by Joanna Angel
The hours ticked by, a few people coming and going, but the store was mostly quiet. It was now 7:00 A.M. Between 7:00 A.M. and 9:00 A.M. was always the slowest hours of my shift. Time moved like sludge. There was no way it was only two hours. It had to be at least six.
I grabbed a broom and swept the floor, something I usually did at this hour to keep my body moving around. I heard the bell attached to the door ring from across the store. It was most likely Sandy coming in to take over the next shift a little early. That bell only rang once every handful of times the door opened. Sandy knew how to push it open at just the right angle so the bell would go off.
But it wasn’t Sandy at the door. In walked someone who did not look like any of the “normal” customers, and someone who didn’t resemble anyone I had ever seen in Tampa, either: Tall, skinny, sharply dressed in a sexy black blazer, tight black pants, a white button-down shirt with a pointy collar, and a silver watch. This clothing ensemble certainly wasn’t from Walmart, and it wasn’t even from Target.
She was stunning.
She had short, slicked-back black hair, and a purple rose tattooed on the left side of her neck, just barely peeking out of her suit. I stared at her as she entered; I grasped the broom handle, and it gave me a splinter.
No one ever came in here wearing a suit, and very rarely did I ever see women in here, particularly by themselves. I watched her survey the store, looking over the rows of products until she finally saw where I was standing.
“Hello! I’m Amanda. Is the manager here?”
“Hi there. Good morning. Um, it’s just me here! The owner should be here in about an hour. I guess we don’t really have a manager. Just me and the owner. I’m Taryn!”
I was fumbling my words. I am not used to interacting with people who wear suits. I mean, my current boss wore ruffled skirts with flamingos on them. I had never in my actual life interacted with a woman who looked and dressed like this.
She looked at the clock on the wall then looked at her phone. “Shit, I’m sorry. I am three hours early! I’m completely jetlagged. I just flew in from Australia, and my phone doesn’t know what time zone we’re in.”
I was so confused. Was I hallucinating? Was a side effect of moonshine punch delusions of beautiful women in suits?
“You don’t sound like Australia. “ I paused. “I mean, Australian. You don’t have an accent,” I said.
“Oh I am not from Australia. I was just there on business. I’m a sales rep for JT Stockroom.”
“A what? What’s that?” I asked. “I mean, I know what a sales rep is; you’re here selling something for our stockrooms?” I nervously laughed. Why was I so nervous?
She grabbed the leather collar off the shelf that a customer picked up and put down earlier in the night, and she pointed to the tag. It said “JT Stockroom” on it. I honestly never paid attention the names of the companies listed on the tags on any of the items; I barely knew the names of all the items at the moment. I never gave any thought to where any of these products came from. I assumed they were all made in one giant slutty factory somewhere that Sandy went to once a week on her way back from bingo.
“Oh! I am so sorry. I should have known that name. I’m still pretty new here.”
“It’s ok. It’s my job to travel to all the stores that carry our products and educate the staff about them. I had talked to the owner and told her I would be in at 11 A.M. But my jetlag apparently got the best of me!”
I would have offered her punch and Cheetos but that was put away. It was really sexy to see someone so corporate who professionally traveled the world and talked to people about dildos. Sorry—I mean—leather collars. I had no idea this type of “real job” existed.
“Did you work the graveyard shift?” she asked.
“Yeah! I do. I mean I did. That’s me!”
“That’s rough. You must be so tired by now! Not many stores stay open twenty-four hours anymore. That’s cool that you guys do,” she said.
“Oh, I thought all stores like this did. I had no idea. I’ve actually, in all honesty, never even been in any adult store, other than this one. So I wouldn’t know!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, I never really had a reason to.”
She smiled at me. “There’s always a reason to learn more about sex.”
