The Senior Trip

Chapter 6

ASHER

I try not to think about what else I might not know. The last twenty-four hours have taught me that things are not what they seem. I can't help but wonder if I have just been living a life of blissful ignorance. Maybe there have always been signs, but I just wasn't ready to look at them yet.

"Wow, they just kind of go for it, huh?" Harper asks as she reads the next question over my shoulder.

I read it out loud, "How long does the average female orgasm last? 5 seconds, 20 seconds, or 1 minute?"

We are silent for the first time. Somehow it feels like we've stepped over some line with this one. Harper's answer will give me a very personal fact about herself. When I glance up at her, she's blushing. Her focus hasn't left the magazine in my hand.

"I think you might be the expert on this one," I tell her. She releases a breath, and her mouth forms a small "O," which combined with that flush spreading across her chest is making me slightly lightheaded. My heart pounds quickly, and I can feel the awareness of her closeness along every nerve in my body.

"I don't know about expert," she says with a sigh. Her eyes meet mine, and together we stare for a moment, our breaths syncing as I wait for her to answer. I have so many questions I want to follow that up with. Like why doesn't she feel like an expert at her own body? But I can't bring myself to say anything that might interrupt her from answering the quiz question. Blame the teenage brain inside me for the greedy need to hear her say it.

"Um," she bites her lip, and I almost groan right here on the plane. "What would you guess?" she turns the question back onto me. The words drift into my head, but all I can see are her innocent eyes and the shine of that lip gloss that begs to be kissed away.

"I've read the male orgasms lasts less than seven seconds..." I start, but she swallows, and I forget what I was saying.

"That doesn't seem fair," she practically whispers. Her voice is tighter, and I am so grateful for the magazine on my lap.

"Woman are superior in many ways. It's only fair, really," I manage to respond.

"If it's a minute, I'm doing something wrong," she confesses, and I swear I've never been so turned on in a public place in my entire life. All I want is a few minutes to imagine that.

"So..." I try.

"Twenty amazing seconds," she says.

I can't make words, so I just nod my head. When I flip the page, we discover we're right again.

"Next question," she prompts me, but I'm not even sure I remember how to read. Rerouting of my blood flow is making any rational thought flee.

"OK, yea, next question." I flip the page back over and scan down to the next one. "How often do men think about sex? Every 7 seconds, 7 minutes, or 7 hours." It's my turn to grow a little warm. I've thought about it a whole bunch during this conversation alone.

"I think you are the expert on this one," she tosses my own words back at me.

"We don't actually think about it all the time," I answer. "But when the timing is right, it's almost consuming." The flush on her chest and face hasn't left, and her eyes are heavy-lidded much like I imagine my own to be. This stupid quiz is dangerous, but I admit I love it.

"Thinking about sex isn't a bad thing," she replies. And now I'm thinking about it again. "Every seven minutes," she gives as her answer.

"Seconds," I manage to say, "Every seven seconds." And maybe that's the math because the constant stream of sex happening in my brain at this exact moment has to account for a lot of time. It isn't as if the thought just popped into my head and then disappeared. Nope, the first thought about her lips leads to the one about her tongue. The one about her tongue, of course, got me thinking about her mouth...you get the idea.

"Seriously?" she asks. "You think about sex that often?"

"Yes," I answer directly. "I bet it's almost the same for women."

"You think?" she answers most definitely distracted.

"Harper, be honest. You're thinking about sex right now."

(Don't forget to vote and comment :)