At work, I answer the phone to some guy.
“I got 9 inches for ya, baby,” he says, all breathless.
“That’s too big,” I say.
“9 inches would hurt my cervix.”
“You mean I could hurt you, baby?” he asks.
I was almost impressed. That was quick.
“Yes. Now, I’ve gotta go—I’m working!”
“Wait, wait, just one more thing!”
“What?” I ask.
“Do you like it when guys come on your face?”
“The right partner might enjoy the privilege.” I hang up on him.
He calls back the next day: “Remember me?”
“Want me to masturbate for you?”
“No. I’ve gotta go—I’ve got customers.”
During my shift, I help a man pick out some lube. 40-something, blue collar. He says his wife had sent him in for some. He seems really sheepish. Also says he feels like a kid in a candy store because his wife has been recovering from a broken back and they are just now starting to rekindle their sex life. It had been a long time for them and he thanks me for not making him feel embarrassed.
He’s the kind of customer that I like.
Too bad they aren’t all like that.
Later on, another man comes in, asks how my day is, blah blah blah…
I dust some shelves and complain about the store being slow.
He asks, “What’s it like looking at all this stuff day in and day out?”
“Pretty desensitizing, actually.”
“Hey, you’re pretty cute,” he says. “What time do you get off? Wanna hang out afterwards?”
“Nope, I’ve gotta boyfriend.” I couldn’t have been less interested in this man and I wasn’t hiding it.
“Ah, that sucks, I was thinking we could go fool around in the back or something.”
Don’t make assumptions just because I work in a sex shop.
A biker comes into the store to peruse the vibrator section.
I ask him if he needs any help and he boasts that he probably has a better collection than I do.
Referring to the wall before him, I insist that “my” collection is better, but eventually concede. I’m not really into vibrators so much.
He asks what I am into. I nod to the bondage section.
“Would you spank me?” he asks.
“I don’t spank.”
“Oh, so you’re a submissive,” he says. “Well, can I spank you then?”
“No.” try not to scoff. “Not just anybody can spank me. Not everyone knows how to spank, either.”
“So how can I get on that list?” he asks.
Then he says he’ll get on my list somehow and that when he does, he’ll punish me because my underwear doesn’t match my all-black outfit. I hadn’t realized that a peek of red lace was barely visible out of the top of my skirt.
He has the right idea, but he’s a stranger.