I never thought of sex as something I had to learn about. It was just something I occasionally did. I never had anyone to talk about it in detail with and the few partners I had were definitely not adventurous. An “adventure” to my last boyfriend was to have the quietest, quickest sex we could possibly have so his roommate wouldn’t wake up. I always wanted more, but I wasn’t sure how to say it. Even with all the feminist literature I read and women’s studies classes I took, I still very much felt like the men in my life were the ones who were supposed to initiate sex.
Amanda walked around the store, and took photos of where the JT Stockroom products were located. I noticed a common theme; all the more expensive leather products had their name on the tag. She stopped suddenly in one of the rows and pointed to a metal box that was slightly hidden behind a bunch of boxes of vibrators. Looked like a lunchbox or something that belonged to the Oracle in The Matrix.
“Well that’s not a good place for this! Why do you have it tucked away like that?”
“I’m sorry, what is that?” I nervously laughed. I really had no idea what it was. I had never seen that silver box before, and I’m noticing now there was a $350 price tag on it.
She opened the box and pulled out this black wand with a glass attachment. There were several other glass attachments elegantly placed inside of the box inside of carved-out slots in black foam.
“It’s an electric wand,” she said. She pushed a button on the side of the wand and it lit up. “Looks like it’s still got some charge in it!”
“What is that for? Do we use that when the power goes out or something?” I laughed. It wasn’t a very funny joke. The more nervous I get, the worse my jokes get.
“It’s for electrical play. It’s a really neat product of ours! Here—I’ll show you!” Amanda was so assertive. It truly was a new and very exciting thing for me to be spoken to with such confidence by a woman in a suit. I finally dropped the damn broom that had been in my hands (I can deal with the splinters later). She ran the wand up my arm and it showed a blue glowing light. It shocked me in an exhilarating way. It was like a tight pinch—it woke me up, and I wanted it more.
“Turn it up a little higher!” I said, and she did. The shock on my arm was stronger; it was so strange to feel excited by a small amount of pain on my arm.
“Wanna see something really cool?” she asked.
“Well, yeah, of course I do,” I answered.
She took her suit jacket off and threw it on top of a pile of disorganized dildos in boxes. She pulled up the right arm of the most chic-looking, white button-down top I had ever seen, and revealed fishnet covered legs of a 1950s pin-up girl tattoo. She reached over aggressively and held my hand, gave me the wand, and told me to put the wand on her arm.
“I don’t want to do it wrong!” I was nervous about causing permanent damage to her tattoo, which took up a lot of space on her arm.
“Literally just put it on my arm, you can’t possibly do it wrong.”
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, then I ran it up and down her arm as she held my hand. She shook and smiled, and a few seconds later I felt the shock in my arm.
“Holy shit!” I said. “Let me do that again!”
I continued to hold onto her hand, and ran the wand up her arm, and it shocked me again.
“Our arms are working together as a converter.”
“That is so crazy!”
“I’ve done demonstrations at different stores and had fifteen customers holding hands, and the shock went all the way through them all. You should try it on them sometime! It’s really a lot of fun.”
“Wow, so—wait—do people use that, like, d
uring
sex?”
She laughed. “Well, it’s an impact toy. You can keep it light and just use it as a tease, or you can turn it up and make it more painful. I guess it’s really more for kinky foreplay!”
I had never before heard the terms “electrical play” or “impact toys” in my life. It sounded dangerous. I liked it. I mean, what would you do if you were interested in that kind of thing and you didn’t have this? What else qualifies as an “impact toy?” Do people stick their fingers into wall sockets to get off if they don’t have this special silver lunchbox?
I thought of Amir. I thought of electrocuting his thighs as he “jelked.” I bet a little sting just around his balls would have done him some good while he stretched his penis for the woman of his dreams.
“That was really cool. And I’m definitely awake now. Thanks.” I laughed.
“So, what time are you done?” she asked me.
“Oh—pretty soon. About an hour. Why?”
