Chapter Twenty-Seven
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I drive three times around the block before pulling into the parking lot and steering my Toyota under a tree, as if it might disguise my presence. This is closer than I’ve made it to walking in the door of Playful Pleasures in two days, though I’m not sure whether I should be proud of that or embarrassed. My conversation with Caprice has been haunting me.
When was the last time you and Anton had sex?
You need something to help you get in the mood.
I glance at the unassuming white storefront, one hundred percent certain Anton and I need some kind of help, but also skeptical I’m going to find it at this store. I sort of love imagining what my mother would think if she knew I was here. But I’m also a little terrified of finding something Anton might like. I bet they have all kinds of whips and blow-up dolls and whatever else he’s into.
But as I squirm in my seat, I wonder. Is that the sort of stuff he likes?
I’d like to slide my dick between those tits and come all over them.
My wife won’t ever let me do that.
I meet my own eyes in the rearview mirror, my face on fire as I recall the rest of the conversation about how he didn’t want to spank me. But how about butt play ?
My stomach clenches. I curl my hands into determined fists in my lap. There’s no chance in hell I’m letting him do anything to my butt. But I’ll be damned if he’s going to try those things on someone else.
I open my car door. It’s probably fine just to look around.
The facade of the building looks a little like a strip club. Two stories of nondescript brick and stucco and all the windows are glass block. There actually is a strip club a block away, but also a Super Target. Gotta love this area of the city. I watch a few people enter and exit, convinced I’ll be shopping with the most lecherous patrons in town. But all I see is a normal-looking white guy in a plaid shirt, then a couple of college-aged girls. None of them seem suspicious or strange. They all look like they could just as easily be at the mall.
A man and woman head out the front doors together. They’re smiling at each other, holding hands. She seems excited about whatever she’s holding in a black plastic shopping bag and stops to kiss him right there in the parking lot. The kiss is deep and goes on way longer than necessary, until I start to feel awkward watching. Anton and I don’t kiss like that—not anymore. I know we did once. Maybe these two are newlyweds. I’m sure they’ll settle down in a few years, just like us. The kiss finally ends, and they break apart, letting go of each other long enough to climb into their car. It’s clear no matter what they bought, they’re going to be busy tonight.
Maybe this is stupid. Nothing sold inside this store is going to magically save my marriage. But I’ve gotten nowhere on my own the past two weeks. Maybe Caprice is right and I need some help. Anton clearly wants something more physical, but I don’t know how to give it to him.
I adjust my sunglasses and check my phone as I approach the entrance, trying extra hard to look casual. Like I’m just running in for a specific something because I’ve been here a million times and I’m not at all intimidated by whatever lies inside.
The door beeps loudly when I walk in, and that’s almost enough to make me turn right around and run for my car. I take a quick look at my surroundings. I’m not sure what I was expecting—dark, seedy corners and used condoms on the floor? The place is super clean and brightly lit, very much like a mall. Two girls are working behind a counter, there are several display areas, and a set of stairs leading up to a second floor. A few other patrons are wandering around, but it’s far from crowded.
I veer off to one side, trying to look casual by a Fifty Shades -themed display. There are blindfolds, riding crops, and handcuffs. I examine a ball wrapped with adjustable leather straps, wondering if it’s some kind of fashion accessory until I glance at the tag and realize it’s a gag. My eyes widen. Would my husband want to use this ?
A man strolls past me and I step away from the display, not wanting to give the impression that I’m into whips and chains. I glance around the store, trying to decide whether to just grab a bunch of leather or zero in on a sale section full of leftovers from Valentine’s Day, but then I turn and find myself face-to-face with one of the female employees. She’s a white girl with these Bettie Page bangs, a septum nose ring, and some elaborate cat-eye makeup. She also has an incredibly warm smile.
“Hello. Did you need help finding anything?” she asks.
“I...no. I’m just...browsing.” My face is so hot, I think my head might burst into flames. This was a bad idea. If she’d just step aside, I could run out of here, but she’s directly between me and the door.
