Chapter Text
Rachel had always known she'd fall in love in a spectacular way, when she finally did.
Spectacular, to her mind, however, hadn't really covered any of these scenarios:
- locking eyes with the most beautiful girl she's ever seen while she's cleaning wet slush out of her face, and knowing instantly that it could never be and that she'd never want anyone else again, either;
- somehow, becoming that girl's best friend—and in a true sense, where they are each other's confidantes and they spend every free moment they have together, which is lovely except for the part where sometimes Rachel wants to kiss Quinn so badly that it actually forms a little ball of hurt in her chest, and that ball of hurt might supernova one day, and that will kill her;
- telling her, unintentionally, just because it was getting too hard not to, and having her react in a way that doesn't hide shock, but copes with it so well that Rachel falls in love even harder, underneath a lamp post outside of an overpriced Thai restaurant;
- having that girl bedraggled on the front steps of her house, begging for a place to stay, and then a haircut, and then brokenly admitting to never having been as perfect as she looks now.
It had never covered any of those scenarios, but she has managed to take all of those events in stride.
And then came the day when Quinn paused one of her favorite musicals, and said, "I'm a girl", with such emphasis that Rachel felt her breath catch in her throat even before the real story—the real truth—came out.
When it was over, and Quinn had cried herself to sleep in Rachel's arms—not for the first time—Rachel felt...
She felt distressingly empty, and it was only when it occurred to her that this was something she could research that her heart reminded her that, no, love didn't walk away this quickly.
It was still there, somewhere behind the emptiness.
It was still there, just like Quinn was still Quinn, even if she did have—
…
It wasn't until a good day later, and a sleepless night later—and Quinn's reluctance to stay in her bed suddenly made more sense, because Rachel has taken health class and she knew about—what happens to—
Was it offensive to think of it as what happened to teenage boys?
She pressed the backs of her hands into her eyes, until it hurt , and even that wouldn't stop her tears.
She wasn't even sure what she was crying about; the fact that this was happening to Quinn, or that it was happening to her. The mere idea of the latter thought mattering at all made her feel worthless, but then her daddy knocked on her door and stepped inside.
Rachel took one look at him, felt more tears leak from her eyes, and watched as he carefully sat down on the edge of her bed. "She told you."
The she wasn't lost on her.
"How long—"
"Not long, Rachel, and she didn't tell me so much as that I caught her with, um, her hands down her pants. Proverbially, not literally," her father said, before carefully sliding his glasses back up his nose. "How are you? Are you okay?"
"I think you should be asking her that."
"I already did, honey. She said you took it really well and that she's lucky to have you."
A knot worked its way up from Rachel's stomach until it lumped in her throat. "I don't know what happens now. I have so many questions, and—"
"She'll answer them. Okay? Don't bottle it up. Just talk to her," her daddy said, giving her a pointed look. "And no matter what you think, just remember that she's a part of this family now, and—"
"Daddy, I still love her, I just—"
He nodded, and then leaned down until he could give her a brief hug.
She clinged to his shirt for a moment, and as her alarm went off, she realized that something was missing. Something big.
The something where Quinn hadn't bounded into her bedroom after a polite knock, the way she did most mornings, if only to stop Rachel's alarm from going off—she hated Break My Stride, and instead insisted on playing More than a Feeling, for reasons she wouldn't divulge and Rachel kept guessing at aimlessly—and beat her to the girls' bathroom before—
She closed her eyes. "I'm—let's just go downstairs."
There, she saw Quinn, and her heart skipped a beat as always—but her eyes fought to track down to Quinn's … legs, and she had to work to sit next to her and eat her muesli as she did every morning.
It was awful. It was awful, because her heart and her stomach were so not seeing eye to eye right now.
There was a possible metaphor there about Quinn and Quinn's—
She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.
…
They didn't really talk about it.
It was her own fault, for saying she needed time to get over the shock.
Quinn was giving her space, but space was giving her far too much room to think, about the pertinent questions that were driving her crazy right now. Like: yes, male genitalia, but how? Are they complete? If Quinn has testes, how does she look like a girl?
Hours spent poring over Google pages in Quinn's absence were getting her exactly nowhere, but when Quinn mumbled something about needing to go in for a check-up and not having health insurance over dinner one night, it was her daddy Quinn whispered it to, and her dad who said, "We'll take you. And we'll get you on our plan, okay? Not a problem, s'long as you keep doing the dishes each night."
Quinn nodded, and then glanced at Rachel for a moment, and actually mouthed sorry.
Rachel immediately felt the way people like Santana Lopez, and her cohort of bullies, should feel. But the way the universe worked, those girls probably slept fine at night, even though they should be ashamed of themselves.
She, meanwhile, lay awake at night and wished this was as easy as she'd always thought it would be. She was tolerant. She was open to anything.
She just hadn't known to be open to this, because she has known she was gay since she was about eight years old, and now she was fifteen and she was in love with a girl, but—
It wasn't that simple.
It just wasn't.
…
Quinn went out shopping, and came back in low-slung jeans and a plaid shirt and a t-shirt and looked at her a little nervously.
"Do you—I don't know how I feel about it. It's really comfortable but—I don't look—mannish, do I?" she asked, stiltedly.
Rachel felt her heart splinter, and shook her head. "Not at all. Really, not at all."
"I think this is—you know how I have casual dresses and nice dresses? This is—for really casual times, but I think I want to develop a look that's—a little nicer. For dates, maybe. Or important school dates, with presentations," Quinn said, brushing her growing hair out of her eyes with a vaguely trembling hand.
