by Joanna Angel
“Taryn, I meant do you want to take over the store?”
My breath caught in my throat for the second time in the past few minutes. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious! Look at you—you’re already running the store and it’s thriving. You know how to make the customers feel comfortable, and that’s the most important thing. You’re way better suited for this than I am right now. What do you think? You want to make dreams come true?”
Was this for real? I mean, I could do it. She was right, I’d been running things here pretty well. Was I about to take on a huge life commitment, right here in a sex shop at 6:00 in the morning?
“Yes!” I said—it just slipped out of my mouth. I hugged Sandy. “Thank you, I’m so honored!”
Just a few months ago I was unemployed, and now I was about to run a business. I didn’t know if I was totally ready for something like this, but still, I couldn’t wait to get started. I have so much to learn, so much to explore.
“Now, I have something very important to give you,” Sandy said. “You can’t keep this store alive without it.”
“The master set of keys . . . ?”
“Here,” Sandy reached into her purse and handed me a folded up piece of paper. I opened it up and saw some scribbles, numbers, and arrows. It looked like a math equation. I studied the paper, trying to decipher the symbols.
“Honey, it’s the recipe to my punch!”
The punch. Of course. The potion that brought Sandy and Amir together. Was there a recipe for Cheetos to follow?
“Well, I’m going to need some help figuring out this recipe. I want to make sure to get it right. Can we make a batch together?”
“Of course!”
In the past month I had learned all about the erogenous zones in my vagina, which toys women love, and how to host fantastic masturbation sessions. Now I just had to master the art of making moonshine in a bathtub and mixing it with the right kind of juice.
I had come to work that night nervous about running a workshop. Now I’d been handed the keys to a family heirloom of dildos, blow-up dolls, and porn. I thought about all of our customers: the moms, the old single men, the gay and straight couples, the husbands, the virgins. I loved them all. People came to Dreamz to learn about sex, to have sex—with themselves and with others—and I was thrilled to be a part of that. I would sell them porn films, dirty magazines, naughty nurse costumes, and the seven-speed thrusting pink piece of magic that made me find god in my vagina. This store was a very special place—lube and body fluids oozing from the cracks of the walls. I wasn’t going to let Sandy down.
Here dreams would always come true.
The End
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I woke up around 5:00 P.M. , not remembering for a moment where I was or how I’d gotten there. I was used to being awoken by the sounds of my roommates scuffling around as they just got home from work, usually discussing with each other and various random people on the phone about how to get weed. But this evening I awoke to complete silence, in a bed with fluffy white pillows, and what felt like sheets with an insanely high thread count. The memories were coming back to me, visages of Amanda seductively fucking me suddenly invading my head. Amanda. I looked around for her, but it appeared I was alone. The television was on but the volume was muted, showing a loop of a commercial for the hotel I was in with montages of food from the restaurant, families swimming in the pool, and proper adult couples lounging by a fire pit. Sadly, the ad didn’t show anyone getting fucked by a hot dyke with a strap-on. This hotel had no idea what the real magic in this building was.
Was I still welcome here? Should I leave? I sat back and recounted the series of events that happened last night and I couldn’t believe they did. I was hoping I could see her again before she left town. I never actually had a one-night stand, and I’d never slept with a woman. Wasn’t something supposed to happen after this? Wasn’t it proper to at least eat a meal together, or have a kiss good-bye or something?
I stepped into the shower. It was so refreshing to stand in a bathroom that wasn’t littered with so many different people’s toiletries. Just perfectly sized compact bottles of fresh-smelling shampoo and an individually wrapped mini bar of soap. I watched the suds fall down my body, circulate around my nipples, and I scrubbed the soap into the tuft of pubes above my pussy. As I slowly washed away the smell of sex on my body, I heard the door open. I smiled.
“Hey! I hope you don’t mind I used your shower.” I opened the curtain and let the water drip down the sides of the tub.
“It’s okay! I don’t have to pay the water bill here,” Amanda smirked.
She was in her black blazer, with a slightly more casual soft black T-shirt under it. It wasn’t your average cotton shirt; it was thin, and fell on her body in an intentional way. This was a shirt made to stand on its own.
“I’ve got a few hours before I head to the airport, wanna grab some food?”
“We did never actually get that breakfast,” I said.
I thought that was a rather smooth, clever, and cool way to say Oh my god, we had sex, isn’t that crazy! But she wasn’t enthused. Actually, she didn’t respond at all. Maybe she didn’t hear me. I closed the curtain, quickly finished my shower, dried off and dressed, my clothes from yesterday still carrying the scent of arousal.
We hopped in a cab, and went to a restaurant she recommended, a place I have never heard of even though I had lived here my whole life. It had large windows and exposed brick, leather seats, and chandeliers made out of wine bottles.
“I didn’t know we were going somewhere fancy,” I said. “I feel underdressed.” My Converse sneakers and Target blue jeans were just as unfashionable last night as they were now.
“Oh, it’s cool, it’s just a little gastropub I like out here. You’re fine!”
