How Not to Have Babies

When I was at my first STORE, before I headed north, I had this encounter:

 A woman came in. She looked like she was in her mid to late thirties, and she was beautiful. Her features were petite and her hair was long, and by the cut of her clothes and her elegance I was surprised when it turned out she needed so much help. She had a slight accent, but her English was good, and she came over to me immediately. "I'm looking for a vibrator."

I nodded and asked for what and she stared at me. I smiled apologetically, "Do you want internal or external stimulation?" Blank stare. I wondered if her English wasn't covering these terms, or if she just didn't want to tell me. "Have you ever had one before?" She shook her head and I took her to the unofficial beginners section. It's mostly small slim vibes, I warn people away from the jelly as much as I can, and they're not too scary looking. I started talking about them when she nudged my arm and pointed at a display case for luxury models. "What are those?" I follow her point and smile, "Would you like to see?"

I thought she was just curious but when I showed her a Lelo she said "'l'll take that one." I blinked, since $130 is a lot to drop on your first toy. But she wasn't done. She pulled me after her like a satellite as she went through shoes and lingerie, and eventually we wound up by condoms. She looked at them pensively for a moment then asked, "What are these for?" I was floored. "Uhm, they're for wearing during sex...?" She picked one up and looked at the display for it. "These are condoms?" I nodded, trying desperately to think of a tactful way to ask if she knew how to use them. "My doctor says you have to use condoms to not have babies." I nod in horror and she starts throwing them in a bag, asking for suggestions. I point out ones we get good feedback on, and slip a pamphlet on how to use condoms we keep around for teens into her bag with a mumbled explanation of what it is. She thanks me and says, "Yeah, I thought five kids was too many, so I finally ask my doctor."

I nodded like it's typical for a woman in her thirties to have five kids but still have no idea what's making her pregnant. I was on the verge of giving her the birds and the bees crash course when another customer came in and instead she just had me ring her in. She spent almost a thousand dollars, and I'm sure it was put to good use, but I wanted quite badly to call her back and explain things to her.

Arizona Part 3

When we finally went to find the show in earnest parking proved problematic. We wound through the city finding only one hour parking then to Taylor's great distress I convinced her to park in a little out if the way office park with signs saying no parking. I assured her I'd pay if she got a ticket and she reluctantly agreed.

Inside the concert hall we found ourselves next to two space cadets we christened Orange and Pizza. We came in when the openers were already going, a band called Yacht. They had a charming lead female vocalist who danced in a style like disco and swing mashed up together. Orange came and sat down in our row, scooting past us. She leaned over to Taylor shortly after sitting and asked if the opener was any good. Taylor looked at her and gestured helplessly at the stage. Orange seemed satisfied by this and we tried stifle our giggles. Shortly afterward she earned her namesake by pulling out a small orange. I sniffed at it longingly, since I'd been unable to stomach the vegan macaroni I'd gotten. I watched her peel it, flicking small pieces of peel into an empty beer cup. She was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, and I saw her feet were bare. As I watched one missed and tipped the cup over. She looked up to see me staring and I looked away, but saw her continue to stare. Then she reached out one bare foot and picked the cup up in her toes.

Her boyfriend throughout the show passed us several times and every time the smell of pizza washed over me. I nudged Taylor and told her my theory that he must have just gotten off work at a pizza place. The Postal Service came out and rocked the house. Taylor danced like a maniac, even through This Place is a Prison, which is a slow song no matter how you swing it. She was easily the highest energy person in the whole theatre. When they finished we grabbed our backpack and jackets and headed for the door. I was feeling limp after the end of day two with no food. Protein drinks keep you alive but not necessarily chipper. As we walked I stumbled more and more. We got closer to where the moped was parked and Taylor looked up at buildings we were approaching, grabbing my shoulders and moving me to the street side of the walk. I stumbled and protested, asking why.

She looked anxiously at the building we were approaching which looked like it had had its front sheared off, having open concrete rooms bared to the street. "You're tiny, if someone's hiding in there waiting to jump us I'd rather be the one who deals with it." I pretended to be affronted at her show of chivalry but the end result was us hugging in the street until Taylor insisted we get off the road.