Rachel swallowed and wondered what someone who hadn't been in love with a girl who wore dresses and had long hair, once, would say.
"That sounds good," was what she finally settled on.
She had questions, like—why not the dresses, but suspected it was about comfort, more than anything else. She had been reading about—teenage boys, and their parts, just to get used to the idea that she lived with …. sort-of one, and apparently Quinn needed long showers in the morning for more than one reason and—
Her head was spinning, and then Quinn just smiled and said, "Thanks, Rach."
It came out like there was more that she wanted to say, but she didn't. And that was probably on Rachel, for not having braved the subject of the boy parts yet, because it was getting to the point where she desperately needed some answers, or at least an indication of how they worked, and how Quinn felt about them. What it was like to be a girl, but to have decidedly un-female bodyparts that weren't going anywhere.
Everyone acted like there was just nothing different, and the more she thought about that, the less it felt true.
She was a lesbian.
Quinn had a penis.
Something about that combination of facts was going to have to give.
...
A few days later, Quinn was picking up both of their backpacks and shrugging one over each shoulder as Rachel grabbed the car keys and an apple for the drive, and they bumped into each other when reaching for the door—and her hip knocked Quinn in the—
She flushed, hard, and then said, "Sorry."
"That's okay," Quinn said, taking a measured step back again.
"Does it hurt?" she blurted out. "Because it's—external? Did that—"
Quinn's eyebrows climbed up sharply, and she carefully said, "Well, if you'd hit me harder, I guess—like, please don't elbow me there."
"My elbow can't possibly reach your—your—crotch area, Quinn," she said, and Quinn grinned a little awkwardly and responded with, "Well, we're fine then, aren't we?"
She was so beautiful, and when Rachel tossed her the apple, she caught it and took a bite with perfectly even teeth. She was so beautiful, but she was more than that, too.
She was just a blend of everything she had ever been.
Rachel took in Quinn's now choppy near-shoulder-length hair, and her fondness for sweaters and button-up shirts and pants that flattered her but weren't too tight, and bit her lip.
This version of Quinn, the real Quinn, looked like a model from an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue on days she dressed up to go to school, and there was something about the slant of Quinn's jaw and the way she had to keep flicking at least some of her hair out of her eyes, with those endless eyelashes and the small laugh lines that Rachel kept thinking about pressing kisses against—
What she didn't say was that she was fairly sure that she was seeing the real Quinn for the first time, because her heartrate slowed dramatically and she couldn't stop looking at the way Quinn's eyes trained on her. Something was changing, in this moment, and it was changing hard; a new set of thoughts settled in and challenged her, because Quinn was so beautiful, but she was also—
She was also so handsome, sometimes, and Rachel felt like a small-minded coward for even thinking that, even though the thought itself didn't put her off in the slightest.
But it would put Quinn off, and that was a problem.
"Yes, we're fine," she said, mustering up her best smile, and letting Quinn take her hand for a moment, exchanging keys for the apple. And those hands were soft, and delicate, and womanly, and they reminded her of the ultimate truth.
Quinn was a girl. Even though everything else she has thought in the last five minutes was also true, Quinn was a girl.
"C'mon. Let's try to beat the Slushie hour," Rachel finally said, pulling her hand away again.
"It's okay if we don't make it. I don't know, I kind of—like rinsing your hair out," Quinn said, almost shyly, and Rachel felt her heart skip a beat and her stomach twist with nausea.
Quinn was a girl, but—
Quinn was a girl.
…
Then, one day, it just clicked.
She stopped telling herself that Quinn was a girl, because Quinn was Quinn.
She had this revelation in the bathroom, of all places, brushing her teeth—and spotting a wad of tissue in the trash that made her cheeks feel heated for a moment, but—
It wasn't entirely unappealing. The thought of Quinn doing something she has seen a wide variety of pictures and videos of on the internet by now was not entirely unappealing. She could imagine the slightly dazed look on Quinn's face, the way her tongue would keep snaking out and wet her lips, and the way her mouth would fall open just a little.
She could picture the way Quinn would squeeze her eyes shut, and then picture—
Quinn would picture her. She knew that. She knew, because Quinn sometimes stared at her legs a little too long and then stared off into the distance with bright, unfocused eyes. She also knew because Quinn has said that the half-truths between them were what was keeping her at a distance, but it wasn't a lack of attraction.
She stared at a wad of tissue in the bathroom trash can, and realized that Quinn liked her and Quinn was Quinn, and suddenly, none of this seemed quite so daunting anymore.
There was a light skip in her step when she headed to Quinn's room, where her best friend—her everything, really—was sketching something idiotic on a big white notepad, and then looked up curiously at her.
"I really—like your new clothes, Quinn," she finally stammered, blushing a little.
It was so not what she meant to say. It was a re-tread of a far earlier, half-finished conversation, where she'd been too focused on unimportant details to really say what she'd wanted to..
The simple truth is, Quinn looked good. Quinn, who was now moving to stand in front of her, and saying, "Yeah?" carefully, looked really good, in her soft-looking plaid shirt, with her shy eyes and her ability to read Rachel like she had no secret-keeping abilities left at all, anymore.
They will never talk about how little Rachel has slept in the last few weeks, and how she still wasn't entirely sure about the speech that's slipping from her lips, because what remained true and important in the moment was the disbelief in Quinn's eyes, that then slowly shifted to an unabated kind of happiness.
Happiness that she put there.
It lifted her heart; made it sing, really, and when they kissed for the first time, when Quinn kissed her for the first time, it made everything else seem completely irrelevant.
