'No. For me.'
His gaze held mine for a second totaly longer than
necessary. 'Okay. Wel, maybe I can help you find what
you're looking for.'
A beat, a pause, one smal breath in and out. A smile.
'That would be great. Thanks.'
The racks of cheap crotchless panties and feather-trimmed
bras were toward the back. Victoria's Secret this was not.
Not even Victoria's un-secret. None of these garments
looked as though they'd stand up under one wearing, not
to mention what would happen to them in the washing
machine. I sorted through them anyway, my fingers toying
with the hangers and making them clatter on the metal
rack.
I held up a flimsy corset printed with a pattern of
misaligned roses. My fingers itched touching the fabric,
and I could only imagine how awful it would feel against
my breasts. I held it up to me, anyway, and turned to the
clerk. 'How's this look?'
I expected him to say 'good.' Or maybe 'hot.' So when I expected him to say 'good.' Or maybe 'hot.' So when he frowned and shook his head, brows furrowed and
mouth twisting, my self-assured position as a fairly
attractive female in a sex shop plummeted to hit my toes.
'Not for you,' he said.
I put it back on the rack and crossed my arms. I wished
I'd had the time to change into jeans and a T-shirt after
work instead of being stuck in three-inch heels and a skirt
to my knees. I wanted pockets to shove my hands into
denim to shield me from his assessing gaze. I hadn't
dressed this morning for showing off and now he'd made
me feel like I shouldn't want to.
Flirting is a funny thing. Earlier, talking with Eric, I'd no
doubts I was the hottest bitch around. Right now I wasn't
sure I shouldn't be ringing bels in a church tower.
'Come with me.' He quirked a finger.
I almost didn't. The look on his face had left me feeling
shot down. Embarrassed. And when I realized that's what
it was, I nodded and went after him down through the
narrow aisles of sleazy underwear and gigantic plastic
pricks. Surrounded by a sea of tits, ass, pecs and abs, I
pricks. Surrounded by a sea of tits, ass, pecs and abs, I
tried to keep my eyes on the man in front of me, but I
couldn't help comparing the jugs on one box of 'Titty
Twister, the Party Game!' with the boobs on a package
containing a vagina molded from an actual porn star's pink
parts.
He glanced over his shoulder as we stopped at the shop's
far end. Through a doorway to his right I glimpsed the
interior of the nudie bar. Even this early, girls wiggled and
writhed on a smal stage. Every few seconds a