As we neared her moped she grew more and more anxious, becoming certain it had been towed. I laughed and preceded her into the tiny closed space. "Oh look, your moped, and a man with a knife!" She was less than amused and let out a huge sigh of relief to see her moped untouched. As she pulled off the cover I opened the backpack to grab our extra jackets now that it was colder. After a moment I made a quiet "uh oh".

"What?" Taylor asked. "Your motorcycle jacket, it's not here." A look of panic crossed her face. "I thought you were grabbing it." I guiltily said that no, I'd grabbed my jacket and the drink under my seat, but I'd forgotten hers. She sighed and we headed back to the theatre on the moped. "Can you go get it?" she asked as we pulled up front. Eager to redeem myself I slid off and made eye contact with a security guard inside. She opened the door, and with no preamble I said, "We were sitting in section 6, row 28 and seat two and left a motorcycle jacket under the seat." She stepped aside grudgingly to let me in. After a quick radio call we started walking to our seats. She said I was lucky to have come when I did, and that I remembered the exact seats. She said she had a daughter about my age- wait, I was a girl in there right? She reached over like she was going to remove my motorcycle helmet and I laughed nodding that yes I was a girl.

Another guard appeared with the jacket and I thanked them profusely. The ride home was freezing. I wished desperately for a scarf. My hoodie and windbreaker kept the worst of the chill off my core but I longed desperately for a scarf, and a second pair of pants. My gloved hands were tucked into Taylor's jacket pockets but we weren't heading home yet. After the hour long drive we detoured to a special place of hers. Behind a church was a huge stack of boulders. They look too steep to climb, but at midnight in the dark we made it most of the way up before my body collapsed into shaking and we had to stop. We looked out over the city and traded kisses where both of our noses were numb from the ride.

When we climbed down my legs were numb from cold and fatigue, so Taylor kept going ahead to help me down. The last bit of the climb was loose scree. Taylor got a little way ahead of me and whipped around as I let out a high pitched meep of panic. I steadied myself and she insisted on taking my hand and leading me. I lost my footing several times and she kept catching me. Because the rocks were so loose I'd lose my traction then quickly lift my foot to try to find better footing. As we neared the end I got to a patch of scree that just pulled me down the slope. I lost and found my footing a dozen times but laughing me and Taylor were dragged down the slope until we ran down the last bit and walked arm in arm back to the moped and home and bed.

Arizona Part 2

Taylor brought me home and introduced me to her mom and her step dad. She bluntly told her mom I'd thrown up on the plane and concerns were voiced. I shrugged saying I was probably better, that I'd be happy to try to nibble. I quickly lost a small amount of pretzels to the toilet and gave up on eating. Taylor's 16yr old brother had a track meet which we were going to attend. After making the rounds of introductions we meandered behind the bleachers. Her hand slipped into mine and then slid away again as we saw someone was already there on his phone. We took a seat, watching him. "What do you think his deal is?" she asked me. I'm nearsighted. To me he was a portly man, middle aged with dark hair. His shirt was very white, and his pants were black. I considered him. "He's a Catholic priest, he's on the phone with his lover, who's concerned his wife knows about him." She laughed and opened her mouth to reply when he hung up and turned to walk past where we were sitting and I got a closer look at him. I turned to her as he passed us. "I take it back. Totally wrong." She laughed and asked why the change of heart. "Was it the way he walked?" "No," I said, "it was the goatee. No catholic priest has a goatee."



To start the meet off they played the national anthem. But apparently no one wanted to sing for them, so they'd procured a terrible recorded copy. Each syllable was twice as long as it needed to be, and each word dripped with misplaced soulfulness. Taylor and I were in stitches, dramatically reenacting single words stretched to fill several minutes.
After a while I felt the lack of sleep and no food. We went together to the back of her moms car and curled up to nap. With no family or friends around she ran her fingers through my hair and sang me to sleep. Her legs followed the line of the seat and trailed off over the edge and I was lying between her legs, head pillowed on her thigh, hugging her leg to me. 