She ordered us drinks with ingredients like “hibiscus” and “jalapeño infused mescal” that sounded like they belonged in a salad, and I did a quick Google search for “gastropub” on my phone. A bar that specializes in serving high quality food was the definition. I don’t get it. Doesn’t that just make it a restaurant? I nodded, smiled, played along, and pretended this was all very routine for me, to drink alcohol with plants in it and sit in leather chairs in “gastropubs.” The drink sure was delicious, though.
“So, did you go and see Sandy today?” I asked.
“Who?”
“My boss! You had said you were going to meet with her.”
“Oh, right! Actually I stopped back there and the store was closed! Are you guys closed Sundays?”
“Ha! No? We’re never supposed to be closed. But it’s just me and Sandy on staff right now so—maybe she had to go somewhere. I try not to think about the store when I’m not there,” I said. That was strange that Sandy wasn’t around. I wondered where she went. Since she was my boss and I was not hers, I guess it literally wasn’t my business.
“So, did you do anything else?” I felt like I was pestering her, but I didn’t really know what else to say and I did genuinely want to know what she was working on.
“I stopped at the Hustler store downtown; they were doing a workshop today and used a lot of our products, so I had to make sure they were being used properly, you know what I mean?”
“I don’t, actually. What do you mean by a workshop?”
“This pretty well-known sex educator—she goes by the name of Dr. Erica—she had a couples’ workshop in the store today mostly targeted toward married people who just don’t know how to have sex anymore. She shows them different toys and how to use them, plus demonstrated new positions on this giant foam thing. Her classes are really informative! She’s written several sex therapy books, and does a ton of lectures.”
I had no idea there were so many kinds of people out there who made their living with dildos and orgasms. So crazy! I’d never considered the educational side before, but it made a lot of sense that there would be sex classes.
“That’s interesting! I never heard of her. Do people actually show up for that?”
“Oh yeah, there were about seventy-five people there. Her newest book had a few chapters on introducing BDSM play to your relationship, so I did some demonstrations on people with our floggers, cuffs, and hog-ties. It works out well! It’s like a cross promotion with her book and the Hustler store.”
“So you stood in the middle of the store and whipped people?” I laughed.
“Well, I showed people how to whip their partners properly if that’s what they were into,” she explained.
“That’s so interesting. I wish I could get a famous sex author to come to our store to talk to anyone about anything. It’s usually just a bunch of horny old men looking to jerk off. That and drunk people. We sure do get a lot of those at 4:00 A.M.!” I replied.
“Yeah, but the fact that you’re in one of the last few remaining shops outside the adult use zoning jurisdiction is pretty cool. You gotta keep that going.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, like, it’s great that people get to come to an upscale shop like Hustler and talk about sex, but people can actually have sex in your shop. There’s not a lot of those left.”
“Yeah, I don’t really know much about it but I know Sandy is grandfathered into some old law because of the lease. But when I’m cleaning up semen on the floor at 6:00 A.M., it doesn’t exactly feel like much of a privilege!” I said.
“As someone who definitely doesn’t like semen, or cleaning for that matter . . . I’m telling you, it is.”
We both laughed. A waiter came and delivered a very large plate of French fries that looked more like baked potatoes cut into slices, with various colored sauces. Amanda ate one, multi-dipping into every sauce cup. I would have feigned disgust if she didn’t look so goddamn sexy dipping that fry.
“They really have the best fries here,” she said. “Try one!” She dipped one into the red sauce, which looked the most basic out of all the sauces. She probably assumed I was a standard ketchup-and-French-fries person, which was accurate. She reached over the table, slid the French fry in my mouth, and gave me a kiss to seal it in. The sauce was tomato-based, but more than ketchup; it was spicy, and vibrant, various flavors that I couldn’t name melding into a unique whole, much like the kiss Amanda left on my lips. The combination left me ravenous.
“Come over here!” she said. She signaled me to sit on the same side of the table as her, and I obliged without hesitation. I wanted to be closer to her. And to the fries, of course.
“You know, you could probably do your own kind of workshop at the store. If your boss isn’t even there half the time, I’m sure she wouldn’t care,” Amanda said.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, if you just put the word out that couples and single women, or whoever, could come play with each other in the store, you would get a ton of people in there and probably sell a whole bunch of products. I bet a lot of people in the area just don’t know what you really have going on in there.”
“Or a lot of people in the area know exactly what we have going on and that’s why they stay away!” I answered.
“Well, you have the foundation there because of the store’s incredible position. Some younger blood like you could really change things up if you tried.”
She had a point. If our store really was in such a unique position, shouldn’t we try to use that to our advantage?
“Okay, let’s say I did do an event,” I said. “Would you help me? I don’t know what I’m doing!”
“Yeah, sure!” she said.
“How can you help if you don’t even live here?” I asked.
“I have an unlimited data plan on my phone, and I am really good at using airplanes,” she smiled.
Was she telling me she would come? Were we making future plans? I honestly couldn’t really tell. She spoke in these very fragmented sentences, always hinting at things but never stating them. I felt both anxious and inspired at the same time.
“So really, you’ll help me?” I asked. I wanted to latch myself onto her like a koala bear to a tree and make her stay for a couple more days. Or weeks. Or years. I wasn’t sure which one yet.
