Ever practical, as I started to moan and twitch, Ava pulled back and cleaned me thoroughly with an antibacterial wipe. Then she was back to the task in hand. Literally in hand. It didn’t take long and she held the jar in place to collect her sample.
I collapsed to sit in the bed, panting, and my heart racing. She threw me the wipes, and got back to her protocol. I watched her, the precise competency of her movements, the certainty with which she unwrapped, decanted. I was unclear as to whether water-based lube was found in most laboratories, but she applied it to the syringe systematically.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she applied more to herself. We were now beyond the point where staring was weird, and her puffy vulva and neat labia were — like the rest of Ava — just perfect.
She held out the syringe.
“Did you need me to wear gloves?”
“Should be fine. Just don’t touch the tip. Are you OK, Martin?”
“Yeah. I’m OK. Let me help.”
Ava lay back, raised her knees and parted her legs. I placed the syringe at her opening, and looked at her for some sign.
“OK, but go slowly. I’m going to rub myself. It helped yesterday. Will that be distracting?”
“Yes. But I’ll cope. Ready?”
She placed her fingers between her legs and commenced a circular massage.
“Ready.”
I pushed forward. Slowly and steadily. Keeping the syringe as level as I could. The shape was far from ideal and she winced as it slipped inside her. I paused and let her breathe.
“OK, deeper now. I’ll say when.”
I pushed as smoothly and slowly as I could, and inch after inch disappeared into her.
“OK, enough. Now the plunger. Slowly, very slowly. That’s good. OK. Now don’t pull out immediately. Give it a couple of minutes.”
Ava stopped her self-stimulation and reached out a hand.
“Thank you, Martin. That wasn’t pleasant, but it was lots better than me doing it myself. Here, let me take it out. Go have a shower. I’m going to lie here with my legs raised for a while. The position helps. Then we can discuss food.”
“I was glad to help, honey.”- – –
Showered, I waited for her downstairs. Twenty minutes later, Ava joined me. We agreed something easy, and I ordered pizzas.
We had sat on opposite ends of the same couch nervously only a few days earlier. Now Ava curled up next to me, her head against my chest, my arm around her. I found the show she was interested in, and we had just finished the first episode, when the food arrived.
We ate on the couch. Not something we had done before. Then she curled up with me again. At 10:30pm Ava said she was tired. I agreed. She held my hand as we ascended the stairs. At the top, we paused. I bent and kissed her. Not in the chaste manner that she had kissed me, only days before. Not chastely at all. She responded. She responded with tenderness, tenderness just barely masking desire. Her touch, her lips. It was like I was being bathed by the gentle flow of a sun-warmed river. For a few precious minutes, we were lost in our own world of closeness. Ava broke away first.
“Thank you, Martin. I think… I think I need to sleep. Until tomorrow…”