caves and lets her have what she wants… Yeah, even when she's at his mercy, she still wins. He loves-hates that, too.)
She's not giggling anymore. Though her hand's movements are somewhat restricted by his boxers, her grip around his length is firmer now, no longer intended to torment. Part of him wishes that she'd push down his boxers so he can actually see what she's doing to him, but then the reminder that she's currently pumping him in a parking lot, where anyone can stumble across them, sends a fresh thrill of arousal through him.
He starts grunting, thrusting his hips to meet her strokes, as the hand wrapped around him tightens even more, and her left hand snakes into his boxers, too. He nearly jumps a mile when her fingers close around his balls. (Was that a hiss of steam he just heard, from the unbearable heat in his boxers making contact with the cool metal of her engagement ring?) His knees are visibly trembling, every neuron in his body screaming in pleasure and agony and begging for release, and he's gripping the edge of the car so hard, he swears he can feel the metal starting to dent.
"If you promise to come back to class without complaining," Ally whispers, "I'll let you have what you want."
Despite his herculean efforts, a moan escapes. He squeezes his eyes shut and grinds even more desperately against her hand.
"That's not a good enough answer."
Her grip slackens, the strokes stopping abruptly, and he finds himself whimpering—whimpering!—nononononono…
"Do you promise, Austin?"
He feels a thumb skating ever so lightly across the tip of his erection. It's all he can do to manage a weak nod.
Satisfied, Ally tightens her grip on him and pumps faster. He doesn't even bother holding back his groans anymore. He's so, so, so close. He doesn't realize he's begging without even being asked to until he hears himself gasping, "Harder! Please, Ally, I need to you—to—go—harder! Please, please, please let me c—"
"Oh, look at that—it's almost three!" And then her hands are gone, and she's practically skipping towards the building doors. "Come on, Austin! We're going to be late for class!" she singsongs.
He's left staring at the aching bulge in his pants and sputtering, "What? B-but I thought you said I just had to promise, and you'd let me—"
"Yeah, well, I didn't specify when I was going to let it happen, now did I?"
"You are going to pay for that, Dawson."
"Well, look who finally decided to show up for class." Ally smirks as a glowering Austin makes his way back into the classroom and stops before her, the predicament in his pants noticeably absent now.
"It's not like you gave me any choice," he grumbles. "Where'd you put my keys anyway?"
She seems to look down demurely (the sunglasses she's wearing make it kind of hard to tell, and he's not sure whether it's a blessing or a curse that he can't see her eyes), but then she arches her back a little, and he realizes she's peeking down her own shirt.
Gahhhh…
"You know, Austin, for a guy who's had two orgasms in the span of—what? twenty? twenty-five minutes, which I must say is an incredible feat—you are uncharacteristically grumpy. Too bad I wasn't there to make them better."
"Just you wait, Ally. I will get you back for that."
"Mm-hm. And how will you do that?" She leans forward to fold her hands across the table.
Her breasts brush the edge of the table.
He's seriously considering camping out in the men's room for the remainder of the class, but then the door opens, and the myth buster is back, so he sighs and takes his seat.
"Welcome back, everyone. For the second half of this class, I'm going to be answering questions that you've sent in, either through the review mailbox here on the podium or through private messaging. As per the usual drill, if you sat through the first half of class and found it too uncomfortable, you are not obligated to sit through this second half. If you just now wandered into this class after the break, you are more than welcome to join us, but please do keep in mind that there is a sign posted to the door that reads, 'If you are in any way uncomfortable with frank discussions about sex and the anatomy of the female reproductive system, this is your chance to gracefully bow out.' I and the creators of this course do not assume responsibility for any offense you may take from having ignored this warning. This class is purely for informative purposes and does not require you to edit your past stories to reflect the modern scientific understanding of sexuality."
No one in the audience moves to get up, so she shrugs and carries the box of reviews to the front of the room.
