There is a regular customer at work I am worried about.
He has come in every day this week to see me. One day he even came in twice, the last time to introduce me to his dog while they were out for a walk.
He’s an older guy, married, nice. But he’s drawn to me, I can tell.
This is not good. It has all the makings of a coming-of-age/rites-of-passage European film.
Older man seeks spiritual redemption from young woman who works in an adult boutique.
You know you’ve seen that shit before.
A man is perusing the women’s plus size rack.
You know what that means.
I ask him if he needs any help. And he tells me, very candidly, that he has been wearing women’s underwear for 40 years. He does not like to wear women’s clothing—just lingerie.
His wife of 20 years tolerates it, but he’d really like to find someone he could hang out with for an hour here or there and just sit around and talk or eat and watch TV—in lingerie. He said he’d pay $100 an hour.
I am a starving student and I do love myself some lingerie, but I can’t do it.
It’s too bad that he has to pay money to fulfill his desire, but really—in one form or another, don’t we all?
I’ve spent the last three hours doing inventory and the store is CLEAN. Also very, very slow.
Thankfully, a couple came in and spent a ton of money. I think the man was trying to impress because he encouraged the woman with him to throw whatever she wanted onto the counter. He paid in cash.
Ten minutes before closing, a woman came in, swept up almost $500 worth of lingerie, and told me to pick her out a toy: “Just make it red.”
She didn’t bother with trying anything on.
I noticed that she had a man waiting for her in the car.
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.” I 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.