When I was a young adult, it seemed like I was bombarded with messages that sex with one person was boring.

Promiscuity and casual hookups were celebrated, while long-term monogamy was seen as lame. I tried to fit in with my peers, casually fucking my way through college.

One-night stands and short-term relationships blur together in my memories now, but it was basically years of strangers fumbling to find my clit if I was lucky, or essentially using me as a human sex doll on the unluckier days. I never once got off during one of those random hookups, but I faked it dozens of times just to get them to finish. I thought there was something wrong with me.

But it turns out there’s nothing wrong with me — I’d just never stopped to question whether I was into women or men.

I grew up in an area where it was fine for people to be gay. It just had never crossed my mind that I might actually be one of them.

Of all people, it was my older brother’s best friend, Delilah, who opened my eyes. I was home for the summer, and she regularly came over to hang out by the pool with him. I often admired the way Delilah’s yellow bathing suit clung to the round curves of her ass or was scandalized by the way I could see her hard nipples when her top was wet, but it took me a while to realize I wasn’t just looking, I was getting turned-on. I was deeply confused by my reaction, and instead of stopping to work through it, I decided I was just sex-deprived and went on a date with a friend of a friend hoping to take the edge off.

The date was fine, he was a nice enough guy, and we ended up back at my place afterward. Delilah and my brother were there, too, so we all ended up drinking margaritas and enjoying the balmy nighttime air by the pool. We got a little carried away with the drinks, and by the time we moved things inside, the guys had both fallen asleep.

Delilah giggled as she pointed to them both snoring on the couch. Without saying anything, she crawled across the floor to me and climbed under my blanket.

What the fuck was going on?

“What are you doing?” I whispered frantically.

“What you’ve been wanting me to do all summer,” she murmured into my ear.

We were both drunk, but it suddenly made sense. I wanted her like I’d never wanted anyone.

She slid her hand under my shirt and I stiffened at the contact, but I quickly relaxed into her touch as she cupped my breast. When she started to tease my nipple, I worked my hands under her shirt and did the same. This started a drunken game of follow the leader, where she would touch me somewhere and I would do the same thing back to her.

Delilah kissed my neck and I pressed my lips to hers just the same way. She teased my nipple with her teeth, and I tried to mimic the erotic scrape with my own teeth grazing against her nipple.

My heart was racing, and I was the wettest I’d ever been. I was mortified, but didn’t stop her when she pushed her hand under the waistband of my yoga pants and into my panties, working lower until she found the evidence of my arousal. She moaned as though I had touched her, and I let out an audible groan as well when her finger found my clit. I was so caught up in the intensity of it that I nearly forgot our little game, but when I remembered, I was suddenly desperate to know whether she was as turned-on as me.

I was scared she was going to try to fist me, but also scared she was going to stop.

For the first time, I touched another woman’s pussy and melted at the feel of her wetness. That arousal was for me. She was hot and slick and swollen because of my touch. It was thrilling and I wanted more. She must have felt the same because she pulled me to the floor, stripping out of her tiny shorts and thong, so I did the same. She pulled the blanket down on top of us, so the boys wouldn’t see anything if they woke up.

I felt strangely vulnerable being bare from the waist down with her, but quickly forgot when she lay down next to me, spread my legs a little, and started to stroke my clit again. I tried to continue our game, but she stopped me and whispered, “Just let me make you feel good. You can touch me next time.” I was nervous and didn’t know what to do with my hands, but I stopped worrying about it when she rubbed harder and faster, touching me just the way I touched myself.

She used her other hand to slide two fingers inside me, and that was all it took for me to come. I covered my mouth with my own hand to keep from crying out.

She slid down under the blanket and pushed my thighs wider apart, replacing her finger on my clit with her tongue. She worked a third finger inside me and I came again when I felt the pressure of her spreading me so wide.

I thought she would stop there, but she kept pushing, working her other finger inside me. I was scared she was going to try to fist me, but also scared she was going to stop. It hurt, but it felt so good and no one had ever worked my clit the way she was doing with her tongue.

When I came again, it was an explosion of pleasure the likes of which I had never experienced before, and I soaked the carpet as I squirted for the very first time.

“I didn’t even know I could squirt,” I panted, feeling too good to be embarrassed.

“I’m sure there are lots of things I can show you. Will you let me?” she asked, looking vulnerable for the first time.

“You could start by showing me how to return the favor,” I teased, and she grinned in delight. “But maybe we should move to my bedroom first!”