After a while she admitted she had to go to the bathroom. I made sleepy unhappy noises while she coaxed me off her. I woke up a little while she was gone. When the door opened I sat up and let her squeeze back in. When she had situated herself I waited a moment. She said something I can't remember and I leaned forward and kissed her.

At least I didn't taste like bile but as far as kisses go it was somewhat lacking finesse and I'd clearly caught her off guard. Before she could respond I flopped back down and buried my face in her side. "Sorry. I'll go die of embarrassment now." She assured me it wasn't the worst first kiss she'd ever had. I remain skeptical on that.

We napped for a few hours then roused to get protein drinks for me and wander the track meet. One of her younger brothers friends harassed us and we ignored him as best we could. He kept trying to guess my name when after feeling particularly stubborn I refused to tell him. He kept asking Taylor's brother who it seemed had also forgotten. After putting up with them a while we went to help Taylor's mom set the concession stand to rights and after an awkward moment it became clear she'd also forgotten my name. I laughingly assured her I wasn't offended and reminded both her and Taylor's brother.  When it got cold and dark we headed home, singing along to Good Feeling and Fall Out Boy with her brother and mom.

I was surprised when Taylor reached over to hold my hand. I looked nervously at her mom and brother in the front seat, but relaxed after it seemed clear they weren't paying us attention. But then the song ended and her brother turned around to address her, and our linked hands were in the seat between us



I quickly disengaged my fingers from hers and she sat up to enthusiastically exclaim a point so we could pull our hands away from each other. He glanced at me before he turned back around and me and Taylor shared a panicked look.

After a not terribly restful night we got up and lounged around her room cuddling. There were several hours to kill before the main event which was a Postal Service concert at eight. We got showered and watched Sherlock which I was skeptical of. Having read the original stories I find I hate the more actiony revamps but I was delighted by the incorporation of twists to the original story. 



Her mom insisted that as we'd be riding her moped to the concert she needed to practice driving with a passenger. She demanded to know if I was the least uncomfortable with the situation and I laughed and said I rode behind my parents on their Harley's all the time as a kid. So we went for a spin around the block. I'm not a huge fan of deserts, but it was lovely. There had just been rain so the cacti were blooming, and it was warm as we sped along. Each time she had to stop our helmets would click together like clumsy birds, making us laugh.



We finally headed out for real. The drive started to get a little chilly so I wrapped myself around her nominally for warmth. We stopped to grab a bite to eat at a little vegan restaurant. We were looking for parking and were about to head out when a motorcyclist headed out of the restaurant. "You can have my space, give me a sec." She was tall (I admit, everyone seems tall to me) and black, with dreadlocks, wearing all black riding leathers. I hopped off Taylor's moped and scooted behind the motorcyclist to wait. She fitted her helmet on and swung her leg over her bike. As she leaned forward her jacket lifted to reveal a bright vibrantly red thong unselfconsciously displayed well above her pants. I mentioned it to Taylor and we both marveled and then laughed.

Arizona Part 1

So I recently visited the girl of my dreams in Arizona. I was nervous for two weeks preceding the trip, you could see my heart pounding through my shirt for the week before my flight. The night before I flew out I had my nightly call with her, then dutifully went to bed at ten. And tossed. And turned. And did breathing exercises. And utterly failed to fall asleep. Some appliance in the house was beeping every half hour. I kept thinking it would stop but every half hour it went off again. I got up at 4:15 after a little over an hour of sleep

My mom dropped me off at the airport and I went to find my gate. I was afraid if I fell asleep I'd miss my flight so I sat and read for the hour until we boarded. As I approached the flight attendant with my ticket I started having a massive yawn that I failed to hide behind my hand. She gave me a particularly condescending smile. "Are you flying alone today?" I nodded, finishing up my yawn and giving her a sleepy smile in response. "How old are you?" I blinked at her and then my stare got colder. She thought I was an unaccompanied minor. "23" I said  and took a sadistic pleasure in watching her face go blank. I do wonder what age she would have found believable. I think 14-16 would have her convinced.