For a few hours, anyway.
…
Quinn was an amazing kisser.
She was polite about it; Rachel had heard horror stories from Mercedes and Tina about boys who just didn't know when to attack and when to retreat, as it were, but Quinn was something of a lip magician. They'd start out so slowly—it would barely be a brush, and usually with a slight grin on Quinn's face like she still couldn't believe she was allowed to do this—and then she'd lean in again, for another one of those quick, not-enough kisses that eventually had Rachel reaching for the back of her neck—cupping it, and holding her in place.
Quinn was a tease, but out of respect, not a desire to frustrate. She kept careful distance between them when they were kissing, and would frequently end up just pulling them both up to their knees, so they could try new things. Rachel discovered Quinn shivered when someone brushed fingertips down by her elbow, and Quinn learned that Rachel almost liquefied if someone scratched at the hair at the nape of her neck, or rubbed a thumb right behind her ear.
They did all of this, while kissing each other gently and softly, and then invariably, Quinn would bite off a small moan and pull back, with a smile so wide it looked almost painful, and then a quick press somewhere innocuous: Rachel's forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her nose, right between the eyes...
A quick kiss to say, "And we're done."
Then, they'd go back to whatever they'd been doing before, but the temptation to try and find out what marked the stoppage point was overwhelming, and Rachel frequently found herself looking at the zipper on Quinn's jeans or slacks just to find out if—
And then what if?
She had no idea what she'd do. And she suspected, on some level, that Quinn knew that she had no idea what she'd do, and that's why they never made out lying down, and never really—dealt with any of that.
She wasn't ready, in general terms, but she especially wasn't ready for the idea that her gorgeous girlfriend—who really, God, sometimes she just looked at Quinn and felt like crying, she was that beautiful—wore boxer shorts.
Or boy briefs.
She didn't honestly know, and didn't know if it was polite to find out. Quinn did her own laundry, for reasons nobody talked about, and—
"What's on your mind?" Quinn asked, doing some chemistry homework next to her. The textbook was covering her lap, and Rachel stared at that, for a moment, before looking back at Quinn's half-amused face. "I can hear you think, Rach. It's like you might burst into spontaneous song."
"Do you wear boxers or briefs?" Rachel asked, before she could file this in with all the other things she wasn't asking about.
Quinn blinked at her, and then blushed mildly and said, "Um—boy briefs. They're—almost the same as girl briefs, but with a little more... space. Obviously."
"Are those more comfortable than boxers?"
"I don't know; I've only ever slept in boxers, but—over my briefs," Quinn said, lowering her pencil to her lap book and then shifting a little. "Um—what about you?"
"Oh, um... well, regular briefs, normally."
Quinn chuckled after a second. "Yeah, I think I knew that, I mean, any time you bend over—"
Rachel swatted at her thigh and shot her a look, and Quinn scratched at her head for a moment before blowing out some air, carefully.
"Wow," she then said. "Um. Can—I ask why you're wondering?"
It was a sudden opportunity, to actually broach the subject, and Rachel wanted to take it. She really did, but once that door was opened, she had no idea how to proceed.
She didn't want to hurt Quinn's feelings.
There didn't seem to be any way to say, explain your genitalia to me that didn't some how end up there, and so she ended up just smiling faintly and saying, "I guess I'm just curious. I mean, you're very careful to not let me see you—you know. Unclothed."
Quinn's expression fell after a second, and then she said, "Sorry. It's not you. I have some... issues."
"I understand," Rachel said.
It wasn't untrue, and she reached for Quinn's hand across the duvet after a moment and then said, "For what it's worth—you don't have anything to worry about. You're beautiful."
"Yeah, well, I know. Most of me, anyway. I just—" Quinn said, and then shook her head. "Never mind."
Rachel watched as she dove back into her homework, and realized that just passively seeing how things were going to develop wasn't going to cut it.
She was going to have to be the one to test her own limits, here, because Quinn was wonderful, and respectful, and terrified of rejection, and Rachel couldn't even blame her for that.
It was time to actually commit to this relationship, if she was going to. And that meant committing to all of it, because they were both turning sixteen within the next six months and she knew that most of her friends were already vaguely sexually active, and—the way Quinn sometimes kissed her neck, warm and hot, she knew that if Quinn hadn't had this particular situation, she'd—
"Hey—want to go on a date with me this weekend? I saved up some money tutoring and um, I'd like to take you out," Quinn said, out of nowhere.
There was confidence there, but also so much concern that she was pushing, and this was after weeks and weeks of them kissing, holding hands, and being, and Rachel suddenly felt like a real bastard for letting any of this worry her so.
The penis—the—whatever it was, it was a part of Quinn, and she loved Quinn.
That had to be enough.
"Yes. Absolutely," she said, and smiled—feeling suddenly relieved. "Are you picking me up?"
"Yeah, I thought I'd leave the house and everything; ring the door bell, get threatened by your dads—"
"They know I'm in safe hands until I win a Tony," Rachel said, and Quinn sighed so dramatically that she laughed. "I'm teasing, Quinn."
"Wait, the Tony thing isn't real?" Quinn asked, and something about the hint of hopefulness in her eyes had Rachel glancing at that chemistry textbook again.
"No, of course not; I just had to tell them something. But—I'm also not ready."
Quinn blushed a bright red and said, "Well, geez, me either, I mean, I've never even—"
"Anything," Rachel said, with a small smile.
"Yeah. Anything. With you or anyone. So—"
This was going to go gradually no matter how semi-excited Quinn looked at the idea that Rachel might be amenable to some sort of process, and she felt herself relax completely at that certainty.
