"Oh, we're in full-on investigation mode," I greeted slightly wide-eyed.

     Quinn had opened her front door in a black and white stripped pant suit, round glasses atop her thin nose. She was in her typical business attire. I was in my pyjamas.

     "Of course." She pulled me into the house, taking my overnight bag. "This is serious. Eva's staying at her mom's. I wanted to make sure you were 100% comfortable."

      "Um... Thank you." Apprehensively, I took a seat on her leather sofa. When she had mentioned a chat, I had envisioned our regular sleepovers: junk food and Jennifer's Body or Transformers on TV, except with a few random questions related to the dating. I had begun to fear what I had gotten myself into to.

     "I didn't want to jump right into it," she stated. From my seat on the couch, I saw her head towards the oven. "We made supper."

     Warily, I watched her pick up the dish with bright yellow mits. "When you say we, you mean Eva made it and you watched, right?"

     Quinn huffed. "I make one dish of ravioli and you lose complete faith in my cooking skills."

      I clutched my stomach as if on instinct. I still couldn't think of ravioli without getting nauseous. Cautiously sniffing the air, I paused. It smelled like Mrs. Jone's Sheppard's pie. Eva did cook! I grinned.

     Quinn stuck her tongue out at me. "Yeah, yeah, Eva cooked."

     Watching the latest episode of Housewives, we ate silently. The topic of interest was only brought forward as we finished dessert. And I could tell it was killing Quinn not to bring it up during supper.

     "Alright." Quinn faced me on the sofa, giving me her undivided attention. "I want you to tell me as much about the dates as you feel comfortable."

     Swallowing hard, I nodded.

     "If I ask something that you don't want to answer, just tell me."

     I smiled at her restraints. I suspected she and Eva had had a conversation and Eva clearly thought Quinn was being too pushy. But I sometimes needed to be pushed. Though she frequently trailed along the borders, Quinn ultimately knew my boundaries.

     "There's nothing I wouldn't be comfortable talking to you about," I reassured.

     "Really?" Her faced twitched as if keeping her expressions so neutral was evoking pain.

     "Yes!" I laughed. "Please relax. This measured Quinn is stressing me out."

     She let out a breath, throwing herself comfortably against her couch cushion. "Thank god," she exhaled. "Now, spill the deets."

     "Alright..." I laughed uncertainly. Where did I begin? I did my best to tell her everything she needed to know and answered her follow up questions. I told her how I had genuinely enjoyed each date, in the sense that my dates were great people, but that I couldn't seem to cross that line that breeched friendship.

     "So, you didn't dislike any of them?" she confirmed. "You got along well enough with each date?"

     I hummed in agreement.

     "So, you could see yourself being friends with any of them?"

    I hummed again.

     "But as soon as anyone takes it a step further, you panic?"

      I nodded. "I don't like the hand holding and... stuff. Not that I necessarily panic. It doesn't induce fear and I don't think it's gross. I just don't feel the urge to partake in it, and it makes me uncomfortable that I don't seem to be on the same page as my dates."

     "That's okay. Some people don't like the PDA."

     I chewed my thumbnail thoughtfully waiting for her to go on. I didn't know where to go with this. The only problem I saw in her PDA hypothesis was the public part. I didn't think being in public was the problem. I would just as much not want to hold hands or shove my tongue down another date's throat in the privacy of my home.

     "But you absolutely want to be in a relationship?" Quinn asked, eyes narrowed in immense curiosity.

     I hesitated. Is that what I wanted? "I'm 28. Mom seems to think that I'm running out of time for love."

      "So, you want to keep going with the set-ups?" she asked. "And don't think about your mom right now. What do you want?"

     I watched her in silent consideration. I hated the set-ups, but my previous dating history didn't give me much hope for the future. "I guess so," I eventually answered. "I wouldn't say want... But I'm not going to get anywhere on my own."