On the flight my heart rate picked up. It's a two hour flight from Seattle to Phoenix, and I was so keyed up. Normally since I'm so tiny it's easy to pull down the tray table in front of me and lay on it. But a lot of planes in our airport got shrunk a bit, so it was possible to lay like that only with some creative bending. I pulled one leg up on the chair with me, and tucked it up under one thigh, pillowing my head onto my arms, neck curved to fit. I had my headphones on and the people behind me, thinking I couldn't hear, made several comments about my elasticity and the probability of my being a gymnast.

For your ease in understanding, the tray is in beige

I gave up after a while, and pulled out a granola bar I'd brought. It was chocolate, and rich. I don't generally eat in the mornings because my stomach is a tyrant, so I waited until I knew I was hungry. Shortly after finishing my bar I began to realize I'd made a mistake. My stomach started curdling and I could feel myself getting paler, which let me tell you, is hard. I pulled out my book and insisted to my stomach that I was fine. I insisted pretty successfully for about 45 minutes, and then the dry heaves started. Like contractions, I can never tell when my body is serious unless the heaves exceed two within the same minute. I waited, my gorge rising intermittently. Finally I admitted defeat, and turned to look at the men beside me. The one closest to me was a very well dressed East Indian man, sleeping. I caught the eye of the man on the aisle seat, who looked up at me from his laptop. Afraid to open my mouth I made a sitting up motion and he smiled nicely, packing his laptop and a notebook up and standing.

I eeled my way over the sleeping gentleman and said a quiet thank you to the laptop man. I lurched with the airplanes motions causing glares and stern looks down the aisles as I hurried to the bathrooms in the back. The next part was awful. I had a love song Taylor had given me going in one ear while I lost the small contents of my stomach and all I could think was that I'd wanted our first kiss to be perfect but now I'd taste like bile. Afterward I felt vaguely ashamed, having never thrown up from air travel before. I staggered out and looked imploringly at the flight attendants in the very back. "May I have some water please?" One looked inclined to say no and I put on my best puppy dog eyes, but after all they must have heard me puking and weren't that cruel. They sent me on my way with a cup.



I stumbled my way a little more slowly back to my seat. The laptop man saw me and stood up right away, he'd clearly been waiting for me. I gave him a queasy smile and started trying to clamber over the sleeping man's knees. My legs were less steady and I accidentally brushed his nice pinstripe pants with my scruffy converse and he woke up to glare at me and wipe pointedly at the invisible dirt.



Finally we landed and took our leave. I never know where to go when I get off planes, so I generally pick someone to follow who looks like they know where they're going. As Cowboy Bebop taught me: if you see a stranger, follow him.  This time it was laptop man. He kept glancing back and seeing me a little behind and to his left but I looked away innocently every time. We got spat out in baggage claim. I'd been keeping my eyes peeled for Taylor, sure she's be right at the gate waiting but I made it to baggage claim without a sign of her. Finally, very aware that I looked twelve and lost, I sent her a text saying where I was.



She called me up. "What terminal are you in?" I looked around for numbers and reported unhelpfully that the door said it was door 6. She said no, the terminal. Hating to disappoint I headed back inside and looked at all the signs. They said baggage claim and which way to gates, but no terminal numbers. She demanded that I ask someone and I looked around for someone to ask. There didn't seem to be anyone until I spied two security guards at ease chatting. I approached timidly, "Excuse me? Which terminal is this?" They told me I had the pleasure of being in terminal two and Taylor swore. I asked where she was and she admitted it might be a bit of a walk, apologizing that she hasn't been there to meet me.  We stayed on the phone as she made the walk and I frequently looked up and down the walkways trying to see her coming. After a while she went silent on the phone. I asked if she'd lost the connection and turned to look down the walkway to see her standing behind me grinning. I pinned her in a hug and laughingly we set off, my hand slipping easily into hers as we tried to pretend we both weren't nervous.

James T. Kirk

So, STORE is more of a boutique sort of adult store. We expect confidences, but not all of them are welcome. One of my least favorite things to hear is about infidelity  It just bums me out, if you're with someone you don't love anymore, leave? But I've had a few couples come in with only one wedding ring between them. It fills me with sighs, but I normally don't notice. Sometimes the girl will make some catty remark like, "I hope your wife doesn't find out." And in return she will receive a look in which my eyes are bottomless pits of daggers that I am glaring straight at her empathy.