"So—maybe we should kiss a little more, right now? As a starting point?"
Quinn grinned at her a little goofily, and then leaned in—with the same careful distance as always, but Rachel now knew she was going to be the one crossing it, so that was fine.
…
It happened abruptly.
She'd had a really good rehearsal, at Glee, and she'd been so happy and excited to see Quinn that she'd more or less flattened her up against her bedroom wall, and then—then it had happened.
They'd been standing so close together, and she'd been unintentionally rubbing up against Quinn just because—she had to get on her toes, to exchange the kinds of deep and hazy kisses that she wanted right now. And that slight rocking motion into Quinn's hips—yeah.
There it was.
She glanced down, her chest still heaving a little, and looked at the shape she could see against the seam of Quinn's jeans now. It wasn't—she didn't really know what she'd been expecting, but something massive, really, was what came to mind. Instead, it was a soft swell, and she reached for it instinctively.
Quinn moaned quietly above her, as soon as there was contact, and then hissed in some air and stayed so very still that Rachel glanced at her face—and the way her eyes were dilating, and the way—they were talking, carefully, about what they were doing, but all she could think about was that she was touching Quinn and it was doing this to her.
She felt herself get wet. Spontaneously, and wonderfully, because—and oh, God, this was the wrong way to think about this, but it really was a relief that—Quinn had reacted to her, and she liked it. She voiced that thought, breathily, when Quinn asked if she was weirded out, and then hugged her so tightly that Quinn chuckled softly and said, "This isn't going to make it go away, you know" after a minute.
"That's okay," Rachel said, and glanced down between them again, at a new, unexpected part of Quinn that she was actually going to get to know, now.
"Are you finally ready to talk about this?" Quinn asked, softly and right by her ear. "Because I know you, Rach; you're nothing but curiosity, and you've been sitting on your questions for months now, and it's been making me really, really nervous. I don't mind talking to you about this, and—"
She swallowed the rest of Quinn's anxiety in a kiss, and then said, "Let me go make some tea, and then—yes. I'm ready to talk."
…
As much as Quinn said she didn't mind the conversation, she was nervously fidgeting with the strings on her hoodie and staring blankly into the mug of tea in front of her.
Then, she finally said, "I don't know how much you want to know. Your dad and I, we talked about—you know, my clinical diagnosis and that kind of thing and—is that what you need to know? Or do you just want to know if—how it works now, or—"
"I want to know everything," Rachel said, quietly, biting her lip. "I want to know—what you feel, how you feel about it. I want to know what—I need to be doing, with regards to it. And—"
Quinn laughed a little weakly, and then ran a slow hand through her hair—now a little longer than chin-length, and she seemed to like it that way—and said, "Okay. Well. I was born with ambiguous genitalia. I've told you that. What I actually meant was that I have both male and female gonads."
Rachel blinked and said, "So—"
"Yeah. I have ovaries. But—not a womb," Quinn said, a little shakily. "I don't really know how that works. I mean, I've seen scans but they're not really clear. The—the ovaries are why I look like a female, though. They produce estrogen."
"But your testes—"
"Yeah. They produce, um. Testosterone. And—I take hormones to make sure that that doesn't overpower, you know, um." Quinn stopped talking, licked her lips, and then cringed a little when she added, "I take hormones to make sure that they don't go overboard and I don't end up with excessive body hair. I have for a few years now."
"Are you fertile?" Rachel asked, tentatively.
"In what sense?" Quinn asked back, looking straight at her.
Rachel cringed. "I'm sorry, I don't know—I guess, … since you don't have a womb, you aren't—you can't reproduce that way?"
Quinn nodded. "So you're asking if I produce sperm."
Rachel took a deep breath. "Yeah. I mean, well, no. I know you do. Um—the tissues in the bathroom trash, they—"
"Oh my God," Quinn mumbled, blanching spectacularly. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't—"
"Quinn, it's fine; my tampon wrappers end up in there, and I don't hear you complaining about that."
"Yeah, but that's normal," Quinn said, so emphatically that Rachel reached across the table for her hand, and stroked the back of it for a moment.
"You're different. That's not the same as abnormal."
"Yeah, that's why we're having this conversation, right?" Quinn said, faintly rolling her eyes. She didn't sound bitter very often, anymore, but she kind of did right now.
"We're having this conversation because I want to educate myself on how I can be the best girlfriend possible to you, okay? I'm sorry it's taken me so long. I don't—I didn't want to offend you, by asking invasive questions. But I love you, and I want to be with you, and I feel like there are things I need to know."
"Okay, well, I don't know if I'm shooting blanks or not," Quinn said, after a long pause, during which they just looked at each other. "We should—if we ever have sex, though, we should use a condom just to be safe."
Rachel nodded, and then licked her lips. "Okay. Um. Well—so you were born with both male and female—gonads. What else?"
Quinn shrugged uncomfortably. "My parents realized that I wasn't growing normally after about—two years. And started taking me to specialists, until we got to Dr. Matthews, who specializes in sexual and reproductive abnormalities."
"That's not actually how they describe it, is it?" Rachel asked, with a frown.
Quinn smiled faintly. "No. But that is what it is, so..." She hesitated, and then said, "Anyway. By the time I was—five, they realized that I was having some issues... peeing. I again don't know the details, because my parents refuse to talk about this, but they had to untangle part of my urinary tract, I guess, and—make sure I could pee using, well."
She gestured down at her crotch, and Rachel nodded after a moment. "Is that the only problem you've had? Medically, I mean?"