“You wanna meet me at my hotel for breakfast when you get off—I mean—when you’re done? Whatever happens first.” She winked at me and laughed. I hadn’t yet seen someone inside this store in the world outside this store. This was like all my lives colliding together, even though I didn’t have much of a life other than sleep and Starbucks outside of here.
She didn’t wait for my answer. She handed me a card and wrote the name of her hotel and her room number on it. It was a very cool and confident way to say, I’ll be here, come if you want to, or not, I don’t really give a shit.
To stay in the store and see what happens next, Click Here.
To meet Amanda at the hotel, Click Here.
Amanda left the store, and I couldn’t help but watch her leave, her body swaying deliberately (I think, though maybe that was my imagination). Shortly after, Sandy came in, ready to start her day and mark the end of mine.
“Good morning, hon’!” she said. “How was the rest of your night?”
“Fine! Good morning, um, did you know you had some appointment with a sales rep from JT Stockroom?”
“Sales rep from what?”
“JT Stockroom—the company that makes all the leather stuff and this really cool electrical wand that was hiding behind the dildos over there.” I pointed at the lunchbox, now sitting by the register.
“Oh, that was today? Well, anyone is welcome to come by. I will be here!”
“Do people from the sex toy companies come by a lot?” I asked.
“Once in a while. We’re not a big chain so they don’t go out of their way, but if I buy the stuff, they’ll find me!”
Sandy spoke to me as she put on her bright red “wet and wild” lipstick that went far outside the outline of her lips.
“How do you decide what to order?” I asked.
“Well, I get sent catalogs and lists from these different distributor fellows—once a year I get invited to a wholesale convention and I do a lot of the ordering there. I just pick what I like! Someone will buy the stuff eventually.”
“That’s interesting,” I said. “I never knew what it took to get stuff in here.”
“I just follow my heart and see where it takes me. It usually takes me to the biggest dildo!” She laughed.
“I’m gonna eat my breakfast and freshen up in the back; when I’m done you can go home!”
“All right!”
The store was now empty. Most people in Tampa were at church at this hour on a Sunday. I grabbed the electric wand, and I decided to switch up the attachment on it. One was shaped like a comb—that one looked neat. I snapped it on and pushed up the electricity level to a bit higher. I rubbed it up and down my arm, and the electric blue lights tickled me in such an exciting way. It did hurt, but not like an actual injury. It was an arousing kind of pain.
I brushed the electric comb over my tank top, over my nipples. Even with a sports bra on underneath my shirt I could still feel the sensation. I turned it up higher and it was really strong. I pushed it against my left nipple as hard as I possibly could and it felt like a sharp bite. I didn’t know my nipples were so sensitive! I never paid much attention to them. I went back and forth from my left to right nipple, over my shirt. I could feel my areolas getting warmer. Each time I placed the wand on my nipple I let it stay on for longer and longer, taking it away when it hurt too much but putting it back when I wanted the pain again. I was literally torturing myself.
I felt my panties get moist. I looked around the store, there was definitely still no one there. Even though I was surrounded by sex, I still wasn’t supposed to be getting off. This was work! I was supposed to be a professional. But then again, how could I give my customers the best toy advice if I didn’t know how to use them?
I took the electric wand and slid it down my pants, but over my cotton panties. I zapped my own labia; the pain was exponential down there, but so was the pleasure. It felt so dangerous and amazing, like a lightning storm of pleasure. I went a bit further down to where my body got more sensitive. My underwear and the tuft of pubic hair underneath it was a layer of protection—my security blanket in the realm of new sexual exploration—that made me confident enough to put the electric current up to the highest level there was. It was worth a try!
I turned the wand up the highest it could go, and zapped myself right above my clit. The neon blue light shined through my jeggings. Had someone walked in they could have definitely mistaken me for some kind of alien (there had been a fair amount of UFO sightings in Tampa this year so perhaps it wouldn’t be so outrageous to find an alien masturbating behind the counter at an adult video store). Blood rushed through my body and I let out a loud noise that was something like a moan, a gasp, and an “ouch” at the same time. My vagina was pulsing, I felt like it was its own entity, breathing heavily and gasping for air.
