Page 121 of Yearn

Star put a condom on a dildo for one of the women in the front row.

I couldn’t decide what was more distracting—Star calmly rolling a condom down on a dildo or the sight of one of Ro’s Helpers bending low to fill my glass again, muscles flexing with the easy strength of a man who knew he looked good.

“Eh, Star!” Ro lifted a pale-pink dildo like a baton. “Tell them to spit on it too!”

Star smiled with her eyes. “Yes, Rochelle. Lubrication—spit, lube, both—reduces friction. Friction is the enemy of rhythm. Your jaw tires faster when you’re fighting dryness.”

Women murmured.

Chairs creaked.

I looked at my newly filled glass, swallowed, and almost choked when Ro whispered, “Cadence, are you going to mace the dildo too or let it live?”

“I will be applying a condom to it,” Cadence returned, precise, and demonstrated with librarian economy. She pinched the tip, rolled it down smoothly, and made sure there were no air bubbles. “There.”

Feeling a bit tipsy, I joked, “You probably should give the biker a blow job. Star said sometimes a good BJ solves all problems.”

Ro smirked. “If you’re going to do that, then we may need to find you a bigger dildo than what you have because I know that man has a big dick.”

Cadence ignored us.

“Now let’s talk about when the penis is deep in your mouth.” Star walked us through breathwork. “You must breath inthrough your nose and then long exhale through your mouth. Always keep your shoulders down. Think. . .sigh. You can hum if that relaxes your throat. Many men like that anyway. But most important, there’s no prize for suffering.”

She showed the hand-and-mouth rhythm—twist at the base, slow glide, tongue making a gentle channel.

It was clinical and kind.

I did my best to keep up.

Star gestured to the whole class. “Alright, everyone. Let’s practice. Put your chosen dildos in your mouth.”

“Absolutely not,” Cadence murmured.

“Alright now. You’re going to lose your participation point.” I picked up my dark, heavy dildo and tried to follow Star’s rhythm. My hands were steady; my mouth was not. The plastic tasted like nothing.

Granted, it was hard not to laugh at all of us doing this together.

In fact, the next few minutes were absolute chaos.

Everywhere I looked, women were choking on dildos, gagging, humming, laughing, and swearing under their breath as they tried to keep up with Star’s calm instructions. It felt like being in church and erotic boot camp at the same time.

One woman in the front row raised both hands like she was catching the Holy Ghost, her dildo bobbing against her throat as she hummed Beyoncé’sHalo.

Another had tears streaming down her cheeks, her best friend patting her back while whispering, “You got this, sis. Breathe through your nose!”

Oh wow.

Two women across from me clinked their champagne flutes together before simultaneously sliding their mouths down on their toys like it was a competition.

One managed it with perfect rhythm.

The other gagged so hard she spit the dildo onto her lap and screamed, “I rebuke this!”

The whole room cracked up.

Meanwhile Cadence, my dear rule-following Cadence, didn’t even lift the dildo from the table. She just crossed her legs, adjusted her glasses, and sipped her champagne with librarian dignity while the rest of us looked like we were auditioning for the Oral Sex Olympics.

I took the dildo out of my mouth and nudged her with my elbow. “You’rereallynot going to try?”