"One of you asked me to continue what I was saying about the G spot before the break, so I shall do that now before we get to the Q and A session. So. The G spot. Since the location and existence of the G spot is still disputed, there are several theories as to what it actually is and why a lot of women can't find theirs. One theory is that the G spot is an extension of the clitoris, which is actually a lot bigger on the inside than that one little pea-sized part you see on the outside. Since the clitoris is the primary source of pleasure in sex for females, it sort of makes sense for the inside portion of it to be close to the vagina.
"Another theory is that the G spot is not actually an erogenous zone—at least in the sense that it has more nerve endings than the rest of the vagina, since women who report to have found theirs say that lightly running your fingers against it doesn't really do anything; you have to actually press hard into it. And most men can't even hit this supposed G spot during intercourse in the missionary position because the angle's not right, unless the penis has a natural upward curve. So some experts theorize that the G spot is actually just a region inside the vagina that happens to be behind the urethra, so when you press up into this region, the pleasure is from the urethra responding to the pressure.
"On the same note, a third theory is that the G spot is a region inside the vagina that happens to be right next to something called the Skene's gland. This gland is something like the female equivalent of a prostate gland and drains into the urethra, and it would explain why women who have G spot orgasms swear on their life that female ejaculation is a real thing, whereas those who can't orgasm through intercourse alone swear on their life that female ejaculate is either just urine or complete BS. It turns out, women who supposedly have G spot orgasms have been found to have well-developed Skene's glands while women who can't seem to find their G spots either have really small Skene's glands or none at all.
"So yeah, the jury's still out on this one. The main takeaway is that, if you can't find your G spot, you don't need to sweat it. Most women can't orgasm through intercourse without additional direct stimulation to the clit anyway."
She lets out a deep breath. "Whew. Now that that's out of the way, let's get to the questions. Okay, so one of the younger writers, who doesn't want to be identified, asks, 'Is it true that you can tell how big a guy is down there based on how big his hands and feet are? I see that a lot in fics and wasn't sure.'
"Yeah, this is one of the ones that I normally let slide because it's still a very prevalent myth, and everyone always writes Austin to be very well-endowed anyway, no matter what his hand or shoe size. But if you really want to get scientific…well, there are studies that show there's no correlation, but there are also studies that claim there is a correlation. For every study claiming that this myth has been debunked, there's another that claims it's true. But take into account the fact that there are a lot of different ways to measure a guy's length, and the fact that a guy's little buddy will change length in response to changes in temperature when a guy drops his pants, and a whole host of other sources of error, and your result is…a lot of noisy data.
"Anyway, more recent studies indicate that there's probably no correlation between length and hand or foot size. (If there is, the p-values are probably really high, so it's probably really statistically insignificant.) You can't actually tell the size of a guy's package by looking at his hands or feet or any part of his body besides, you know, his actual package. And just to give you a general idea of what's big and what's small, most guys can't boast 11 inches, no matter what porn may have you believe. (Seriously, please take everything you see or read in porn with several thousand grains of salt because the point of it is to get you hot and bothered, not to portray sex realistically.) The average length is reportedly somewhere around 5.5 and 6.5 inches, depending on whether it's being measured by physicians or just self-reported. That's more than enough to get the job done. The average vagina, when unaroused, is only about 3-4 inches deep. It'll lengthen when aroused to accommodate whatever is being inserted, but having the cervix—that is, the opening from the vagina to the uterus—bumped around by an unusually large object can hurt like the dickens because it can cause cramping in the uterus.
"And while we're on the subject, deeper isn't always better. The G spot, if it exists, really isn't that far in. There's no need for the guy to bury himself as far as he can because most of the nerve endings in the vagina are towards the entrance. She'll feel him further back, but it's more pressure than pleasure."
She reaches into the box to retrieve the next review. "Next up: A guest by the name of April says, 'Can we add that you can't get pregnant every time you have sex? There are normally only three days a month a girl can get pregnant. Also, you won't know you're pregnant until at least two weeks after conception, sometimes longer. It drives me crazy when I read that they have sex and the next morning there's a positive pregnancy test.'
