Page 1
Chapter One
The vibrator sounded like a blender trying to purée a bag of marbles.
Erin held the demonstration vibrator at arm’s length and tightened her grip. If it got away from her, fourteen women were about to watch her chase a vibrator across the boutique. The sleek, rose-gold device had been marketed as “whisper-quiet, barely a breath.” Instead, it shook so hard in her hand that she half expected it to request clearance for takeoff.
Fourteen women sat in a loose semicircle of velvet chairs. Some looked alarmed and others looked delighted. A few leaned forward, wide-eyed, to see what happened next.
Erin clicked it off. The silence felt holy. “So, that was setting eleven. Out of fourteen. And I want to be very clear... no one needs fourteen settings. Queen Charlotte had fifteen children, and even she would’ve tapped out by setting nine.”
A burst of laughter rolled through the group. A woman in the front row pressed her hand over her mouth. The woman beside her didn’t bother to hide her laugh.
“The manufacturer calls this The Odyssey.” Erin turned it over in her palm, inspecting it with theatrical skepticism. “Which tracks, because by the time you cycle through every mode, you will have aged significantly and possibly crossed an ocean.”
From behind the register, Ingrid looked up from a stack of receipts. “They also sent thirty-six of them. I told you to order a handful.”
“It’s winter in Colorado. We prepare for emergencies.”
Ingrid nodded. “Food, batteries, drinking water.”
“And thirty-six Odysseys.”
“Thirty-six suggests you’re expecting casualties, Erin.”
More laughter. Erin set The Odyssey on the velvet display cloth and picked up a smaller, matte-black device that fit neatly in her palm. There was no brand name stamped across it, and no metallic finish designed to look like it belonged in a spacecraft.
“This is what I actually recommend for most women. It has a respectable three settings. It’s rechargeable and waterproof, which matters more than people think—not because you need to use it in the shower, though you absolutely can, but because it means you can clean it properly.” She pressed the single button once. The vibrator purred, barely audible beneath the music playing through the shop’s speakers. “That’s it. That’s the whole personality. It doesn’t need fourteen modes because the three it has are enough to provide a fulfilling evening.”
A hand went up near the back. A woman in her early forties with dark hair pulled into a loose braid asked, “How loud is that through a wall? I live in an apartment with paper-thin walls.”
“On the lower settings, your neighbors won’t hear a thing. Set it on a hollow nightstand next to the wall at setting three, and they may think you’ve started renovations.”
The woman laughed and relaxed into her chair.
Another hand rose high. “What about lubricant? Does it matter what kind?”
“It matters enormously. Unless the manufacturer specifically says otherwise, use water-based lubricant with silicone toys. Some silicone lubricants can damage the surface over time. Once it becomes tacky or starts breaking down, you can’t sanitize it properly. Water-based is also much easier to clean from sheets, clothing, and skin.”
A woman near the window raised her hand but spoke before Erin could call on her. “What about after menopause? Everything I’ve read says it gets harder to—” She stopped and regrouped. “That things change. Down there.”
Erin set the device down and began to explain. “Things do change. Estrogen drops, and vaginal tissue gets thinner and drier. Arousal can take longer. Sensation can feel different. None of that means pleasure is over. It means the approach might need adjusting.” She reached for a small blue bottle from the display shelf. “This is a water-based moisturizer designed specifically for vaginal tissue. You use it daily, the same way you’d use moisturizer on your face. The tissue stays healthier, more resilient, and more responsive.”
The woman nodded slowly, and two others leaned forward to read the label.
Questions kept coming. Charging times. Travel cases. Which products worked for women with female partners. Whether the expensive options were genuinely better or just prettier packaging. Erin answered every question directly, without ever lowering her voice or softening a single word.
The light outside had shifted while they talked. Snow drifted past the windows in lazy, scattered flakes.
A woman at one end of the semicircle cleared her throat. She was perhaps in her late sixties, silver-haired, wearing a beautiful blue scarf knotted at her collar. She had been quiet for most of the workshop, listening carefully, laughing when everyone else did, but keeping her hands folded in her lap.
“I have a question.” She spoke carefully, as though she had rehearsed the words several times before saying them aloud. “I was married for thirty-one years. He passed two years ago. And before that, well, things between us hadn’t been intimate for a long time.” She paused and smoothed the edge of her scarf. “Is it ridiculous? Starting from scratch at my age? Buying something like this and learning what I—” Another pause, briefer. “What I actually want?”
The room grew quiet as the rustle of shifting chairs faded. No one glanced away or tried to spare her from the honest admission.
Erin leaned against the display table and waited. When the woman hesitated, Erin gave a small, encouraging nod. The woman in the blue scarf had spoken with sincerity. She deserved the same in return. “It’s not a ridiculous question. It’s not even unusual.” Erin’s voice carried across the semicircle with compassion. “You spent years building a life with someone. You cared for him. You lost him. And somewhere in the middle of all that, your own body became the last item on a very long list.” She held the woman’s gaze. “Your own pleasure deserves a place on that list, too.”
The woman’s fingers stilled on her scarf.
“There’s no age where your body stops being yours. There’s no deadline for figuring out what feels good. And there is absolutely nothing embarrassing about a woman deciding, at any point in her life, that she deserves to feel pleasure.” Erin picked up the small matte-black device from the cloth and held it in her open palm. “You’ve had years to learn about your body. We can start there and explore what feels good to you now.”
