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Two, unlatching a suitcase full of dicks with shaky muscles while it rests precariously on a barstool seat is not a good idea.
I stare in horror as the heavy case tumbles off the seat, throwing brightly colored silicone penises about like confetti at a pride parade.
If Thomas could see his room now.
Thankfully, he’s probably living his best life somewhere that only high-rollers can enter while I sprawl on the floor amongst silicone-coated wands of pleasure. My hand twitches as I remember the wool gabardine covered wand of pleasure I’d encountered earlier on the plane.
Don’t think about that.
I’ve been trying, without success, to banish the memory of groping my boss. But it’s kind of hard to do that when you’re corralling room-temperature dildos and your hand keeps comparing them to the very warm and very real thing it held a few hours ago.
Something vibrates and I drop all the dildos I’ve collected, worried I might’ve turned one on. When the vibration continues, I realize it’s coming from my phone.
It’s either a bride update from Leslie, who’s standing guard at the spa, or Kayla.
Unearthing my phone from my pocket, my hopes inflate when I see it’s the latter, but sink as soon as I read the message.
Im good tlk latr
I get that it’s a text, so grammar isn’t particularly necessary, nor spelling, but Kayla’s text doesn’t put me at ease. Still, I send a thumbs-up emoji.
Clicking the phone closed, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the dark screen before I slide it back into my pocket.
I took the time to curl my poker-straight hair before getting dressed for the party this afternoon. So while my bangs still haven’t reached the length of the rest of my hair, the shorter strands blend in when curled. Between the time I took on my hair and my dressy-casual top I bought on clearance, I don’t think I look all that bad.
A glint coming from the bags of penis-shaped glitter fanned out by the mini fridge catches my eye. I let out a little prayer of thanks that they didn’t burst open.
On my knees, I shuffle forward collecting multicolored and sized dildos as I go, trying to distract myself by imagining how I’ll hang the neon lights in the Moore’s window display when I get back.
After hotel check-in, I checked my work email on my phone and found an approval letter for the lighting addition I’d pitched Thomas on the flight. He must have approved it while I was sleeping, before I groped him. Either that or after out of some sense of guilt or embarrassment – if the man can feel any of those things. I guess I’ll never know, because I’m sure as hell not asking.
That way lies madness.
Soon, I’ve amassed a mound of sex toys and glitter bags any porn star would be proud of. Right before getting up, I catch sight of a dildo that’s rolled all the way under a nearby console table in the reflection of the floor-length mirror across from me. I have to flatten myself on my belly, stretching my arm out until my fingertips nudge silicone and I manage to wrap my hand around the exaggerated girth of made-for-her pleasure.
At least, I hope it’s exaggerated.
Laboring to my feet, I study the dildo with the words ‘Trusty Thrusty’ scrawled at the base. My fingers barely wrap around it.
How could this be enjoyable?
People say bigger is better, but the thought of thrusting Trusty Thrusty inside me doesn’t make me horny. It makes me queasy.
Thomas’s size would be much more enjoyable.
Don’t think about that!
Pushing my whorish inner voice aside, I wrap both hands around the dildo. Curious, I lean down, mouth open, my jaw stretching uncomfortably wide. Even so, my teeth still graze the sides.
‘Ugh.’ My lips smack with distaste from the silicone flavor.
Out of the corner of my eye, something moves toward me.
‘Ahhhh!’ I whip the Thrusty around like a bat and whack whatever’s there. Hard.
‘Fuck!’
All I catch is a blur of white before I take off toward the front door. Growing up in foster care and living in New York City, my survival instinct is deeply ingrained – act first, question later.