Quinn's lips sort of flickered in and out of a smile. "Aside from nobody knowing for sure if I should get rid of my penis or not, for years?"
"It's fully grown, isn't it?" Rachel checked.
Quinn nodded awkwardly. "I mean, I guess. I don't have much else to go on in comparison but, um, according to my doctor, at least, it does what it's supposed to. It looks—sort of normal, mild scarring from the surgeries I had as a kid notwithstanding."
"And—when people touch it—that feels good?"
Quinn blushed again, bit her lip, and then said, "I don't know. Nobody but me has ever really touched it and even that's a fairly recent development."
"But you like it."
Quinn hesitated and then said, "I don't—dislike it. I still feel like a freak, a lot of the time, but the sensation of—I don't know. The act of touching it feels good. And if I were to have the surgery, I'd lose... pretty much all sensation down there. I'd lose a really big part of myself. So..."
Rachel took a careful sip of tea, and watched as Quinn followed suit, and then said, "Would you like me to touch it?"
A cup of tea was knocked over and Quinn leaped off her stool, fanning at her crotch and murmuring, "Shit, shit, shit..."
Rachel leaned back and reached for the dish towel, letting it soak up the tea running along the table, and then watched as Quinn flicked her wet hands a few times and then sat back down.
"I'm taking that as a yes," Rachel noted.
Quinn sort of coughed and then laughed and said, "Yeah, I'm not—but I mean, if you don't want to—I understand that this isn't what you thought—"
"Quinn," Rachel said, as gently as she could. "I never thought I'd be so lucky as to find someone who is as perfect for me as you are. And you are, perfect. So if the perfect girl for me, comes with a perfect penis—"
Quinn blushed violently and said, "Well, I wouldn't go that far, I mean, it's kind of weird looking."
Rachel stared at her for a long moment, and then cleared her throat. "Do you—can you show me?"
Quinn's eyes saucered, and then she took a deep breath. "Um. Like—during sex, or you mean like show and tell?"
"I'm sorry, if that's a lot to ask, but I mean—I'll show you mine, I guess, you know. It's only fair," Rachel said, feeling her entire face grow hot even as Quinn blushed more violently.
"I'm—okay. I need to warn you that if you um, stare at it, naked, it's probably going to … react to that a little. I'm sorry. I can't help that."
"But you're okay with me wanting to look?" Rachel asked, with a small, concerned frown. "I don't want to make you feel like a scientific anomaly, Quinn, I just—it's a part of you, and I want you to understand that I'm just trying to get to know that part of you. Is that okay?"
Quinn glanced down at her wet jeans, and then said, "That's actually—the nicest way anyone's ever asked to see me without my pants on, so—yeah. That's okay."
"All right," Rachel said, and finished her tea. "Let's—let's do this, then. Together."
"If your dads come home in the middle of this—"
Rachel shuddered . "We'll tell them that—you injured yourself."
"In the crotch?" Quinn asked, looking both horrified and amused.
"Perhaps I kneed you there, accidentally," Rachel said, linking their arms together and then pulling Quinn up the stairs. "We can—come up with something that's better than—"
"I just really wanted to see my girlfriend's cock?" Quinn blurted out, a little awkwardly.
Rachel felt something funny shift in her gut, low, and turned to look at her, halfway up the stairs. "Say that again."
"I just really—"
"No, the end," Rachel requested, and the tips of Quinn's ears glowed red as she said, "Um—my girlfriend's … cock?"
"I like that better than … penis," Rachel decided, ignoring the way her voice cracked on basically every word in that sentence. "It's—it makes it seem more—like you, and less like—anatomy."
Quinn sort of half-smiled and said, "Okay. I'll—bear that in mind."
They stared at each other for another moment, and then Rachel leaned down and kissed her. "Thank you. For being—so good about all of this."
"Don't thank me," Quinn protested, but Rachel shook her head and kissed her again.
"I mean it. Thank you. I love you, and I'm going to love you more once I have your pants off, okay?"
Quinn chuckled, tipping upwards for a change for one more kiss, and then said, "Yeah, okay."
…
What Rachel hadn't been expecting was that Quinn in just a t-shirt and the aforementioned boy briefs was—
Well, really hot.
Her upper body was quietly toned, from the exercise she committed to on a daily basis—and Rachel wasn't going to pretend that a diligent exercise routine wasn't one of the primary turn-ons she thought she could find in her partners, so that worked well—and her legs were—lovely. Soft, and shapely, and very much like what she wanted her girlfriend's legs to look like.
Quinn had a delightfully full and firm ass, and seeing it bend over for her now, as she was losing her jeans, was just—
"God, you're so hot," she breathed, unintentionally.
Quinn froze a little, but then stepped out of her jeans and turned around and—
Rachel stared. It was the point, of asking, and so she stared—at the way the underwear hugged Quinn's hips tightly, and the way it just sort of rounded outwards near—
"You um, wear it to the left, huh?" she asked, after a moment, glancing up at Quinn, who was nervously looking back at her.
"Yeah, um. It's still not a magnet, but that actually sorted itself out pretty easily," Quinn said, before swallowing hard and then giving her a tremulous smile. "Um—do you want me to—"
"No," Rachel said, and took a step closer, until they were almost chin to shoulder. "I'll do it."
"Oh, God," Quinn sort of sighed, and then took a breath so deep that it was like she was expecting to be held underwater for a long time. Her legs trembled a little, when Rachel reached for her hips, and then pressed her fingers down until they were inside of worn cotton boy briefs, that were then sliding down Quinn's legs.
