Master Debaters

Four girls linger at their desks after class while the door clicks shut. Ava has the room's attention—tan thighs, voice like silk—as she coolly announces the day's topic: masturbation. They laugh at first, then lean in, curious in that sudden, electric way. Sides are drawn like sides of a bed—Ava and Lily arguing health, Eliza and Aften calling harm—yet something hollows the room. None of them have so much as touched themselves. Ava rolls her shoulders, the debate coach's instinct kicking in; research is research, she says, and slides forward onto the lacquered wood. Fingers dip beneath plaid pleats, testing. Lids flutter. Lily's lips part on a small sound she never knew was hers. Enjoyment blooms hot and immediate. Panties become an obstacle—whisper of elastic, a teasing tug—and every stroke sharpens. Ava’s suggestion catches in a breath: why not reach instead of being reached? She drops, knees kissing tile, and parts Eliza with deft thumbs. Aften follows suit, tasting Lily in the same eager rhythm, breath mingling with gasps. The moans lengthen, window glass fogs at the edges; four bodies lose shape, become an ache and glide of tongues, fingers, surrender. Whatever tonight’s resolution, the debate ends right here in slick discovery and practiced, girlish hunger.