“We have a nice selection of couples’ toys,” she says, eyeing the rings on my finger. “Do you know what you’re interested in, or would you like me to show you some things?”
“I...I don’t know,” I sputter. “Can you just point me toward stuff that most men like?”
I’ll buy anything she puts in my hand. As long as it gets me out of here fast.
She taps her lip, and I notice a tattoo of a cat curled on her shoulder. She lowers her voice. “Can I ask a few questions?”
I glance around. The only other patron is the guy I nearly ran into by Fifty Shades, but he’s on the other side of the store now. “Questions?”
She smiles. Her name tag says Daphne, and I try to remember if this is the girl Caprice said she knew. “What kinds of toys do you already have at home?”
I almost say “dog toys.” I have to suppress a burst of nervous laughter, taking a breath and digging my nails into my palms until I can get back under control. “Um...we don’t really have much. ”
“Like, just one or two basics?”
I stare at the chunky Mary Janes on her feet, trying not to feel stupid. “Like none.”
“Oh, got it.” She straightens, but her voice doesn’t falter. “Okay, come with me.”
She leads me up the stairs, past a display of exotic-looking nightwear, over to a wide table decorated with a variety of items in colorful shapes.
I come to a halt. “Are those?—”
“Have you ever used a vibrator?” she asks.
“Well, I mean . . .”
That would be a firm no . God, just a second ago I was almost too embarrassed to walk into this store. And now I’m mortified to admit to someone who works with sex toys all day long that I’ve never so much as touched one. Caprice and several of my other friends have vibrators aplenty—I know because they come up in conversation like toothbrushes and TV remotes—but each of them has also spent long stretches of time single. I have nothing against this kind of “accessory,” I’m sure they work great. I just always thought they were more for people flying solo.
“Are you able to achieve vaginal orgasms?” Daphne asks.
“I’m sorry?” I nearly choke answering her blunt question.
She had been reaching for a rubbery purple thing right in front of us, but pauses and withdraws her hand. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to assume. Let me back up. Are you able to achieve any orgasms?”
My eyes shift quickly around the room, resting on the table of bright phallic shapes, like I’m in some weird Freudian dream. My voice is nearly a whisper. “Um...yes.”
“Perfect.” She smiles. “Some women can’t at all. Or don’t know how to.”
“It just—” I add before I can think too clearly. “It just takes a while sometimes.”
Daphne thinks a moment, then selects a box from the display. “This is a basic rabbit. It should be a good place to start.”
I take it from her reluctantly, studying the thing like a science specimen through the clear plastic window. I always imagined vibrators being flesh-colored and veiny, like disembodied plastic penises. This “rabbit” is hot pink and silky smooth. Long enough to fit...wherever you need to put it, I guess. But not freakishly large at all when I compare it to Anton in my mind.
“Here, this is a sample.” She grabs an identical unboxed item off the table and places it in my other hand. With a flick of her manicured fingers, it starts to buzz in my palm. I hold it away from myself like it’s going to shock me, and though she has been entirely professional this whole time, I swear Daphne stifles a laugh.
“It . . . um . . . it really vibrates,” I say, in a stunningly original observation.
“That’s the idea, yes.”
I want nothing more than to set it back down on the table, but it seems like she’s waiting for me to ask questions or make some judgment about it. I turn it over a couple times until I find the off switch, and at last I exhale. I couldn’t form coherent sentences with that bright pink rod buzzing away in my hand.
“What is this for?” I ask, pointing to a small extension shaped—unsurprisingly?—like rabbit ears sticking out on the side. “Does it go—” I stop midsentence, thinking about the possibilities and wishing I hadn’t asked.
“That’s for clitoral stimulation,” she says, easing my fears, though we are standing in a room full of objects meant to go all manner of places. “Most women find it very effective.”