She had every intention of saying something reassuring, but—then it was just there, and she found that she couldn't really formulate a single word. It was—well, bizarre-looking, as all penises were, but for a penis it looked very normal. Not scary in size, and not embarrassingly small, and—
She laughed, unintentionally, and when Quinn stiffened, wrapped an arm around her lower back and shook her head.
"No, baby, I'm so sorry—I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing because I just realized I must've looked at close to two hundred penises online in preparation for this moment and now I feel a little crazy," she said, before pressing a kiss to the base of Quinn's neck.
"Two hundred?" Quinn repeated, and Rachel watched as her hands flexed aimlessly by her sides; like she was aching to cover up, but not doing it. Part of that must've been years of practice at being examined; the rest of it was a desperate desire to show Rachel that she was being trusted with this, and that was why Rachel looked up and said, "You're—it's really nice. Compared to most of the ones I've seen."
Quinn flushed almost puce, and then said, in a strangled tone of voice, "Thank you, I think."
"I might also just prefer it because it's—yours," Rachel added, after a moment, and when Quinn looked down at her, she smiled spontaneously. "It's—cute. It's—sorry, but that's the first word that comes to mind, and—"
Quinn bit her lip and then said, "Um—you might want to stop rubbing that spot on my back—I—I kind of—"
Rachel glanced down, and watched as—
"Oh, wow," she said, and pressed down on that spot a little harder, rubbing in tight circles. "Just because—"
"No, also because you're—standing here telling me I have a nice cock," Quinn sort of whispered, and then did reach over with one of her hand and shielded her beginning erection. "Um—I think—did you see enough, or—"
"Oh, my gosh, of course. I'm sorry," Rachel said, immediately, and then reached down for Quinn's briefs and tugged them back up her legs. "There. All—covered."
"Okay," Quinn said, exhaling slowly and staring at the ceiling. "Okay. That was … interesting."
"Get on your knees?" Rachel asked, after a moment of watching Quinn compose herself, by murmuring something under her breath and squeezing her eyes shut, slowly.
They blinked back open at that request, widened, and then darkened. The bulge in Quinn's underwear did react to that, again, and Rachel bit her lip before tilting her head. "You have to be at eye level to see anything, baby."
"Oh, right, yeah. Of course," Quinn sort of stammered, and then did drop down to her knees.
Rachel felt—worshipped, at random, at the look of complete anticipation and quiet devotion on Quinn's face as she waited, and then lifted up her dress by the bottom hem, and said, "Go ahead", in a thick and small voice.
This was really no different from what she'd done for Quinn—and she too was shaking, because this was a huge ordeal. What if she wasn't—normal? What if she wasn't pretty? What if Quinn didn't like the way she groomed? What if—oh God, what if there was a smell of some kind?
She closed her eyes, and felt her panties skim down her legs, and then just heard Quinn gasp.
"God, Rachel," she then said, almost reverently, and ran her hand back up the side of Rachel's thigh. "You're so—I mean, I don't know what it's supposed to look like, really, but you're really just kind of... pretty."
"Yeah?" Rachel asked, glancing down—and then Quinn peered up at her through unkempt bangs, and she reached down and ran a hand through her hair on instinct. "You—I mean, it's not unappealing?"
Quinn shook her head, and then got back to her feet. "It's—um. I can't wait to... actually get to know it better."
At that garbled confession, they stared at each other for a few seconds, and then Rachel said, "I'm going to get—changed. Dressed. Well, both, I think. Then I'm going to come back here, and we're going to make out again, and I want to feel what—what happens to you when we do. Okay? I'm going to lie on top of you and—"
"Okay," Quinn said, quickly, and then took a step back.
"Do you like pressure against your... I mean, not like crushing it or anything, but do you—?" Rachel stammered.
Quinn nodded, after a second, with slightly wild eyes. "I think so."
"Okay, because I do," she said, in a rush. "So—um. Maybe we can experiment with that."
"Okay," Quinn said, again, licking at dry-looking lips. "Okay, well, see you soon. I'll be—lounging on the bed awkwardly, like this is some sort of terrible romantic comedy starring Katherine Heigl or something."
Rachel laughed, because only Quinn would find a way to slice through the obvious tension between them. "Yes, and I'll be fluffing up my hair outside, before pouncing on you like a tiger."
Quinn grinned toothily, and then bowed her head. "It would be my pleasure to be pounced upon, Miss Berry."
Rachel smiled, pulled up her panties, and then didn't breathe until she was back in her own bedroom.
Was she still a lesbian if Quinn's—everything turned her on this much?
God, she had no idea, but she could think about that some other time.
She had pouncing to get to, for now.
…
Over the course of the next two weeks, and the start of the summer vacation, Rachel learned that Quinn did like pressure—but better if it came from hands than from say, thighs, or hips, which were both a little harder to control and thus sometimes jerked against her unintentionally hard.
She'd hiss against Rachel's lips, when that happened, and would take a moment to catch her breath, and then they'd go again.
"You have impressive stamina," Rachel noted, breathlessly, on a Sunday afternoon in June. "I thought—well, people your age with male genitalia were supposed to have premature ejaculation issues."
Quinn sort of laughed and rolled her eyes and said, "I—work on those."
"How?"
A lewd hand gesture later, and Rachel was covering her face with her hands and saying, "Quinn! Oh my God, that's awful."
