Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. >Becca Takes Her Hands Off The Wheel by ratios Part 7: -Um -- I don -(TM)t -- I mean --, - I stuttered, trying to think of a way to obey that didn -(TM)t end up with my semi-nudes posted publicly on the internet. -I need to use the bathroom, - announced Nicky, abruptly standing up from the table before looking my way. -Becca, you should come with me. - Deeta also started to rise, adding, -Yeah, me too. I -(TM)ll go w-, - but she didn -(TM)t finish her sentence before Nicky put a firm hand on her shoulder and shoved her back down into her seat. -You can go next, Deeta. Becca is coming with me this time. - Looking from the hand clamped on her shoulder to Nicky -(TM)s face, which was laser focused on me, Deeta gave a confused shrug and muttered, -Oooookay. - Because of Monique -(TM)s position next to me, I had to squeeze up against the railing to get out of my seat, but I rose and followed Nicky towards the inside of the restaurant. Looking back, I saw Monique watching us walk away as she whispered animatedly with Deeta across the table. Nothing was said as Nicky and I marched towards the neon Restrooms sign in the back of the bar. There were four individual stalls and, eschewing the traditional Men/Women signs, the bar had instead gone a more inclusive route and had painted each door with its own comical full-door pair of unique figures. The stall Nicky pulled me into had a deer on its hind legs with a mustache and tutu next to a robot with a monocle and high-heeled shoes. A small sign at eye level read: For Everybody, Just Wash Your Hooves/Hands/Claws When You -(TM)re Done Whatever mirth that the restaurant had intended the paintings to inspire was lost on me as Nicky closed and locked the door behind us. For a few tense, silent seconds, she regarded me with a contemplative expression on her face. It looked as if she was psyching herself up. -Becca -- Hun -- I have a theory. - There wasn -(TM)t much floor in the tiny stall, but Nicky began to pace the width of it, only getting a few steps before she had to turn around. -I think that -- How can I put this delicately? Heck with it. I think that the hornier you get -- the stupider you get. No offense! - -Uhhh -- - She seized on my hesitation. -See, right there! Being humiliated gets your engine going and then you -(TM)ll pretty much do anything to keep on driving. Am I right? I mean, you were about to start uploading nudie pics of you to who knows where on the net. That -(TM)s not reasonable, is it? Your thinking has gotta be impaired. - That couldn -(TM)t possibly be true -- Could it? Sure, I had given away most of my clothing, and, sure, I was running around in public without a top on, and, sure, I had just flashed a crowd full of people and -- Oh my God. Nicky was right. None of that was reasonable! Somehow, horniness had transformed me into some sort of a brainless -- slut! If someone had told me twenty four, or even just four hours ago that I would be mostly naked at a restaurant flashing my labia at the phone cameras of strangers, I would have laughed in their face. Or, rather, I probably would have run away in fear; laughing in their face would probably require eye contact and I wasn -(TM)t very good at that. But now, half of my thoughts over the last several hours had been how shameful my behavior had been, and the other half had been how turned on I was by what I was doing and how much I couldn't wait to go diddle myself back in my dorm room. Uhn -- I almost couldn -(TM)t wait. Snapping fingers in front of my face brought me abruptly out of my shameful contemplation. -See, this is what I -(TM)m talking about. You just tuned out for like ten seconds. Were you thinking about horny stuff? - Almost nothing but, I admitted to myself. -...maybe?, - I admitted to Nicky. -Uh huh, -~maybe -(TM) like -~maybe -(TM) Jason Momoa is hot, or -~maybe -(TM) the Pope is Catholic, or -~maybe -(TM) Professor Shamal gives us too much homework, or -~maybe -(TM) - - -Okay, okay, I get it. Yes, I was thinking about --, - I looked down at my hands and took a deep breath. Nicky was my oldest friend, and if I couldn -(TM)t talk to her about this, then who could I talk to? Using the little nerve I had, I jumped off the cliff and admitted my thoughts. -I was thinking about how much being exposed this evening has turned me on and whether the fact that I really want to go touch myself every time I think about it makes me some kind of -- some kind of -- Slut, - I said, applying the label to myself with the emphasis of all the shame I had felt over the entire evening. Her fierce hug caught me by surprise. -Oh, Becca --, - she whispered as she squeezed me. After a second, I hugged her back. It was probably half a minute before we separated. -First of all: -~slut -(TM) is a label that other assholes might try to stick on you for a ton of different reasons to make you feel like crap, and all of those reasons are bullshit. You -(TM)ll get called a slut just because you -(TM)re a woman, and you -(TM)ll get called a slut if you sleep with