"I've never read one of those, but wow, thanks for bringing this to my attention, April. So…first, let's address the part about only being able to get pregnant during a three-day window every month: Weeeelll, that's a bit disputed. For those of us who aren't familiar with the biology, the menstrual cycle is about twenty-eight-ish days long, counting from the first day of the menstrual period to the day before the next. Supposedly, there's a limited number of days during the cycle when pregnancy is possible, since the lining of the uterus gets shed off and the ovum gets dissolved when it isn't fertilized in time. Although, some experts will argue that a girl can technically get pregnant at any point during that cycle, even during menstruation. It's just that on some days, the chances of pregnancy are significantly reduced, and pregnancy resulting from having sex during one of those 'less fertile' days may be a fluke, a result of irregularities in the cycle. The likelihood of actually becoming pregnant, though, is dramatically increased in the three days leading up to and including ovulation, which happens about two weeks before the next period.
"And, um, as a disclaimer, I feel like now is a good time to advise everyone not to attempt to use the rhythm method—that is, not having sex before and during the days you are most fertile—as a reliable form of birth control. It only works for women whose cycles are regular and who are really careful about when they have sex. You can easily wind up pregnant.
"As for the second part of April's review: You can't test positive on a pregnancy test the very next day after you Do It, unless you've been Doing It very frequently for the last few weeks. And even then, a positive result would not be due to any activities you engaged in the night before. The most common pregnancy tests measure for the human chorionic gonadotropin (hCG) hormone. These hormone levels do not suddenly spike at the moment of fertilization, since fertilization takes place in the fallopian tubes, and the zygote still has to travel down to the uterus and implant, a process that takes five to eight days. And hCG is produced by the placenta, which actually takes about two weeks to develop, starting from the moment of fertilization. And before all that can even happen, the sperm has to spend about a day traveling through the vaginal canal, the cervix, and the uterus and into the fallopian tubes to reach the ovum. So unless Ally's hormones are out of whack for reasons not related to pregnancy (for example, some cancers), she shouldn't be testing positive the very next morning. Technically, hCG can be detected in the urine one to two weeks after conception, but she shouldn't even begin suspecting enough to take a pregnancy test until a few weeks later, when she misses a period.
"This next part is unrelated to April's review, but something just occurred to me, and I wanted to nip it in the bud before some of the younger audience members start getting any ideas. So while we're on the subject of pregnancy, 'morning sickness' is a misnomer. For the first six weeks, nausea and vomiting can occur at any time of day or night. If Ally's throwing up in the mornings only, she's one lucky duck.
"Also, sperm can't survive long at normal internal body temperature or at the pH inside the female reproductive tract. (That's kind of why the scrotum is outside the body—so that testes temperature can be maintained at two to four degrees Celsius lower than body temperature.) Sperm remain viable and capable of fertilization for only one to two days following intercourse. So for those of you younger writers out there, please don't write about Ally getting pregnant from Austin's sperm that's still swimming around inside her from that time they Did It months ago. Unless Austin has somehow figured out how to produce remarkably heat-resistant, acidity-resistant mutant sperm. In which case he should consult a doctor ASAP, and you should mark your story as 'fantasy' and warn me to stay as far away from it as possible. Capisce?"
(At this, Ally emits a tiny groan and mumbles to Austin, "I love our fans—I really do—but, ugh…")
"Next up, a lovely human being who goes by the name of 'Bolero' writes, 'Can we also mention that WOMEN DO NOT HAVE A PROSTATE? I actually read a fanfiction where Austin hit Ally's prostate during anal sex. I think this was just a sloppy cut and paste, but seriously…'
"Oh gosh, wow. Just when you think you've seen it all. Okay, yeah, a little information about male reproductive anatomy, y'all: Sperm is expelled in the form of a fluid known as 'semen,' which is a mix of spermatozoa and seminal fluid. Three glands inside the male body contribute to this seminal fluid: the seminal vesicles, the bulbourethral glands, and the prostate gland. The seminal vesicles secrete a fructose-rich fluid that serves as an energy source for the sperm so that they can swim to the ovum. The bulbourethral glands secrete a small amount of viscous fluid prior to ejaculation—this would be what writers colloquially refer to as 'precum.' The function of this secretion is still unknown, although it's suspected either to help with lubrication or to de-acidify the urethra so that trace amounts of urine don't harm the sperm when they come through. And finally, the prostate gland releases a milky, slightly alkaline fluid that protects the sperm from the acidic environment of the female reproductive tract.
