Page 22 of Badd Love
One of the primary reasons, aside from cost and location, that I picked this apartment was the in-unit stacked washer and dryer. Having laundry capability in your apartment is the peak of luxury, I tell you.
Towel warmers? For peasants.
Marble floors? Plebeian bullshit.
In-unit stackable washer and dryer? Gold standard in luxury.
I ran his jeans and then went to use the facilities myself.
Which is when I saw it.
My clit stimulator. Right there on the counter next to the sink, where I left it after washing it last time I used it…an hour ago, along with a box of tampons from when my periodfinallystarted; it had, fortunately, been abbreviated, as well, likely due to my emotional stress level, lately.
While thinking about the very same big fat salami currently wiggling a jaunty hello at me from the confines of his gray sweatpants.
Oh, god. Shoot me now.
I did my business, washed my hands, and put the toy away in the drawer beside my bed. Sat beside Dane on the couch.
"I didn't know I left it out," I heard myself blurt, apropos of nothing.
He didn't have to ask what I was talking about. "None of my business. I wasn't gonna say anything."
"But you saw it."
"Well, yeah." He frowned at me. "To be honest, I wasn't sure what I was looking at, at first."
I pulled a face at him. "You've never seen one of those before?"
He shrugged. "Nope. My sisters were both pretty vicious about Dunc and me staying out of their rooms growing up, so if they had them, I wouldn't have seen them—and thank god for that, because Ido notwant to have that visual in my fucking headJesusCriminyit'stoolatefuckme." The last sentence was uttered all in a rush, head in his hands. "Goddammit."
"It's a clitoral stimulator, Dane,” I said.
"It's a vibrator," he said, snorting.
“No, it's not. It's a clitoral stimulator.”
"What's the difference?"
I held up one finger, went into my room, brought out the device in question, and my other favorite toy, Mr. Big—a giant purple vibrator the size of a county fair first prize-winning zucchini with nine different settings, including one that made the whole thing rotate, for some reason. Like, to imitate a dick that can…umm…swivel around inside you? You know, like real dicks do?
I tossed said vibrator at Dane—he caught it instinctively, and then, realizing what it was, fumbled in pure horror.
"JESUS FUCK, woman!" He quickly recovered from his horror and held the device by the bottom end, examining it, turning it this way and that. He powered it on and started cycling through the settings—low vibe, medium vibe, fast vibe, pussy-punisher vibe, and then a series of baffling staccato patterns. Who uses the S-O-S pattern, anyway? I tried it once, and my orgasm got confused and ran away like a bitch, and I spent the rest of the day in a sour, climax-denied funk.
When he got to the setting where the whole slightly-curved silicone device rotated like a beef frank on one of those gas station heaty-rolly dudes, he arched an eyebrow at me. "The fuck is this supposed to do?"
I cackled. "Honestly, I have no idea." I pointed at the device in his hands. "The point is,thatis a vibrator." I held up the clitoral stimulator. "Thisis not."
"So what's the difference?" He asked.
I blinked at him. "You're genuinely asking?"
He shrugged. "Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"
"Guys get weird about women and their sex toys, in my experience," I told him.
“Really?"