"Well, it's not, it's pretty nice, actually," Quinn murmured, shifting against her and rolling them both over, until she was hovering on top of Rachel, and thrusting against her gently. "Anyway, it's what Google recommended to stop anything embarrassing from happening, and my doctor also said it would just be healthy in general. I'm just following medical advice."
Rachel rolled her eyes, but pulled Quinn down for another kiss, which Quinn interrupted to look at her curiously.
"What about you?" she finally asked.
"What about my medical advice?"
"No, I mean... do you—" Quinn asked, tentatively, before blushing and ducking her head against Rachel's neck. "Sorry, that's such a rude thing to ask."
"It's really not, honey," Rachel said, stroking the back of Quinn's neck, now burning with heat as well. "I don't you to feel like there's anything strange about you. I was just teasing."
"Okay, so you do?" Quinn mumbled against her neck.
"Yeah," Rachel admitted.
Something low against her stomach twitched, at that confession, and she smiled.
"That's—really kind of hot," Quinn said, after a moment.
Rachel thought about Quinn doing the same, and could imagine it a lot more specifically ever since that afternoon a few weeks ago, and then kissed the side of her head softly.
"Yeah."
They were quiet for a moment, and then Quinn lifted up slowly and said, "Do you think—maybe I could watch, at some point? Because I'd like to learn how to—you know. Do you. And I'm not sure how I'd learn unless—"
Rachel felt herself get spectacularly wet, and then reached for Quinn's cheek, brushing against it gently. "Not yet. But—someday."
"Okay," Quinn said, licking her lips rapidly and then lowering her eyes to where they were still gently grinding together. "I think I should—get off you now, or this is going to—"
"Are you close?" Rachel checked, in barely more than a croak. "Because I am, and I think if you just—press a little harder—"
She watched as Quinn parted her legs with a firm thigh, and then rocked into her more fully, and her hips arched off the bed and met that thrust half-way.
"Like that?" Quinn asked, out of breath and rough. "Is—that doesn't hurt? It's good?"
"God," Rachel sort of responded, but not really, and then pulled Quinn down into a kiss; a kiss that turned sloppy, and then biting, as the pressure between her legs kept up, and then she felt it happen. "Oh—oh, oh God, Quinn, I think—"
A hand slipped between her legs and cupped her, with a little more precision than that thigh could, but not much, but it was more than enough.
"Holy shit," Quinn exhaled, in a choked-off gasp, and then dropped her head onto the pillow, hips still undulating but not with any real purpose.
Rachel felt her spine relax, after long moments of just pulsing against Quinn, and then glanced down—only to see Quinn grimacing and prodding at her sweat pants with a slightly disgusted look on her face.
"That was really hot," Rachel said, reaching over and tipping her chin up and kissing her. "Sorry if it was too much but—"
"No, just—things get messy," Quinn said, a little awkwardly, and then shifted—but after a second settled in closer again and pulled Rachel into a hug. "Did you—did you like it?"
Rachel nodded, knowing Quinn would be able to feel it, and then looked over her shoulder. "Did—you?"
Quinn bit her lip, nodded, and then grinned a little. "I'm going to go in a second though, because um, sperm is kind of—sticky and gross and—"
"I'm sure I'll find out, eventually," Rachel murmured.
Quinn's light fidgeting stilled, and then she cleared her throat. "Yeah, okay, I'm going to take a shower now."
Rachel chuckled, and watched as Quinn almost tripped off the bed and then yanked her towel off the door, and headed into their bathroom with such clumsy movements that it was—
Well. It was endearing as hell, and she didn't honestly think she could get happier.
…
Except, there were some things that weren't about Quinn, but that still mattered.
They shouldn't, maybe, but no matter how good she felt, spending time with Quinn,touching Quinn, making out with Quinn—
She was still gay.
And Quinn still had a penis, and she was okay with it there, and what it did, in theory, but the few pornographic movies she'd watched in order to determine clearly what she was dealing with suggested that being okay didn't quite cover what was reasonably expected of her.
She would have to—touch it.
In an ideal world, she'd probably actually take it into her mouth at some point and—
Oh, God, she had no idea how she felt about any of that, and as the summer wound on, she realized that this wasn't something she could talk to Quinn about without destroying her already fragile self-esteem, but she had to talk to someone. Someone who would have a frame of reference, and who wouldn't judge.
It was that thought that brought her to Quinn's room in late August, where Quinn was doing sit-ups, and had her knocking on the door frame gently. "Hey—can I ask you something?"
"Always," Quinn grunted, mid-lift. They'd had a few casual conversations about how she was naturally strong, for a girl, on account of her unusual situation, but it wasn't an extreme natural advantage, and the reality was that she just—liked being strong enough.
Just in case, she'd say, sometimes, and Rachel would feel her heart shrink a size at the knowledge that Quinn was forever bracing herself for what would happen if someone found out about her.
"I'm—" she started saying, before stepping into the room and closing the door, and then settling on the floor next to Quinn, legs folded under her. "I'm not really sure how to say this, but—I have a problem, in that I can't talk to my girlfriends about you, and I think I need to talk to someone who isn't... my father, or my girlfriend."
Quinn paused mid-sit-up, and looked at her curiously. "About—"
"About sex," Rachel admitted.
Quinn sat up completely, and then pulled herself up by her knees and sat across from Rachel. "Oh—like—the mechanics?"
"Yes," Rachel said, gnawing on her lip a little. "I just—I don't know. Tina sometimes talks about Mike, and I just—I trust her, Quinn. I really do. She would never tell anyone, but—"
Quinn stared off into the distance for a very long moment, and then sighed softly. "I'd rather you didn't."
"But?" Rachel checked.