"I mentioned earlier that the Skene's gland might be the female equivalent of a prostate gland, but it's something a lot of women don't seem to have. And while the prostate is essential for sperm survival, female ejaculate (if it exists) doesn't really serve a purpose in terms of aiding reproductive success, seeing as not all women experience it, and the homo sapiens species has propagated for millennia just fine without it. So the consensus is that women do not have prostates. Therefore, Austin cannot hit Ally's prostate during anal sex."
(Cue dying animal noises from Ally, whose face is now buried in her hands, followed by Austin muttering, "When we get home, I'm going to block all fanfiction sites from our laptops and phones.")
"Next, another guest asks, 'What's with the fics about Austin releasing or burying himself in Ally's womb?'"
("Oh for the love of pickles, people actually write that? Austin, this is horrible!" "I told you we should've bolted when we had the chance!")
"…I don't know, Guest. I really don't know. But when I read an otherwise perfectly good story in which Austin 'pounds repeatedly into her womb,' I don't think, 'Ooh, how hot.' I think, 'Ouch!' So let's clear things up, shall we? A vagina is a vagina. A womb is a womb. The two are not interchangeable. The womb—uterus—is the chamber in which a fetus is supposed to grow, separated from the vaginal canal by the cervix. So please stop writing about Austin burying himself in Ally's womb. It's physically impossible."
"This is horrible!" Ally repeats, her face still in her hands.
Austin moves to comfort her, but then he stops as a wicked smirk forms across his face. "…Even as horrible as me, uh, jerking off earlier in the parking lot and getting cum all over your car?"
She looks up at that. "What?"
"Hey, you left me out there with no choice! I couldn't walk back in here with a raging boner the size of Russia. It was either on the car or in my own pants."
"But—couldn't you have…" She flails her hands around, searching for the right words. "I don't know—couldn't you have done it in the trees instead or…something?"
"Ally dear, in case you forgot, you dragged me out to a sex-ed class against my will. And you teased me mercilessly—twice—and left me no other option but to take care of myself. Twice. So I did. On your car. As retribution."
"But all over my car?"
"Weeeelll…okay, technically it wasn't all over the car. But there wound up being a decently-sized patch of it on the door. And the windshield. It's pretty noticeable, actually."
"What?"
"I would've…cleaned up after myself, but I didn't have any Kleenex on me, and I couldn't get to the emergency stash of napkins you keep in the glove compartment because you took my keys."
"…"
"Okay, okay, I'm kidding!"
"Ugh, you are so sleeping on the couch tonight."
"But I didn't actually do it!"
"Which is why you're sleeping on the couch tonight and not the entire week."
"Aw, come on, Ally!"
She huffs and crosses her arms. "I'm not speaking to you."
He realizes she's turning her face away to hide her smile, so he nudges a note at her.
$20 says you'll forgive me before this class is over.
Keeping her face averted, she flips him the middle finger, but he doesn't miss the way her shoulders shake as she fights back a giggle.
He tries again. Winner gets to decide what we're having for dinner tonight? :D
With a sigh, she turns back around and scribbles down a reply. That's a stupid bet. We both know you're going to say pancakes, and I'm going to want pickles, and then we'll just compromise and order pizza anyway. And I'm not forgiving you.
Well then, let's bet on something else. Something to raise the stakes.
What do you have in mind?
If I can make you cum under the desk before this class is over, then I win.
A/N: Reviews are awesome.