     Quinn smiled contentedly. She was clearly happy that the competition wasn't over.

     "We can take care of that." She grinned and repositioned herself on the couch. She laid flat on her stomach; head propped in her hands to look at me. "I'm curious about the sex, now."

    "There's nothing to be curious about."

    "But that's the thing. There was not sexual attraction ever?"

     I shook my head immediately.

     "Is it that you're opposed to sex, or you're opposed to sex with any of the dates you've had?"

     I crinkled my nose just thinking about it, but shrugged, nonetheless. It was better not to try to explain myself. I suddenly wanted to talk about anything else.

     "Are you appalled by the idea of sex?" She tried again.

     "No. It's a very natural thing. Might I remind you of my comparison of sex to tennis." I viewed sex as a very mechanical process, just as I did any sport or hobby.

     "Ok." Quinn nodded eagerly as if she thought we were getting somewhere. "Do you have any information, anything at all, that might help determine your preferences?"

    "What kind of information?"

     She waited a beat before answering. "You swear that you're 100% comfortable?"

     "Yes, Quinn." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

     "Who do you typically think of when you masturbate?"

     I nearly spit out my water. This is so not where I expected her to go. "What?" I garbled.

     "You do masturbate, don't you?"

     Completely caught off guard, I couldn't stop blinking. "I do. But I don't think of anyone."

    "No celebrity crushes?"

     "No."

     "No made-up scenarios of any kind?"

     I shook my head again, brows furrowed. Why would you concentrate on anything but yourself when you're masturbating? Self-pleasure and stimulation of one's own genitals, were literally in the definition of masturbating.

     "You're just head empty?" She blinked.

     "I'm just head empty."

     "Interesting."

     "Interesting?" I asked ridiculously.

     "Yes, interesting. But not much help."

     I threw my hands up in defeat.

     "No worries. I'm not done," she assured, which really wasn't reassuring. "Dildo or vibrator?"

     My brows shot up. "Is this really helpful?"

    "Or are you old fashioned?"

     I threw a pillow at her. I really shouldn't have expected anything less from Quinn.

     "No dildo," I mumbled.

     "Gotcha." She flicked her fingers into finger guns. "And porn?"

    "What about it?"

    "Preference?" she asked as if it had been obvious. "Favourite kind of pairing?"

     "None. I don't watch that."

     Quinn blinked, narrowing her eyes in a way that was clear that she didn't believe me. It's not that I was against it. You do you, but there was never a time in the day that I was hit with the desire to watch naked people roll on top of each other.

     "I'm being serious," I told her.

     "Never?!" she exclaimed in outrage.

     "Never."

     Quinn was mind blown, pink lips falling agape. In an instance she stood up, brightening up as if she was hit by an idea. "That might be the problem!" she concluded. "How can you know what you want when you haven't explored it?"

     My uneasiness returned, on high alert as usual when Quinn got ideas. Quinn saw the alarms in my eyes. The last time she got an idea, I was suckered into letting my friends set me up on a seemingly endless list of dates.

     "I need you to be open minded," she requested.

    "Why?"

     "I think this will genuinely help." She ignored my question.

    "What exactly are you suggesting?"

     "Porn."

    "What?!"

    Quinn rolled her eyes at my reaction. "I want you to watch some."

     "Alright..." I frowned. "I guess I could do that." I didn't particularly wish to do so, but if agreeing to it meant ending this conversation, then so be it.

     "I'll leave you for a few hours, you can look through my different channels."

     "Here?" I demanded.

    "Duh." She didn't even blink. "I need your reviews. We'll see which pairings you like best and then talk about it."

     I blinked dumbfoundedly. Quinn was known to get absurd ideas, but this? Come on.

     "Quinn," I started gently. "You're probably my closest friend. We're tight. I get that. But you have to see how this might be a little strange."

     She did not. She looked as confused as I was during my first outburst.