anyone, but you -(TM)ll also get called a slut if you don -(TM)t put out. You can ignore it, or you can embrace it, but never let that weapon of a word have power over you. If you think it -(TM)s hot to think of yourself that way, then, by all means, proceed. BUT, if you want to beat yourself up with it on the world -(TM)s behalf, then FUCK THAT. As women, there -(TM)s billions of people in this world that would love nothing more than to keep us under their boot heels until the day that we die. Don -(TM)t. Help. Them. Got it? - In awe of Nicky -(TM)s sudden impassioned speech, I just gulped and nodded, feeling half ready to cry for a variety of reasons. -Good. Number two: I told you I wouldn -(TM)t try to hold you back with whatever game you -(TM)re playing with the group, but that doesn -(TM)t mean I -(TM)m going to encourage you to set yourself on fire to get attention, either. I brought you in here and told you my theory for a reason; I think you -(TM)ve been winding yourself up tighter and tighter with all the flashing and teasing you -(TM)ve been doing today. It -(TM)s fresh, it -(TM)s new, and you -(TM)re probably desperate for release right now and willing to do just about anything to get it. Am I right? - -Oh GOD yes!, - I blurted. It wasn -(TM)t intentional, and I had no idea I was going to say it until the words were already out, and by then there was no putting them back. After, I just looked at my hands sheepishly -Thought so. Well, you have privacy now. I suggest you use it to relieve yourself and turn back on that brain of yours. - Skewed as my mind was at the time, it took me a couple of heartbeats to understand her meaning. The idea of masturbating in a restaurant bathroom both terrified and thrilled me, and the unexpected excitement I felt at the proposition scared me even more, but the tiny flame of hope for release that sparked to light within me was soon snuffed out after a quick look around at my surroundings. Though my body yearned for it, the grimy toilet seat stained with flecks of strange pee, the tiny overflowing wastebasket filled with used paper towels and snotty kleenexes, and the blackened grout between the off-white floor tiles did not constitute the building blocks of an environment in which my mind could let itself go easily, and so I froze up. My actions up until now had been a little slutty, sure, I thought to myself, but getting myself off in this kind of a place would be a step too far -- Wouldn -(TM)t it? -Um -- I, uh, don -(TM)t think- - I cleared my throat. -I think I -(TM)m good for now, - I sputtered lamely. Nicky -(TM)s gaze went to all the places that mine had just been, as if mentally reviewing the thought process that brought me to my refusal, and then she sighed, as if in resignation before pursing her lips and nodding to herself as if answering some unknown question that I wasn -(TM)t privy to. Then, she reached out and gently grabbed my arm, leading me to stand by the sink facing the mirror there whose edges had been carved with the initials of a dozen drunken patrons past. -Look at yourself, Becca, - she said, positioning herself right behind me. -You even look desperate. Look at your eyes. - Of course I could see it. So could Nicky. Hell, half the world probably could. I could also feel Nicky -(TM)s breasts pushing against my back, and her warm breath in my ear and on my neck -- These things weren -(TM)t easing my need at all. Nicky was whispering to me now, looking in my eyes in the mirror. -You need help, B. Let me help you. Can I help you? - Her right hand had wrapped around me to rest on the bare patch of skin left by the shawl, just below my belly button. I wanted to scream for her to stop. I wanted to beg for her to continue. More than anything, I wanted to explode! As Nicky -(TM)s hand creeped lower, I froze again. I had to stop her, right? But then a little voice in the back of my brain whispered to me, All you need to do is nothing, and Nicky will take care of the rest. Just do what you usually do and give in. Just give in. I gave her the slightest of nods in the mirror, just barely a head tilt and back, but it was enough. The tenseness dropped from her face and her hand hastened on its journey. There was no talking now, just motion. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes held on to her gaze for dear life, as if she was the only thing anchoring me to the planet. When her fingers made their way past the hem of the skirt and immediately hit flesh again, I realized that the whole front was still tucked up into the waistband. The realization that I had walked through the restaurant to the bathrooms with my damp, wedgied underwear on full display should have hit me like a gut punch, but I had no mental bandwidth to process it now as Nicky -(TM)s finger tips pushed inside the elastic band of my panties. I had to clench my teeth to keep from calling out. Finding my sloppy labia, Nicky -(TM)s fingers ran up and down their length several times and I couldn -(TM)t stop a moan from escaping directly from my throat out into the world. When her middle finger