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Author's Chapter Notes:
Although I love (and am guilty of writing) fic where Pam is a sexually confident woman, I fear that is perhaps not the most realistic portrayal of her. So this fic is an attempt at something more . . . educational for Ms. Beesly.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


Pam had never had an orgasm until she was 28 years old. If she had close girlfriends, girlfriends who she could talk to about things like that, she was sure they wouldn’t have believed her if she told them. What woman in the 21st century can’t figure that out? What, with lubricants and sex toys and erotica and all the modern toolbox of goodies at her disposal, it was kind of crazy to think about. But luckily, because she didn’t have any close friends, much less friends she’d talk with about sex, she’d saved herself the embarrassment of having to admit her late bloomer status during a drunken game of truth or truth. Well, she probably wouldn’t even have admitted it if she did have friends, even if she were drunk. It really was that embarrassing.

All those years with Roy she had liked sex well enough. Even without orgasms, she had still liked the closeness of it, the intimacy, the feel of him inside her, the satisfaction of pleasing him. Their sex life had been satisfactory because she never realized what she had been missing. Sure, she had been a little resentful from time to time, seeing how much Roy enjoyed sex, how exhausted and sated he was afterward while she felt kind of like she did after having Jell-O for dessert. It was okay, tasty and sweet enough, but not quite like a chocolate cake. Roy got the chocolate cake, she got Jell-O and that had always left a residue of disappointment . . . and maybe jealousy.

But after she broke up with him, in her year of becoming Fancy New Beesly (as Jim called her), she had figured it out. One night she drank an entire bottle of Pinot Grigio and armed herself with a smutty romance novel and a small tube of KY jelly (just in case she needed a jump start) and she was determined that she would crack the code. At first she had felt shy, even with herself, and then impatient and irritated that she should be so uncomfortable with her own body. But she had allowed herself to fade into the drunken fuzziness of the wine, the picture of Jim in her head (ignoring the fact that he was with Karen at the time), remembering what it had felt like to be pulled against him, to kiss him. And at 28 years old, she had her first taste of chocolate cake. And it was delicious.

So when she and Jim finally, finally, finally started speaking the same language, when their years of built up sexual tension came to a head, so to speak, she had high hopes. She had no idea how many women Jim had been with but certainly it was more than Roy had been with (which was three, but the first two didn't really count). He would know how to take care of business. Not to mention the fact that they could almost start a fire just by being in the same room together.

And their first time (and every time since) was amazing. He was attentive and passionate and very, very hot. But she found that old habits died hard. Whenever he would touch her, whenever he would descend down her body, leaving a trail of kisses on her stomach, a part of her would get stage fright or performance anxiety or whatever you wanted to call it. What if it didn’t happen? What if it couldn’t? What if the only way she could have her chocolate cake was alone, in her room (or her bathroom, she discovered)? And she’d tense up a bit and after enjoying Jim’s touch or Jim’s tongue for a few minutes, she would pull him up and make it clear that she wanted something much more substantial inside her.

She didn’t think Jim realized it. Even without the big “O” their sex was still exceptionally hot. But then one night they were on her bed, supposedly watching a movie, but really making out. He had somehow managed to remove most of her clothes without her even realizing it so that she was laying there, breathless, hazy with lust, in just her bra and underwear. He had been doing that thing he did to her neck, where his breath and mouth and tongue all conspired to turn her into a puddle, when he paused, that raspy voice she loved in her ear: “Do you ever . . .”

But then he stopped and she opened her eyes, waiting for the rest of his question. Instead his tongue teased her earlobe, her ear and she shivered and closed her eyes again.

“Do I ever what?” she whispered back.

Jim’s mouth paused, his breath teasing her cheek.

“You know . . . Um . . .give yourself a blue ribbon?”

Her eyes popped open and she immediately felt the blood rise to her face. “What?”

Jim pushed up on his elbow so he was looking down at her. He raised his eyebrows in a way that told her that he knew that she knew exactly what he was talking about.

Pam looked away, embarrassed. “I prefer to call it chocolate cake, but whatever.”

“Chocolate cake?”

“Long story.”

Jim nodded, grinning. “So that’s a yes?”

Pam covered her face with her hands. “Why, don’t you?”

Jim laughed. “Oh, God yes.”

“That was an enthusiastic answer.”

“Well, I’m an enthusiastic guy.”

Pam peeked out between her fingers. “Like, how often?”