Some months back, I had a guy come in. He said he was looking for a toy for his girlfriend. Something about the way he said it made me suspicious that he was cheating. I glanced at his hands but no ring. I gave him a colder shoulder until he finally managed to express to me that I had misunderstood. He was wooing a woman, and was very new and awkward about it. He asked about pheromones and I helped him much more happily after realizing it had been a misunderstanding. As I'm handing him his purchase he looks at me and gives a heavy sigh. "I thought dating would be easier, but I'm realizing I spent my time learning all the wrong things. I always thought girls would be more impressed by a guy who knew Captain Kirk's middle name."
I tilted my head with a little frown and he was about to utter a disclaimer when I cut in, "Tiberius is a freakin' sweet middle name, if she can't appreciate that then she's probably just not the one." He left his mouth slightly open, and looked like he wanted to hug me. I gave him a grin and a thumbs up, wishing him luck on his date.

Live long and prosper buddy

Taking Measurments

Often it seems guys who come in to buy lingerie for their ladies will pick and choose the associate most like their partner, so it's easier for them to ask us for the size we wear. It's a little annoying, because it puts us in a position of being evaluated on our bodies when we prefer things to be nice and impersonal.  Today we had an older guy come in. He smelled vaguely of unwashed goat, and kept to himself for the most part. He had a baseball cap and what appeared to be a hearing aid over a faded tattoo. He wandered by himself for a while, and we left him to his own devices. After a while he came up and started asking me about arousal and tightening gels. It was a conscious effort not to wrinkle my nose, he was breathing this horrible sick goat smell in my face. Don't get me wrong, I like goats. I grew up on a farm and most summers were spent running wild with the horses, goats, chickens, and dogs. But this smell had only a hint or goat, or perhaps a mortally ill goat. Or a goat wounded in battle whose wound is festering. I'm getting off topic.

Anyway, so the more he talks the more clear it becomes that he's a terrible human being. He curses an inordinate amount. I cuss for emphasis, but his every sentence was punctuated with curses. And it's not just that he's swearing, it's that every time he refers to his partner, it's: that fucking bitch. After creams he looks over toward lingerie and says, "Maybe I'll buy an outfit too, not that the fucking bitch ever wears them. She must have 80 fuckin' outfits that she's never even worn, that I fuckin' bought." I smile crookedly and shrug, saying something along the lines of, what's sexier than being naked? He ignores me and proceeds to lingerie undeterred. I try to drift away but he begins to mumble a vehement stream of cussing that I can tell I'm supposed to answer and I reluctantly trail after him. He ends up in front of a lace magenta outfit and asks if it comes with panties. I check the back and assure him it does. He mumbles and bitches about sizing, saying mediums are always too big, and smalls too small. He then gives me a look I'm familiar with and says she's about my size. But this part was new: instead of just looking me over like a hank of meat, he says, "Do you mind?" and starts reaching for my waist. I'm a very small person, I've met people who can almost span my waist with their hands, and he looks like he could accomplish it. His hands are wrinkled and spidery, his fingers are quite long, and he's reaching out toward me, hands slightly yellowed with age, dirt beneath the nails.

For one horrifying moment all I can see is these yellowing long fingers coming toward me, but my reaction left nothing to be desired. As soon as he asked, I stepped back and said, "I do mind actually." He clearly hadn't expected so firm a response. His hand hovered like questing roots and he then decided to pretend that he'd never meant to lay hands on me at all, and instead sized me up from a small distance away instead. My look was less than courteous and he snorted and began bad-mouthing his partner again. "Gimme the fuckin' medium, the fuckin' bitch can bring it back if she has to." I looked at him coolly and didn't say much more.

My mood improved when a little while later a women took some of our flavored lube sample and spread it on the back of her hand to feel. She brought her nose close and said to her husband, "I think these are scented." Me and my assistant manager looked on trying not to laugh. Neither of us told her they were flavored. If pictures of fruit on the front of the bottle aren't enough, what is?