     "It's porn," she deadpanned." Even you said it was normal. I'm not asking you to masturbate to it. I mean if you want to, by all means go for it."

     "Absolutely not."

    "That's fine." She tossed me the remote and stood. "Just watch a few minutes of different movies. See what gets you going, and we'll talk about it later."

     "Why can't I just watch it at my place?" I objected.

     She placed her hands on her hips. "Would you really take the time to go through with it? Or would you put it off and keep making excuses?"

    I didn't even bother answering that, grumbling to myself. My expression was clearly one of someone who wasn't content, nevertheless, I didn't object any more. With a promise to at least try, I watched her leave.

    "It's in the 700s!" She shouted as she made way down to the basement.

     This was by far the strangest thing I had ever done. If you had told me that I would be watching porn at my friend's house while she waited in the basement, I wouldn't have believed you. I'd have laughed in your face and called you an idiot. I was the idiot. I was the idiot watching porn on my friend's couch.

     I flickered through the channels, exploring different genres as I was requested to do. I was 30 minutes in, and I couldn't see what the appeal was. The actors were certainly enjoying themselves, but I didn't see how that was supposed to affect me. It was definitely making me feel some kind of way. But not what I was supposed to feel.

     Flicking through more channels only to land on an intense stepsibling sharing a bunk plot, I reached for the power button. That was enough TV for a day. I blinked dismally at the black screen for many moments before finding Quinn in the basement. She was lounged across the guest bedroom's bean bag, scrolling through her phone. She jumped up when she saw me, grinning in anticipation.

     "I've had enough," I told her, collapsing against the second green bean bag.

     "You've already determined your preferences?" she asked optimistically.

    "I've determined that I prefer porn when it's not playing."

     "Really?" Her brows could not have been more arched. "And you tried multiple genres?"

    I nodded.

    "You didn't like any part of it?"

     "I liked the parts when they were fully clothed and not moaning."

     Mouth open wide, she watched me for several seconds before shaking her head. "Well damn," she said, slightly aghast. "No coochie butterflies whatsoever?"

     "Coochie butterflies?"

     "Yes. You know—"

     "Don't explain it." I crinkled my nose. "I know what you mean, and there was none of that."

     "Wow," she whispered mostly to herself. She was silent a few more moments. I had never seen her so unsure of herself. She didn't know how to proceed. "No coochie juice either?"

     "Can we stop following the word coochie by a noun?"

     "It truthfully did not do a single thing to your coochie?"

     "Can we stop saying coochie altogether?"

     Quinn rolled her eyes and tried anew. "It didn't get you going at all?"

     I shook my head. "I'm as dry as the Sahara dessert."

     Quinn whistled impressively, throwing herself on her back. Staring up at the ceiling, her brows knit together in consideration. "I need a few minutes to think about this."

     I had never, in my twenty-five years of knowing her, heard Quinn Crawford-Jones silent for such a long period. I was flipping through an old Archie's comic that I found on the nightstand, when she finally spoke.

     "I think Bella was right," she said.

    I frowned curiously.

     "About the sex retreat."

     My entire face dropped. Oh no. How was this the solution to me not enjoying the view of two people becoming one? She saw my immediate reluctance.

     "Just consider it," she requested urgently.

     I grimaced unsurely.

     "It's not a place people go to to have sex," she tried to win me over. "It's more spiritual. It's all about looking past a person's physical appearance and truly forming a connection with their soul. It's supposed to create an out of this world kind of intimacy."

     I still wasn't convinced, but we both knew Quinn would win in the end. Why fight it?

    "It can't hurt to try," she prompted one last time.

     Feebly, I nodded. I suppose if sex really wasn't involved, it truly couldn't hurt to try. Foreseeing my caving in, Quinn smiled. She reached for her phone. "Should I call Bella?"

     No! My mind shouted. The retreat quite literally sounded like my worst nightmare. But I didn't stop her. They knew more about this, than I did.

     Quinn called Bella.