"You could..." Ren trailed off, her voice dropping to a whisper that was barely audible over the rain. "You could just... handle it yourself."
Altair tilted his head, his handsome face the picture of innocent confusion. "Handle it? How do I handle it? Do I hit it?"
"No! Do not hit it!" Ren shrieked, horrified. "That is the opposite of what we want!"
She took a deep breath. Her face was already burning, but she had committed to this "friends" narrative, and apparently, friends taught friends how to navigate their own anatomy.
"You... okay, look," Ren stammered, her hands hovering awkwardly in the air. "You grab it. Gently! And you... stimulate it. With friction. Up and down. Like... like churning butter! But faster. And with less dairy."
Altair stared at her blankly.
Ren groaned. Words were failing her.
"Like this!" Ren exclaimed, abandoning all dignity.
