Chapter 3 #2
I snatched his jeans out of his hand, took my stain-removing basket from the closet where I kept it, and sprayed the stain with multiple products. I caught his look and rolled my eyes. "I'm not your mother, but I too deal with stains, Dane."
He frowned. "Okay?"
"Period blood? Every woman deals with it, Dane. We're experts at bloodstain removal. That's why you shouldn't fuck with us."
"Oh, right." He shook his head. "You don't have to do that. I'm not worried about the jeans."
One of the primary reasons, aside from cost and location, that I picked this apartment was the in-unit stacked washer and dryer. Having laundry capability in your apartment is the peak of luxury, I tell you.
Towel warmers? For peasants.
Marble floors? Plebeian bullshit.
In-unit stackable washer and dryer? Gold standard in luxury.
I ran his jeans and then went to use the facilities myself.
Which is when I saw it.
My clit stimulator. Right there on the counter next to the sink, where I left it after washing it last time I used it…an hour ago, along with a box of tampons from when my period finally started; it had, fortunately, been abbreviated, as well, likely due to my emotional stress level, lately.
While thinking about the very same big fat salami currently wiggling a jaunty hello at me from the confines of his gray sweatpants.
Oh, god. Shoot me now.
I did my business, washed my hands, and put the toy away in the drawer beside my bed. Sat beside Dane on the couch.
"I didn't know I left it out," I heard myself blurt, apropos of nothing.
He didn't have to ask what I was talking about. "None of my business. I wasn't gonna say anything."
"But you saw it."
"Well, yeah." He frowned at me. "To be honest, I wasn't sure what I was looking at, at first."
I pulled a face at him. "You've never seen one of those before?"
He shrugged. "Nope. My sisters were both pretty vicious about Dunc and me staying out of their rooms growing up, so if they had them, I wouldn't have seen them—and thank god for that, because I do not want to have that visual in my fucking headJesusCriminyit'stoolatefuckme.
" The last sentence was uttered all in a rush, head in his hands. "Goddammit."
"It's a clitoral stimulator, Dane,” I said.
"It's a vibrator," he said, snorting.
“No, it's not. It's a clitoral stimulator.”
"What's the difference?"
I held up one finger, went into my room, brought out the device in question, and my other favorite toy, Mr. Big—a giant purple vibrator the size of a county fair first prize-winning zucchini with nine different settings, including one that made the whole thing rotate, for some reason.
Like, to imitate a dick that can…umm…swivel around inside you? You know, like real dicks do?
I tossed said vibrator at Dane—he caught it instinctively, and then, realizing what it was, fumbled in pure horror.
"JESUS FUCK, woman!" He quickly recovered from his horror and held the device by the bottom end, examining it, turning it this way and that.
He powered it on and started cycling through the settings—low vibe, medium vibe, fast vibe, pussy-punisher vibe, and then a series of baffling staccato patterns.
Who uses the S-O-S pattern, anyway? I tried it once, and my orgasm got confused and ran away like a bitch, and I spent the rest of the day in a sour, climax-denied funk.
When he got to the setting where the whole slightly-curved silicone device rotated like a beef frank on one of those gas station heaty-rolly dudes, he arched an eyebrow at me. "The fuck is this supposed to do?"
I cackled. "Honestly, I have no idea." I pointed at the device in his hands. "The point is, that is a vibrator." I held up the clitoral stimulator. "This is not."
"So what's the difference?" He asked.
I blinked at him. "You're genuinely asking?"
He shrugged. "Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"
"Guys get weird about women and their sex toys, in my experience," I told him.
“Really?"
I snickered sarcastically. "Uh, yeah."
"How so?"
"Again, you really want to know?"
"Again, yeah."
“Okay, well, to answer your second question first, a vibrator is a dildo that vibrates—it’s a fake penis that jiggles really fast, more or less.
It goes inside my vagina and feels good when it goes buzz buzz.
Sort of like sex, but not exactly." I held up the stimulator.
"This is a clitoral stimulator. It uses suction, basically, to stimulate the clit.
Thus the name. It feels more like having someone go down on you, but not as wet.
