Thirty minutes later, I’m pulling into the strip mall at the corner of John and Hibiscus Streets. Right away I see the neon-pink lights and naughtily dressed mannequin in the window. The sun is already disappearing on the horizon, but nonetheless, I slip my sunglasses on as I exit my car. I don’t want to chance being recognized.
I enter the store and for what seems like minutes, I just stand there, checking it all out. I’m experiencing sensory overload. There’s lots of skimpy lingerie to my left, but nothing I haven’t seen before. It’s the stuff to my right that makes me blush.
There’s a wall with dildos on display—some so large I can’t imagine any woman ever buying one. And apparently they come in all the colors of the rainbow, which makes me wonder if they’re flavored like Life Savers.
“Hi!” A petite brunette bounces toward me. She has a piercing in her eyebrow and is into dark makeup. “Can I help you?”
“I’m…just looking.”
Her eyes narrow, as if she’s trying to decide if she knows me. “You look really familiar. Have you been here before?”
“Me? God, no.” Then it hits me. “You’re probably confusing me with my sister. Samera Peyton.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Are you Suzie?”
“Uh-huh. Are you sure there’s nothing I can help you find?”
I know this is a sex shop, but I don’t want this cute little thing getting a visual image of what I might be doing later. I shake my head. “Not right now, anyway. But I’ll let you know.”
I turn and wander to the left, heading toward the safe-looking lingerie I have no intention of buying. Not that that really makes much sense when I think about it. Suzie will see what I purchase soon enough.
“Relax,” I whisper to myself as I finger a lacy black teddy. “You’re a grown woman. You’re allowed to have good sex.”
Hell, I’d take mediocre sex right now. That sad reality has me forgetting about my reservations and I forge ahead to find the raunchiest piece of lingerie here. I find panties with no crotch, bras with feathers at the nipple. I hang on to both like they’re the answers to all my problems.
When I see a maid’s outfit on a mannequin, I can’t help but laugh. But once I stop chuckling, I take a closer look. This maid’s outfit is barely there. Talk about stepping out of your comfort zone to do something different. In this uniform, I can role-play. I can be a lousy cook, or suck at dusting.
And Charles can spank me, then punish me with his piercing shaft…
I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing out loud. I’ve been reading way too many historical romances.
I continue to browse. There’s also a mannequin in leather, wearing a dog collar and holding a whip. That’s an idea. I could always whip Charles for being a bad boy. But I can’t quite imagine him on all fours with his butt in the air. I pick up a package with the maid’s uniform and stuff it under my arm. I even choose a black wig. If I’m going to role-play, I may as well go all out.
Fifteen minutes in this place and I’m feeling like a different woman. So much so that when I stroll toward the cash register—passing through an aisle full of vibrators—I stop and take a gander. I more than take a gander, actually, but hey, I’m curious. The shaft that gets my attention is long, thick and blue (an odd color given its lifelike dimensions but I’m not about to ask why). I pick it up and examine it through the packaging.
“Oooh, I love that one.”
I jump with fright, dropping the blue penis and my crotchless underwear to the floor. Cute little Suzie doesn’t miss a beat. She quickly scoops my items up.
Knowing that my face is flaming, I accept the items but don’t meet her eyes.
“There’s also this,” Suzie says. She picks up a display penis that’s extremely huge. “This one feels so real. Touch it.”
God forgive me, I say to myself. Then I touch the proffered penis and am surprised at just how soft it is. “Nice,” I mumble, for lack of something more appropriate to say.
“The balls even move on this one, giving added stimulation. And it has three speed levels, depending on what you prefer.”
I know I’m as red as a beet. “Um…I think I’ll stick with this stuff.” I lift the lingerie items. There’s no way I can bring another penis into my house, even if I could use it. What would my husband say?
Suzie leads the way to the register and I follow her. I know this is the new millennium, but this place is so…sinful. I can hardly believe I’m really here. I feel a rush of guilt and consider going to confession.
“You might want to try some of these.” Suzie points to a bin with small tubes. “Flavored lubricant,” she announces proudly. “Personally, I like the raspberry best.”
Good Lord, she looks way too young to have tried all this stuff. I’m about to tell her I’m not interested, but I suddenly change my mind. How much have I missed out on? Too much, clearly. I want to catch up, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I pick up a handful of the tubes. “Can’t get too much of these.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
I’m actually chuckling, enjoying this moment, when I sense someone to my right. Turning, I nearly die of horror when I see a total hottie standing a few feet away from me. How long has he been here, and how did I not see him before?
Worse, how much of my conversation has he heard?
He grins as he meets my gaze.
God help me, he thinks I’m a freak. I quickly pay for my items and rush out of the store.
Nine o’clock and still no Charles.
What seemed like a good idea three hours ago seems utterly foolish right now. I’m lying on the sofa wearing that ridiculous maid’s uniform and the even more ridiculous wig, only half paying attention to some pathetic reality dating show. The meat loaf I prepared is lukewarm in the oven.
Not even so much as a phone call to tell me he’d be late.
I could have changed—in fact I almost did—but I want Charles to see what I’ve done to try to seduce him. And if I’m entirely honest, I guess a part of me still hopes that he’ll walk through the door, see me half-naked and perk right up—then ravish me until I can’t even blink.
Like that’s gonna happen. Why the hell do I bother? Maybe my sister’s right. Maybe Charles is having some torrid affair.
The cordless phone is at the foot of the sofa, nice and close to me, because I’d hoped Charles would call. Now I lift it and punch in the digits to one of my girlfriend’s. I desperately need to hear a friendly voice right now.
“Hello?”
Thank God, Lishelle is home. She’s a newscaster and sometimes works through the evening. I met her at Spelman, the same place I met my other best friend, Claudia Fisher. I think they took pity on me—one of the few white girls who had the guts to go to a predominantly black school. I didn’t care about any of that, of course. I wanted to experience life at an all-girl college, probably to please my mother who was worried