"But, if this is important to you—tell her whatever you need to," Quinn said, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to Rachel's forehead. "I've—I may have asked Mike about um, pleasing girls, so—it's only fair. I guess."
Rachel felt her brain freeze over at that small bit of information, and then looked at Quinn seriously. "Do you—want to be with me when I tell her?"
"I don't know," Quinn admitted, after a moment. "Can I have a few days to think about that? Because I like Tina, and double-dates with her and Mike are great, but—she's not you. Telling you was actually pretty easy when it came down to it. I don't know—if I could tell anyone else."
Rachel nodded. "Okay."
"You're not disappointed?" Quinn asked, raising her eyebrows slightly.
It was a regular question, whenever something didn't go perfectly, and it always made Rachel want to squeeze Quinn in super tight and promise her that she would never be loved any less for making a small mistake, or not doing what other people expected her to.
"No, baby. Never," she said, as she usually did, and then exaggeratedly opened up her arms and waited for a sweaty Quinn to settle in them.
…
A week later, and right before the start of their sophomore year, Rachel found herself in Tina's bedroom, with a box of Pocky and two cokes between them.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" Tina asked, midway through an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras. "I'm guessing Glee? Because, Rachel, you're a great co-captain, I really mean that, but the academic year hasn't even started yet and sectionals aren't until December and—"
"I want to talk to you about penis," Rachel cut her off.
Tina's mouth fell wide open and then closed, slowly.
"Specifically—what to do with it. And if you like it, at all. Aesthetically and, I suppose, erotically," Rachel added.
Tina stared at her for another long moment, and then cleared her throat. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather talk about Glee? I mean—"
"I really wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," Rachel said, a little pleadingly. "I mean, as uncomfortable as you are, I assure you this is worse for me, and I haven't even begun to explain what prompted this—"
"Yeah, actually, hang on," Tina said, clearing her throat. "I don't want to make any assumptions and I understand that you've been keeping it quiet because school is hell without this being like, common knowledge, but—I've seen you with Quinn, Rachel. And I know that those dinners we have are just covert double dates. I mean—you are with her, right?"
Rachel took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. We're very much in love, and I'm very much gay."
Tina squinted at her. "So—you're asking me about um, …. why are we having this conversation?"
"Well," Rachel said, slowly, and then closed her eyes and just went with the shortest possible explanation.
…
Ten minutes later, they were both eating a Pocky stick and Tina said, "Wow", for possibly the twentieth time.
"Please don't make her feel like there is something wrong with her because of this," Rachel said, emphatically. "She's already not entirely comfortable with me having this conversation but honestly, I'm gay, and my girlfriend has a penis, and I just need someone to assure me that it's okay if I'm not totally wild about the thing—"
Tina's Pocky snapped in half and then she chuckled. "Um. Is it supposed to be attractive? Because it's really—"
"It's not?" Rachel asked, blinking. "Not to you, either?"
"Well, it's just kind of... ridiculous, isn't it," Tina said, blushing furiously. "I mean, it's better when it's—when—"
"Erect, right?" Rachel checked, tapping her fingers against her coke.
"Yeah, I mean, it's a little more attractive that way but—well, I don't want a painting of one up in my bedroom or anything," Tina half-mumbled.
Rachel covered her mouth before she could start laughing, but then did, and five minutes later they were both wiping tears off their cheeks.
"Okay so—it's normal? To not be—incredibly attracted to them?" Rachel asked.
Tina shrugged. "I don't know. I like it because of how I can make Mike feel when I—um, you know."
This was starting to feel very familiar, and after a moment Rachel nodded. "What about—um. The thing that worries me is that I'll find oral sex disgusting, because frankly, I never thought I'd be having it like this and—"
"So then don't do it," Tina said, shrugging when Rachel looked at her. "Not all guys—or, um, sorry—"
"No, that's okay."
"Not all guys like it; um, some of the guys on the football team don't, according to Mike."
"Really," Rachel said, blinking slowly.
"Well, and I mean, I guess that's true for girls as well?"
Rachel frowned and said, "God, imagine if I didn't like oral sex—that's the epitome of sexual relations for, well, gay women, isn't it?"
"Well, it won't be in your case," Tina said, after a moment. "Right?"
Rachel stared at her. "Yeah. You're right"
"Want another Pocky?" Tina said, not without sympathy.
"No, that's okay," Rachel said, shaking her head and finishing her coke. "I think—I mean, this was actually very helpful. I've mostly been educating myself with pornography, which suggests that unless I'm willing to take it up every orifice I have I'm somehow doing it wrong, but you're right. This is just something for Quinn and myself to figure out."
Tina nodded after a moment, and then tilted her head. "I don't think this makes you any less gay, for what it's worth. I mean, Quinn's a woman. If she was actually a boy, by which I mean hairy and crazy muscled with washboard abs and—um, bad dining habits and smelly feet and the ability to always say the wrong thing—"
Rachel laughed. "Mike's—well, I don't know about how his feet smell, but he's a wonderful guy. You know that."
"So you'd sleep with him?" Tina asked, with a smart little half-smile.
Rachel laughed again. "No. Never."
"See? Total lesbian," Tina said, with a wink.
Rachel rolled her eyes, but the thing that she thought when she headed back home, and saw Quinn mowing the lawn in one of her form-fitting wife beater tops and a pair of comfortable looking gym shorts, was that Tina wasn't wrong.
Quinn was a girl. And apparently, not being wild about penis didn't make her too much of a lesbian. It just meant that—she'd have to take it one step at a time.