“Don’t do this for me,” she said, “do it for your store!”
I had worked at Dreamz for about two months now. The decision to work there was not much of a decision. It was the only place hiring that was less than a mile away from where I lived. I was, however, beginning to like it. I had known Amanda for about twelve hours, and I was smitten. Putting more effort into a part-time job logically made just as much sense as putting more effort into a twelve-hour lesbian relationship, when I never even identified as one. But logic doesn’t always apply when you’re still drunk off an orgasm.
“Why?” I said. “Maybe I want to do this for you.” I pouted like a little doll. I think I was flirting? Not sure if I was doing it successfully.
“Well, don’t,” she sternly said, “but do it,” she added, also sternly. I wish she would have shocked me with her fancy futuristic-looking electric wand while saying that.
“All right. Maybe I will.” I grinned. She fed me another French fry, like I was a good dog who had properly followed a command and earned a treat. I think I subliminally just agreed to not have a crush on her and to care about my job more, and I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that. But I was under her spell, and I was high on hibiscus drinks, perfect fries, and stunning lips.
We kissed, and kissing in public felt very official to me. I had never been kissed at a fancy restaurant before. I know, Amanda doesn’t consider this a fancy restaurant, and perhaps every restaurant in Los Angeles looked just like this one. Maybe there were spices and herbs on the McDonald’s burgers there, but I considered this quite fancy and I considered this a date.
After a few more courses of decadent burgers and a velvety dessert, she slyly slipped her credit card to the waiter. The check hadn’t even come yet! How could she be so confident that she could take care of the bill without even seeing it? I tried to do the math in my head: between the drinks and the food, this meal definitely cost over $150. Maybe more than that. I can’t remember how many plant cocktails I’d had. Was it two? Was it three? I was lost in a blur of lust and decadence. The waiter swiftly took her card and returned it hastily with a receipt. She signed the bill without even looking at it. I had no idea what to even offer to pay, since I had no idea what the bill cost. I was in a panic and at a loss for what proper lesbian date etiquette was.
“I got it, don’t worry,” she said. Apparently I was not subtle about my panic. She smiled at me, which calmed my current nerves, but a whole set of new ones were beginning to arise because I knew our date was coming to an end.
We stepped outside and she hailed two cabs, one for me and one for her. I don’t know why we couldn’t have shared a cab back to the hotel; my car was still there. Wasn’t it on the way to where she was headed next? It must not be. Right? That had to have been the only reason to separate us, after such a lovely date. A few extra moments with her would have been nice. Of course, maybe it was better to just tear off this Band-Aid and say goodbye.
She kissed me outside, I slipped my hands underneath her suit jacket and felt the softness of her T-shirt. I loved the taste of her mouth, I loved the softness of her skin, and I loved the feeling of her breasts pressed up against mine when she came close to me. It was a new feeling, but it felt like a complete natural extension of my sexuality.
“Bye, Taryn,” she said as she opened her cab’s door.
“You mean ‘see you soon,’ right?” I countered. I couldn’t help it. Maybe I was coming off as needy, but I didn’t want to let her go without knowing for sure whether I had a shot with her or if this day would become one lonely but cherished memory.
She winked at me. “Yes, see you soon.” Then she slid into the cab. I watched the car carry her away, the end to our first, and hopefully not last, adventure.
I
sat in the cab on the way back to my apartment, pinching myself. I couldn’t believe the last tenty-four hours of my life had happened; sexual surreality clouded my mind.
It was 10:00 P.M. when I arrived at my home, and I had been awake for a mere five hours. I laid on my bed and couldn’t stop smiling. I was a little bit drunk. I reached for my phone, but then realized that I shouldn’t grab it; if I did, I’d want to call Amanda. It was much too soon to do that, right?
I drifted off and recounted the events of the night in my head. I thought about the way that thick dildo came from her crotch and penetrated my pussy so firmly. I wish I had done more. I should have tasted her more while she was next to me. I wish I could go back in time and do it again and do it longer. I was so lucky to have been ravaged by her just several hours ago. I touched my pussy and it wasn’t nearly as good as the way she touched it; how did a stranger know my body better than I did? I thought of her face, her kiss, her suit, her tattoos, and my pussy got more and more moist. I spread my fingers around, rubbing myself, then penetrating myself deeply, yearning for her to come back and in dire need to cum again. I rubbed and flicked and went as far into my vagina as possible. I spread my lips open and I pushed on my throbbing clit, harder and harder, deeper and deeper. I closed my eyes and imagined her kiss, her thrust, found myself pulling my own hair and pushing myself against my own bed as far as I could. I reached a soft but intense climax, and suddenly felt relaxed. I put my fingers in my mouth and tasted my own juices, something I had never done before, but with my recent discovery of having a penchant for the taste of vagina, it felt appropriate. I still tasted like a tiny bar of soap that came individually wrapped from an elegant hotel. Remnants of the night were still existent and I didn’t want it to end.
I knew I had to plan an event. For myself. Not for Amanda. Possibly with Amanda, but not for Amanda. No. Definitely not. This is all for the store. Of course.
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