Jim shrugged and Pam was jealous of how comfortable he looked talking about this. Of course, he’d probably been masturbating since he was 13 and she was just getting started. But still. He was so much more comfortable about everything sexual than she was. It was like he knew his body, knew himself. And he wasn’t afraid of that knowledge.

“Now? Not so much. But before?” He hesitated, kind of squinting one eye, thinking. “Daily.”

“Daily? Really?”

“I told you: enthusiastic.” He cocked his head a bit. “Should I be embarrassed about that?”

Pam laughed. “No . . . I just . . .” she kind of lost her train of thought, thinking about Jim touching himself, maybe thinking about her while he did it. It did strange things to her stomach. “Why did you ask me that, anyway?”

Jim’s hand was on her bare stomach, tracing small circles. Now it was his turn to look uncomfortable.

“Okay. Um. I just think that maybe . . . I’ve been getting a little more out of this relationship than you have. Chocolate cake-wise.”

Pam felt caught red handed. She tried to play dumb, but she knew that he knew. She felt horrible.

“What? No! Jim…”

He shook his head and looked her in the eyes, smiling. “No, it’s okay. I mean, I’m not complaining or anything . . . I just want things to be . . . equitable.”

“They are! I love . . . being with you—“ He lowered down and kissed her firmly, deeply, not only cutting off her words but completely dispelling any thoughts she had, too. His tongue was a part of the kiss in a way she could never quite figure out but loved. It was like it was there and then it wasn’t. Like a ghost or a shadow or . . . God, she just loved the way he kissed her.

“So here’s the thing,” he said, pulling away from her, his mouth descending to kiss the flesh right above her bra. “I need you to tell me,” he kissed her collarbone, his tongue tracing it briefly before moving to her throat, “what you like.”

“Mmmm. I like that.

She felt his hand slide down her stomach and under the edge of her panties.

“How ‘bout this?” he asked quietly, stroking her slowly.

She nodded, suddenly embarrassed again. Embarrassed of how wet she was, how clearly she wanted him. Embarrassed to admit what she liked and what she loved. And how could he even expect her to talk when his hand was there, touching her, like that?

“Or this?” His motion became more circular, the pressure a bit heavier.

God, it felt good. He had just about the sexiest hands she had ever seen – big and clean and strong and just . . . amazing. And the way he was touching her was just . . . Wow. But she couldn’t seem to find the words. She nodded again. She felt Jim watching her even though her eyes were closed.

His mouth moved by her ear again. “So, do you like A?” his fingers stroked again, slowly, gently, “Or B?” Then the circular, heavier motion again.

He was teasing her a bit, she realized, with the multiple choice. Not in a mean way, but just because she was too shy to tell him what she liked.

“What is this,” she whispered back, “The eye doctor?”

“Please tell me your eye doctor does NOT do this to you.”

She chuckled quietly, “I’m just saying, with the A or B multiple choi—“ Jim’s hand moved again in some combination of the stroking and circling and Pam gasped and gripped the sheet beneath her.

“C it is,” Jim said quietly against her shoulder.

Pam felt her legs opening wider, as if they had a mind of their own. She pushed up towards Jim’s hand.

“Now,” he said, somehow managing to push her bra strap down and moving the fabric aside to kiss her breast. “How do you feel about faster…” his pace increased and Pam felt her legs tremble from lifting up towards his touch. “Or slower?” And he slowed again, teasing, making her feel restless and aching. But she couldn’t say the word, couldn’t get herself to answer.

His hand paused.

“Faster,” she whispered, and she could feel Jim’s smile against her skin. And then he was sliding down, pulling off her panties as he went and then his mouth replaced his fingers. She felt like she had felt that night with the Pinot Grigio and the sexy novel and the image of Jim in her head, but this was the real Jim and he was doing that ghost thing with his tongue and oh, God, she was close. If he just . . .

And suddenly she found her voice. “Like that,” she said, surprised at how firmly she had said it. “Oh, God, just like that.”

So Jim kept doing what he was doing and she felt the heat build and spread and then she was thrusting towards him, her hips in his hands and it seemed as if all her verbal filters were off because she was moaning and gasping and calling his name. And when her legs collapsed and Jim’s kisses were on her thigh, her belly, she opened her eyes and didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed.

His body pressed against hers and she could feel how hard he was against her thigh. He kissed her neck again.

“Now,” he said between kisses, “we’re even.”

Pam smiled and shook her head, gently pushing him off of her and reaching for the button of his jeans (which were somehow still on). “Uh uh,” she said. “Not yet.”

Chapter End Notes:
I thought this was going to be a oneshot, but Pam had different plans . . .

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