I turn it over awkwardly, still gripping the new-in-box version in my other hand. It seems so bizarre that a vibrating piece of rubber would feel good inside my vagina. But now that I think about it...even Anton doesn’t always feel great in there. The first several times we had sex in college, it just hurt. I think every girl expects losing the big V to be painful, but I hadn’t been prepared for it to be that way the first three or four times. When I finally did orgasm, maybe five or six weeks later, it was only when I assisted with my own fingers—and it’s never happened with him inside me. He has gotten me to climax with his tongue, but I’ve always felt weird about that, and all of these different approaches require a lot of time and concentration on my part. Last time I think he was down between my legs for close to an hour. I actually considered just yelling a bunch so we could both finally go to sleep .
Besides, getting me off isn’t what I came in here for.
“This seems nice,” I say, handing the “sample” back to her and looking around for some hand sanitizer. “But what I really want is something more for my husband.”
“Oh, the rabbit should work for both of you.”
I blanch, suddenly forced to consider whether his interest in “butt play” is not about my butt at all. “Wait, is he supposed to?—”
“He can use it on you ,” she says. “Or he can just enjoy you using it.”
My still-warm face ignites again. I bite my lip. That’s something I hadn’t really considered. On the whole, I’ve always felt Anton and I were pretty traditional. I spread my legs, he does his thing, then with some effort, I can sometimes come after he’s done. But even though we do it together, it’s always felt pretty individual. His turn, my turn. We’ve never climaxed in tandem like people do in movies—I doubt anyone does. And it’s hard to imagine my orgasm doing anything for him. Why would it? It’s just a lot of work to get me off. On the flip side, I have to admit, I’ve never really been excited to help him climax either, except to hurry up and get the whole thing over with.
I turn the box for the hot-pink rabbit over, wondering how he’d react if I walked into the house and handed it to him. Would he be excited? Or sneer at me the way he did the other morning? Even if he is willing to try, it’s not like batteries and pink silicone are going to fix everything.
“Okay, I’ll take it. But what else have you got?”
The salesgirl laughs. “How about a blindfold to go with it...and definitely some lube.”
“Do you think that’s enough?” I ask, following her back down the stairs.
She takes a black silk eye mask from the Fifty Shades display and grabs a large bottle of clear liquid from behind the counter, then turns to me with narrowed eyes. “Did you have something more specific in mind?”
“I don’t know, I just think we might need something more...maybe for him ?” I grimace, eyeing a male mannequin with a chain dangling from its nipples, holding some elaborate whip-looking thing .
“A vibrator, some lube, and a blindfold should give you both plenty to start with.” She follows my gaze, then gently adds, “It’s generally best to work your way up to the harder stuff.”
I clasp my hands in front of me, face glowing like a fire truck. Honestly, I’m a little relieved she said that, but my marriage feels so tenuous right now. I’m afraid to screw up again.
“I just...I don’t want him to be bored,” I say in a low voice.
“Most guys are pretty easy to please. We’re the difficult ones. In fact, it might not be a bad idea to practice a little on your own before you try this together.”
She gives me a friendly wink, but I bite my lip in horror as I follow her to the register. I haven’t touched myself alone since the day my mother walked in on me when I was thirteen. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying hard not to remember the appalled look on her face. How she’d made me shower immediately and told me to never do it again. The experience was so mortifying that I didn’t let my fingers drift between my legs again until Anton and I were together. But it still feels too illicit to do without him.
Obviously, this woman was raised differently. She’s casual about all of this in a way I can’t imagine ever being. But should I feel differently? If this whole shopping trip turns out to be a failure and I wind up divorced in a few more weeks, maybe I’ll want to join the vibrator club after all.
Daphne places her hand on my arm and holds up my purchases. “If you two have never used any of these things, I promise, there’s no way he’s going to get bored.”
I watch her scan each item at the counter, thinking over what she said. Especially the part about who’s more difficult.
“Thanks for your help.” I mumble the words, but I mean them. I didn’t realize how much guidance I needed when I walked in, but I’ll be grateful if any of the things she picked out do something for Anton and me.
“That’s what I’m here for.” She smiles and hands me a card with her name. “Have fun, and when you’re ready for the next steps, come see me again.”