The euphoria flowed in pulses, a rhythm that seemed to last an eternity as my pubic nerves tortured my mind. I surfed the waves of pleasure, one then another, crest after trough after crest, excitement and relaxation in series gradually subsiding…

Alas, all orgasms eventually come to an end.

“Just in time,” she declared.

Relaxed and exhausted in the wake of overwhelming pleasure, I cuddled against her and through the haze of afterglow asked, “‘Just in time’… for what?”

She breathed in through her nose. “Hm. To go down to Adams.”

“Oh. Right. The case.” ((Fuck, talking to them is gonna be awkward.))

She continued sniffing, waiting for me to catch my breath before remarking, “You are soaked.”

“You just fucked me. Of course I’m soaked.”

“I sure did.”

“That’s two fucks in one day,” I observed.

“Yep. And tonight I’m gonna eat you out.”

I felt like blushing, but I was already red. “I’m… looking forward to it. And now it’s the only thing I can think about. You’ve turned me into a sex-obsessed pervert.”

She grinned. “Can’t say I’m sorry, nympho.”

I gave her a dour look. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You’re a sex maniac.”

“They called me ‘the nympho’ in high school.”

Her face screwed up with regret. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“And ever since we started having sex it’s been an elephant in my mental living room, waiting silently for me to think about it, but I’ve been doing everything I can to keep my mind off the fact I’m an example where the stereotype about redheads’ libidos is true, and that’s made even worse because, based on how quickly we hooked up, we can infer that I’m promiscuous, to boot.”

“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with having a libido. Second, I feel the need to remind you that you yourself said there was nothing wrong with being a slut. You are not the villain for being who you want to be and doing what you want to do. The people mocking you and picking on you for being someone they don’t like or doing something they don’t like are the villains. If being a slut makes you happy, you should embrace it.”

((It’s not that simple…)) “People mock me and insult me for having hair of an uncommon color. They form these beliefs about what I am before they’ve even met me, and they think less of me because of those beliefs. That’s not the kind of thing you ‘embrace’.”

“Fuck those people. Fuck what they believe, fuck what they say. Follow your heart, not theirs, define yourself and don’t let them define you. Those bastards can go to hell.”

((Does what she’s saying make sense? Sometimes they’re cruel, sometimes they’re inconsiderate, sometimes they’re merely rude—and sometimes they just… don’t know any better, because they’ve heard the same lies their entire lives, or were never taught how to be civil.)) “Not all of them are trying to be mean. Some of them are just ignorant.”

“The ignorant ones are a different problem, but whether they mean to be cruel or not, they’re still doing harm, so they’re still in the wrong. I’m talking about the assholes who don’t actually care what the truth is or about how you feel. The rest, the ‘nice’ ones… if you don’t feel like telling them to fuck off, you can give educating them a try. But that’s a heavy burden to shoulder, and I honestly don’t think it’s fair to you or worth your time or your effort.”

“I don’t know if… if someone who’s willing to improve themself isn’t worth helping. I think people deserve second chances.”

She nodded. “For example… you. That’s something everyone has to decide for herself. In your case, I chose to give you that second chance.”

“And I’m glad you did. I’ll keep that in mind next time someone calls me a—‍” I nearly locked up—I was contending with a lot of trauma. “Like I said… If I want to be a slut, there’s nothing wrong with that.” I breathed deeply. “I’m a slut. And that’s valid.” Admitting this was still a little painful, but at the same time… every time I said it, I felt a little more liberated. Being proud of my sluttiness was counterintuitive, difficult to swallow, and frightening… but liberating. And once I had tasted the skin of liberation, I craved the whole fruit.

She smiled warmly and rubbed my back. “I’m glad you’ve been able to work through that bullshit to reclaim this part of yourself. How’re ya feelin’?”

I realized I had been shedding tears throughout the entire conversation and was relieved that I had chosen to skip the mascara that morning. “Um. Just a sec, my face is drenched.” I went and grabbed a tissue from my nightstand to dab my eyes and cheeks. “I think I need time to process; this new way of thinking feels unnatural, and getting used to it is gonna involve scraping away the old thoughts and old emotions, like chewing gum from the sole of my shoe.”

“Sounds like there might be some trauma.”

“Plenty, but… I’m not in pain anymore. The trauma’s still there but it isn’t crushing me. I feel okay for the first time in decades. I feel better about being a redhead, and about being one who enjoys sex. I’m a slut who wants to fuck, and… I’m… proud of it.”

“Good!”

“But I could maybe use a distraction while my ‘metamorphosis’ incubates.”

“Then let’s get back on the case.” She checked her phone. “It’s past time to leave. It’s 64 outside, so people might wonder why you’re covered in sweat.”

I sighed. “Shit. No one’s gonna want to be near me while I’m sopping wet.”

“You might be amused to learn that I find your post-sex sweat sexy.”

“Oh? Well, I’m always happy to be sexy to you, so you can make me sweat whenever you’re in the mood. Fortunately for you, we don’t have time for me to rinse off.”

She grinned. “Alright, Perspira, let’s get a move-on.”