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It was, like all things between us, a process of trial and error, miscommunication and startling insight, joy and failure. Even the failures were a source of joy, as we learned more about each other, about what would bring pleasure, what would bring pain or discomfort, what we wanted from one another. Our species' sex practices were . . . not the same. But Grace could tap me, and I could stroke them, and in the end, we were similar in this way too, or similar enough. Grace's orgasms were amazing, both in their similarity to my own resonating peaks and in their differences, but when we had stroked and opened and rubbed and entered and knocked each other, we were both left wet: leaking and disgusting and satisfied. Grace is like Rocky, I thought, wonderingly, after our first time having sex together. Grace and Rocky are alike.
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