And honestly, not quite as good, if you compare it to a guy who knows what he's doing. "
Dane didn't have to say anything, but I could tell he was thinking the same thing as me: that I knew, and he knew, and I knew that he knew that I knew that he very, very, very much knew what he was doing.
I think I confused myself with that one.
Point is, I took one look at him, and the only thing I could think of was the screaming, quivering, jelly-legs orgasms he gave me with his mouth: stellar. Ten out of ten, would recommend.
If only there wasn't such a fraught, emotional freight train of baggage between us; if only I wasn't such a disaster; if only I was capable of the slightest, most infinitesimal amount of emotional vulnerability.
"So, back to the first question," Dane prompted. "Dudes being weird about sex toys."
I pointed at him. "Well, you proved it just now.
I tossed you that vibrator and you reacted like I'd tossed you a live grenade—or more to the point, a real, live dick.
It's not an actual penis, Dane. You're not gonna suddenly be gay and want to put in your butt because you touched a fucking vibrator for point-two seconds. "
He frowned at me, but it was a thoughtful frown. "I see your point."
"Let me ask you this," I said. "Have you ever incorporated a sex toy into sex with someone?"
He shook his head. "No. I guess…I guess I've always thought of sex toys like vibrators or clit stimulators to be for solo play. Like, we've got each other, so why would we need extra gadgets?"
"Which is totally valid. But let's say you're hooking up with a girl and she's hot, she's into you, things are going well, but…she just can't quite reach orgasm."
"I'd be asking what I was doing wrong," he said.
“Sure, of course. But what if she says you're not doing anything wrong—it's legitimately not you, it's just that she has a hard time reaching orgasm. What if she asked how you'd feel if she used one of these," I gestured with the stimulator, "during sex?"
He frowned again, and—to his credit—spent a while truly considering the question.
"Hmmm. I guess…yeah, I like to think I'd be willing to try it and see how it goes.
A part of me would probably feel like she was pandering to my ego by saying it's not me, though.
Like, making my partner feel good is low-key more important to me than me feeling good.
Like, I know I'm going to come, and I know it's going to be good. But it's not a guarantee with women."
I laughed. “Yet you'd still take it personally if you couldn't get your partner off, even though you know that to be true."
He chuckled. “Yeah, you caught me in that one." He sobered, eying the dildo. “Now, if I'm honest, I'd probably feel weirder about it if she wanted to bust that monster out during sex. Like, yo, babe, where the fuck do you think that thing is going?"
"Awww c'mon, Dane," I said, giggling, "you mean to tell me you're not into being pegged by a dildo the size of a horse’s cock?"
“Yeah, no. Nope. Not into that. No shade to anyone who is, but I'm not."
I patted him on the arm. "That's my point. You're more open to it than other guys I've talked to about this, and you're still weird about it. Most guys I've talked to about this wouldn't even consider letting me bring out a toy during sex."
"Why not?" Dan asked.
"Why did you hesitate when I asked?"
A pause, and a slow exhale. "I guess…" a clearing of his throat. "The brutally honest answer is feeling threatened. Which sounds really fuckin' pathetic when I say it out loud. Jesus. But…yeah, that's it."
"Threatened by an inanimate object?" I asked, not even attempting to not sound derisive.
He shrugged. "It's not jealousy, exactly, not like I'd be jealous if you were ghosting me and fucking some other dude.
It's…god, how do I put it? You wanting to bust out a vibrator during sex triggers a feeling of inadequacy.
Like why am I not good enough? We as men feel like our manhood, our virility, is the core of our identity.
That's why erectile dysfunction is so debilitating. "
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Because you've experienced ED?"
"Not ED, no, but I've had the li'l fella not work before. It sucks. It's embarrassing. Makes you feel like a useless sad sack of shit."
I blinked at this revelation. "Whiskey dick is all too common, and unless the girl you were trying to hook up with was a class-A bitch, she wouldn't rag on you about it."
He actually flushed. "Not talkin' about whiskey dick, as a matter of fact. And I'm confiding in you, Linz. This shit is seriously hard to talk about."
I felt a heat in my throat, a thrum of panic in my belly. "Oh. I…oh."