“What the hell? Are you kidding me?” A frustrated sound crackled through the speaker. “I’m going back to sleep.”
“We’re not kidding,” Khai said quickly.
There was a long pause before Michael said, “What did you want to know?”
Khai took and released a tight breath before asking, “How do you know when a woman is orgasming? What are the sym—signs?”
“Wow, okay. Orgasms. Um …” He cleared his throat. “There are lots of signs, but not every woman is the same. Generally, she’ll …” He cleared his throat again. “Why is this so hard?” He laughed a little.
“Fine, since you’re mature as a nine-year-old, I’ll start,” Quan said. “Sounds are really misleading. Half the time when you have a noisy woman, she’s a faker, and she wants the sex to be over because she’s not digging it. It’s better to watch her body. When a woman is about to come, she tenses up, and her hips rise. Her skin flushes. And when the orgasm hits, she convulses hard and fast. Her whole body might shake. If you’re paying attention, you’ll feel it on your cock or your fingers or your tongue, whatever you’ve got going on. It’s fucking awesome.”
After another long pause, Michael said, “What he said.”
An uncomfortable feeling crawled over Khai’s skin as he stared at the phone and then his brother’s face. “I don’t know if she did all that. I was distracted by how good it felt.”
“Were you inside her?” Quan asked.
“Well, yeah. That’s how you have sex,” Khai said. They taught that in fifth-grade health class.
Quan gave him an impatient look. “Did you touch her clit at all?”
“What’s that?”
“Oh hell,” Michael said.
Quan smacked his palm to his forehead. “Her clitoris. It’s where you stimulate her to make her come.”
“Where is it?”
Quan rubbed both hands over his face as Michael repeated, “Oh hell.”
“What?” Khai asked. “They don’t talk about the ‘clitoris’ in health class at school.” It didn’t even sound real. For all he knew, it was an urban myth, like the Chupacabra or Roswell aliens.
“They really should,” Michael said, sounding pained.
“Why don’t they?”
Michael and Quan both fell silent.
“So maybe she didn’t orgasm. Is that enough reason for her to be mad at me?” he asked.
“Who is this we’re talking about?” Michael asked.
“Esme,” Khai said.
“Oh,” Michael said.
“Who else would it be?” Quan said. “At the end, did you hold her? They need a couple minutes of that.”
“Why?”
“The fuck, Quan?” Michael said. “You should have prepared him better.”
“Prepared me for what?” Khai asked.
Quan scrubbed a hand over his buzzed head. “Shit.”
“I was all sweaty, and I was afraid the condom would leak and get her pregnant. I took a shower. That seemed appropriate.” Wasn’t it?
Quan continued scrubbing his head. “Well, shit.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” Khai asked.
Quan dropped his hands from his head and focused a steady gaze on Khai. “Imagine you’re a girl, and—I’m serious, don’t laugh—you let a guy touch you, but when things start to feel really good, he stops. And then you’re telling yourself it’s okay, you’re glad he had a good time, but he leaves you right away and washes you off, leaving you alone in his bed. How would you feel?”