73
“I’ve mailed you something I think you will like,” Daniel texted.
My mind immediately leapt to Godiva chocolate, and after that, diamond jewelry, neither of which seemed plausible but made for great daydream fodder.
“What is it?”
“Patience, honey. You need to learn that, too, as one of your lessons.”
I had to wait an exasperating three days until a box was sitting on my front porch. It was breezy outside, so I called Penny and sat down on the rocking chair, plumping the red anchor pillow up behind my back and settling in for something that would hopefully be a token of Daniel’s feelings for me. Oh hell, just something artsy or pretty.
Inside the package was a smaller box, gossamer black, tied with a perfect black satin ribbon. Whatever it was, it was already lovely.
I tugged at the bow and carefully opened the box.
Inside, lined up in perfect rows, were twelve wooden clothespins.
A squirrel ran up the driveway, but Penny made no attempt to chase it. From down the street, I could hear the tinny sound of a bicycle bell, and wondered if it might be Lily heading my way. Instinctively, I shut the box. She might ask what was inside, and I would be unable to explain it, because I had absolutely no idea myself. Clothespins. Was I opening a laundry business?
“Come on, Pen,” I said, opening the door. Penny nudged a stray leaf with her nose before following me inside.
I pulled out my cell to text Daniel. “So, I got the package.”
No reply.
Clothespins. When Madison was little, she hung Barbie doll dresses on a twine clothesline across the length of her bedroom. Those clothespins were plastic and had little pink hearts on them. I had a photo of the Barbie laundry line, someplace.
“Hey, babe,” Daniel texted at last.
“Hey, so yeah, I got the box.”
“Did you open it?”
“Of course I opened it. I mean, I was supposed to, right?” Maybe this was one of his teasing games where he wanted me to wait. Screw that.
“So, what do you think?”
What did I think? I had no idea what to think.
“You don’t want me to do your laundry, right? Because I would never do that in a million years…” I texted quickly.
“No, dear, I wouldn’t ask you to do my laundry. I have something more interesting in mind. Can you guess?”
“Bedsheets? You want the sheets hung outside to dry?”
When my sister and I were young, we had a good-sized blue aluminum pool in our backyard. We spent most summer days submerged, splashing and trying to do water aerobics, staying in until our fingers wrinkled and we began shivering. We had a tattered clothes tree that always seemed shaded and never dried our swimsuits and beach towels, but I don’t remember there being clothespins. We tossed the towels on the line and hoped for the best.
“It’s nothing to do with laundry, silly.”
“What is this, a riddle?” I kicked off my sneakers and opened the fridge for a bottle of grapefruit seltzer.
“No, dear, it’s not a riddle, it’s not a joke. It’s serious.”
“OK. Tell me.”
“I want you to clamp one on your nipple and take a picture for me.”
I sat down, sloshing my seltzer on the table. “You want me to do what with them?”
“Just clip them on gently. It doesn’t have to hurt.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t exactly sound comfortable. Why don’t you clamp your own nipples?”
“Because that wouldn’t be a turn-on.”
He was right about that. It wouldn’t be sexy at all. There was absolutely nothing provocative about men’s nipples. Nope.
I opened the box and picked one up, clipping it on my thumb. It was tight. The end of my thumb started turning purple almost immediately.
“What do you think?” Daniel texted.
“I don’t know what to think.” I took the clothespin off my thumb, which had started to throb. It had left small marks like little teeth in my skin.
“I know you, and you’re going to try it, so just let me know later. Gotta go.”
He said it didn’t have to hurt. That wasn’t what he was looking for. How long would I have to leave them on to take a picture? A couple of seconds?
Suddenly, the kitchen was way too warm.
I looked down at Pen, watching me closely.
“Of course I’m not going to do it,” I told her, and myself.
I put the cover on the box and carried it to my room, where I put it on the floor and kicked it under my bed. Clamp my nipples. Who was he kidding?
I was less resolute when I woke around 3 a.m. Goddammit, I was intrigued. Digging under my bed, I pulled a clothespin out of the box and toyed with it. I flicked on the nightstand light and stood in front of the full-length mirror, pulling my T-shirt over my head. In the shadows, my stomach looked almost flat, as long as I didn’t turn sideways. Even my face seemed more hollowed out. Night lighting was kind.
My nipples were already hard as I eased the clothespin onto my right breast.
“Holy shit!” I said out loud. It stung like hell. I pulled it off and rubbed the sore nipple.
But the left nipple was far less sensitive. Who knew?
It dangled at a strange angle, but I wasn’t going to try to get it on straight. I picked up my phone and took six quick pictures. Then I eased it off. It was something I’d never seen, or ever imagined I’d do, but it was a turn-on for me to be his visual sex toy. And he said it didn’t have to hurt.
I felt victorious. I felt light-headed. I felt provocative.
The only thing I didn’t feel was ashamed.
All of the pictures came out clear, but some showed my whole breast and some just the clamped nipple. I sent them all to Daniel. I didn’t know which he would like most.
I liked all of them.
“Did it hurt?” Daniel texted the next morning.
“No. They pinched.”
Like he’d said, they hadn’t hurt, but they did hold my nipples