I put the wand down, and took my fingers, reached inside my underwear, and rubbed my clit. It had been months since I masturbated, and I wasn’t sure why. All that time I spent alone in my room watching TV—why wasn’t I masturbating? Now there I was at work, trying to squeeze in a quickie with myself before my boss walked in. Time management has never been my strong suit.
I rubbed my clit furiously, as if I was trying to reach inside myself and pull out my own orgasm. My mind flashed to so many images—I thought of Amanda and the way she unbuttoned her shirt, and the expression on her face when she said, “there’s always a reason to learn more about sex.” I even thought of Amir, and the way he stroked his cock with such determination. That seemed like it happened years ago. My brain scrambled through erotic channels of cock and pussy, a woman in a business suit, and a man with a bun. My clit was so swollen from electrocution and friction, I rubbed harder and faster, I pushed my pussy deeper into the chair I sat on behind my register—I think—I was having sex with a chair. I breathed in deeply, I moved my fingers slower now but with more pressure on my clit, and yes—finally—I felt it. Lightning. I held onto my nipples, my legs felt like Jell-O, a big wave of warmth rushed through my body.
I took my hand out of my pants and decompressed. I was definitely ready for a deep sleep straight through the remainder of the sunlight for the day. Maybe I will even masturbate after I wake up. I should really do that more often.
To go back and meet Amanda at the hotel instead, Click Here.
Continue with Taryn in this fantasy, Click Here.
I spent the last hour of work staring at Amanda’s business card. I had never been with a woman, or even been hit on by a woman. She did ask me to get breakfast—did she really mean breakfast? How could I go? I had no idea what I would be doing. Was I really attracted to her, or to her confidence? Did it matter? And yet, even as I asked myself these questions, I knew that I was already going to go.
I hadn’t been on a date in a really long time and I wasn’t quite sure if I was going on one now. As soon as my shift ended, I drove to the Residence Inn and I parked; I sat in my car, and hesitated about going inside. Was she even going to be there? Shoul
d I call first? Should I text her? What should I do?
It was 9:30 A.M. and I hadn’t slept yet. It was humid outside, my hair was frizzing up, and I had technically been wearing the same clothing since yesterday. The morning looks completely different when you haven’t slept. Everything looks translucent. The people starting their day at this hour don’t look like the same species. You feel like you’re a ghost floating about the world, where you can see everyone else but they can’t see you. The good thing about being a ghost, though, is that you’re invisible, and invisible beings can have frizzy hair, or pretend to be lesbians and it just doesn’t matter. I was so far from my comfort zone, that it just didn’t exist anymore. I had lived my whole life inside of a box and now I was in a bisexual trapezoid, at an hour when most people were at church.
I walked into the hotel, and called the cell phone number on the business card. She picked up on the first ring.
“Hey there, Amanda; it’s Taryn. I’m in your hotel lobby.”
There was a brief silence.
“Who?”
That was definitely the worst possible response.
“Taryn, from, you know, the store. From like two hours ago.” I didn’t want to say “porn store” out loud. I felt like you just weren’t supposed to say that in public, on a Sunday, in Tampa. There were, like, families in the lobby here.
“Oh! Hey there. Sorry. I’m good with faces and bad with names. So bring your pretty face upstairs. Room 402.”
Click. She hung up. And I headed to the elevator.
Just a few moments later I was knocking on her door and she was immediately answering it. The pants to the suit she wore before were still on, but with a plain black tank-top on. I could see more colorful tattoos on her arm, one of a dagger, a few different colored roses, and a skull, and I saw fully exposed breasts, with long wavy blonde hair on the top half of the pin-up girl that I wasn’t able to see before. Amanda’s blazer and button-down shirt were hung on a chair in the corner of the room that I could see out of the corner of my eye.