parted my lips and thrust slowly into my waiting hole, I completely lost it. Ten seconds of stimulation and I drenched her hand, my unicorn panties, my legs, and the floor beneath us in slippery liquid. The shaking of my entire body did not halt her determined finger from maintaining a manic rhythm pumping in and out of me and my sustained orgasm seemed to last a thousand times longer than the embarrassingly brief period of stimulation required to achieve it. For a number of blissful seconds, it felt like every muscle in my body had spasmed all at once, before it finally ended and I went entirely limp in an instant. My friend tried her best to hold me up, but my limp and heavy form slid through her arms to land me on my knees on the dirty bathroom floor, gasping and wheezing for breath. Now standing over me, Nicky was examining her soaked hand and the puddle on the floor under me with an odd mixture of marvel and disgust. -Holy hell -- What a mess! You really were on a hair trigger, B! - How was I supposed to respond to that? I had no idea, so I just sat there, leaking. Above me, the sink turned on and Nicky spent several deliberate minutes soaping and scrubbing her hand, thoroughly cleaning herself off before pulling several paper towels from the dispenser. I just stared blankly up at her, feeling like I had just been run over by a semi truck full of dopamine. After finishing drying herself off, Nicky looked down at me for a moment looking slightly guilty. -This -- this was okay, right? We -(TM)re good? - -Yeah, we -(TM)re good, - I croaked for her sake, not having anywhere near the clarity of focus to make such a complicated determination. My reassurance seemed to take a major weight off her shoulders, however, and she breathed a literal sigh of relief when I gave it. Then, Nicky being Nicky, she went back into practical mode. -This was a one time thing, okay? You -(TM)re like a sister to me and I would never -- - She trailed off and then had to pause again and take a deep breath. -We -(TM)re going to treat what just happened like it was a medical emergency and we -(TM)re never gonna talk about it again, capisce? In the future, I highly advise you to find opportunities to take care of yourself occasionally to keep your pressure low so you don -(TM)t get horny stupid. - She had to grab my head and tilt it to the side to get me to look at her. -I -(TM)m going to go back to the table now. Are you good to clean yourself up? - I nodded dumbly up at her and she straightened her back and flicked a strand of hair out of her face. -Okay, good. Pull yourself together and I -(TM)ll see you back there in a few? - Holding her hand out, she waited for me to grab it and then helped me get to my feet before once again catching my gaze. -Remember. This never happened. What never happened? Nothing, that -(TM)s what. - Then she was out the door and I was alone. Looking back at the mirror, the face I saw there looked somehow -- changed from the one I had seen just a couple of moments before. The girl in the mirror was glowing. Soon after, however, reality began to set in and I began to think through what had just happened. My best friend, a woman I had known since I was tiny, a person for whom I had never had a single sexual thought in my entire life, had just fingered me off in the ladies restroom of a local bar. Inexplicably, I had even, in the heat of the moment, encouraged her to do it. At no point in Nicky and my entire relationship together had there ever been any indication that she was attracted to me, or into women at all for that matter, and I -(TM)m pretty sure that was still the case. Nicky was a pragmatic person, and giving me an orgasm had likely been as sexual of an act in this case as helping me change a tire or unclog a sink. She saw a friend in need and buckled down, rolled up her proverbial sleeves, did the dirty work, and then moved on with her life. Whether we ever spoke of the matter in the future, I had no idea whether I would ever be able to look her in the eyes again without remembering the last five minutes and I shuddered at the thought. Once I felt that my legs would hold me again, I stopped leaning on the sink and took inventory of myself. My panties were no longer just damp; now they were completely soaked to the point of transparency. Both of my legs had streaks, smears, and splatters of my greasy arousal juices sprayed down them and the floor beneath me looked like someone had spilled a glass of water on it. Cringing at the unsanitariness, I realized that it was even under my filthy feet and between my toes. My post orgasmic bliss was fading rapidly and the inevitable mental recriminations started closing in hot and fast, blame and humiliation pouring over me regarding the circumstances of my illicit orgasm. Oh my god, you -(TM)re such a slut, I chastised myself and felt my pelvis clench at the thought. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, I started wiping up the slime wherever I found it, mentally kicking myself at the necessity of the task As I worked, however, I remembered what Nicky had said: Slut wasn -(TM)t a bad word, and sluts weren -(TM)t bad people. This was a novel concept to me and everything in my conservative upbringing railed against the idea, telling me that I should hate the way I was acting. But -- If I was supposed to hate all of my recent behavior, then why in the hell did I feel So Damn Good? Taking Nicky -(TM)s advice at face value, I decided that I probably shouldn -(TM)t beat myself up over the idea that I might be acting in ways that I- no, scratch that -acting in ways that my parents wouldn -(TM)t consider acceptable. Standing there, holding a sticky mess of soaked and dirty paper towels that were drenched in my squirt, coming down from my orgasmic high, I found myself wondering how I would go about internalizing that particular level of acceptance. Shoving the bundle down in the overflowing wastebasket, I buried the shameful evidence beneath a handful of other, more traditionally wetted paper products and then stood to wash my hands. While I did so, I examined myself in the mirror. My face was flushed, my nipples were doing their best to poke through the thin shawl around my shoulders, and the small restroom stall STANK of my feminine arousal. There were so many things about the situation that conflicted with how I thought my life should be right now, and it tore me up inside to admit to myself that I kind of liked -- no -- loved the way it made me feel. Shaking the remnants of the water off of my hands, I leaned on the sink and gave myself a hard stare. -You -(TM)re a slut, - I whispered to myself experimentally, feeling a surge of shame and arousal to say it out loud. A renewed throbbing in my sex drove me onward. -You are a slut, - I repeated, more deliberately. -A dirty slut, - I added. -You just seduced your straight friend and made her finger you in the bathroom. You -(TM)re disgusting. - My hips moved themselves forward almost of their own accord and, with the front of my skirt pulled up, my crotch found the edge of the sink. Like the shameless slut I had to be, I began to hump the smooth porcelain. -You just want attention, don -(TM)t you, slut? You took off and gave away all your clothes on purpose, didn -(TM)t you? You must have wanted this. I must have wanted this. - The exposed skin of my chest and neck were reddened, and I wasn -(TM)t sure whether it was due to the humiliation caused by my self-taunting, or caused by the new wave of arousal that was coming over me. -I should be ashamed. I should want to be good. I shouldn -(TM)t be able to wait for the night to end to get back to normal -- And part of me does, but the rest of me knows the truth, - I told myself, unsure of whether what I was saying had any grain of factualness to it. All I knew was that it was what I needed to hear at that moment. -I am a slut. I have to be. There is no other explanation. - Grinding harder on the edge of the sink, I started whimpering between words. -That -(TM)s right. I -(TM)m not worthy of respect. I -(TM)m not worthy of redemption. I -(TM)m a dirty *hahn* filthy *hahn* SLUT! - And, just like that, I was cumming again. There was no squirting this time, just the sweet release of orgasm shadowed by a looming feeling of dread that something was broken inside of me. Peeling myself off the sink, I studiously avoided my own eyes in the mirror, now fearful of the stern look of judgment that I would surely find there. Instead, I got busy straightening myself out: running my hands through my hair to get the lingering grass out, washing my face and hands, brushing the dirt and grass off my limited clothing, patting my panties and crotch with a dozen paper towels until they stopped coming away spotted with moisture, and then thoroughly washing and drying every surface that I had dirtied with my presence. Eventually, once I couldn -(TM)t come up with any other tasks that I could use as excuses to delay my ultimate exiting of my private sanctuary, I made a final set of adjustments to myself before I could think of one of the million reasons not to. Heart beating fast, pulled the shawl wider to the sides of my chest, barely sparing an inch where it covered my nipples and providing a shameless amount of cleavage. After that, I pulled my panties taught against my slit with one hand and used the thumb and forefinger of the other to spread my lips wide around the gathered fabric. With the front of my skirt still flipped up and tucked, I -(TM)m sure I was giving the world one hell of a show, but I kept my eyes straight ahead to avoid having to acknowledge that fact. Given a thousand years, I -(TM)m not sure I could explain why I did these things; my animal brain just told me it was how I was supposed to be. Now physically prepared to face the world, I hoped I could find a mental equivalency somewhere and forced myself to open the door of the bathroom, striding out with as much counterfeit confidence as I could summon. It was either that or lock myself in the tiny room so I could sit on the toilet and cry for the rest of the night. I still haven -(TM)t decided if I made the right choice.