But really, I needed that nap first.
12
Today was the day. At approximately 10:00 P.M., I would be hosting, teaching, assisting, encouraging (whatever you want to call it) a group of women, in the name of female masturbation.
For the past few weeks, I’d been plugging the class like crazy. I printed up event flyers and placed them by the register at the store. “I Touch Myself” was what I called it: “A night for women to explore masturbation!” I put a happy-face symbol at the end of the tagline, to give it more of a friendly class vibe. The name and address of the store was on there, along with a list of things we’d be discussing: sex toys, lubes, anatomy, and opening yourself up to self-pleasure. It seemed like a good list to get people interested; at least I hoped it was. I wasn’t actually sure who was going to show up to the class. I also made a Facebook listing for the class, sharing it with my not-so-extensive friends list. Surprisingly, the first person to “like” my post was Jimmy! He gave me a virtual thumbs up, and then he re-posted the listing on his own page, which had several thousand followers. This was exciting! I’d refreshed the page a few times after that, and so many positive replies and responses came pouring in. Okay, maybe not pouring, but there was, like, four replies in a matter of five minutes; not bad, in my book!
For a while, I struggled with whether I should post it on my personal Facebook page. My mother and several of my other family members were connected to me there. Would they be proud? Maybe they would find this as a nice diversion from my usual vague posts that contained photos of my converse sneakers with sepia tone filters on it, along with quotes from Morrissey songs. But more than that, no one actually knew that I’d been working for Dreamz. Posting would mean revealing myself to the world.
I kept this job a secret from most people. It was supposed to be something temporary. I applied for this job because it was two miles away from my house, and it was hiring. Posting this on my Facebook page would mark this being more than just a part-time thing, it would truly be embedded in my personality. Is that what I wanted? Was I ashamed of the sex-focused life I’d been living? Or could I find empowerment in it?
Ah, fuck it. What was there to lose, really? With a click of a button, I was promoting my new-found love for masturbation to my aunts and uncles.
Sandy told me she would be at the store to help out, but she hadn’t come in. She’d actually been missing a lot lately. She’d closed the store randomly in the middle of the day, and had called me to cover for her on several occasions. I wondered what was going on. Sometimes I felt like I was beginning to care about the well-being of this store more than she did. I was a little disappointed that the night would have to go on without her punch and pretzels.
I cleaned up the shop and organized everything as best I could. I replaced the flickering and dim lightbulbs, I wiped down all the countertops, I neatly arranged all the lingerie, and I took out the toys in the shelves that, from my new knowledge of masturbation, deserved to be highlighted. A glass silicone G-spot stimulator, a Hitachi magic wand, a powerful vibrating bullet egg, and one silicone butt plug for the people who were into that kind of thing. I felt like this selection could arouse all the different vagina compartments I recently learned about.
I chose to do this event on a Wednesday because that seemed to be our slowest night. This was supposed to be a ladies-only class, however I had no way of stopping any men from coming into the store. I figured Sandy could entertain/help the men that came in while my pseudo slumber-party went on, but with her not here, I would just have to cross my fingers and hope no one would actually come in between the hours of 10:00 P.M. and 11:00 P.M. It wasn’t completely outlandish; that was typically a slow time on a Wednesday, anyway.
Who would come in? What if no one came in? What if too many people came in? I wasn’t sure what would be worse. I put out a mix of plastic folding chairs, office chairs, and step stools, as much seating as I could possibly find. If extra seats were necessary, I could bring out some five-gallon buckets we had and flip them over. I’d cleaned them out just in case.
There was a regular flow of customers between 8:00 P.M. and 9:30 P.M. Males who came in with a purpose, knowing exactly what DVD, what magazine, or what Fleshlight they wanted. I noticed some imitations of the branded Fleshlight were much cheaper, but they never seemed to do as well. And once a guy even tried to return it. I told him we do not have a return policy on anything, particularly things you could penetrate, and then he just threw it in the trash right in front of me to prove something. His point was made. The cheaper vagina didn’t work. I still wasn’t going to resell it!
I looked at the clock: 9:45 P.M. I had thought that anyone who was coming to the class would be here by now. Maybe they’d all show up right before it started? Maybe a bunch of people were coming as a group? Or maybe, maybe this was a dumb idea after all and no one was coming and I was a complete failure as a leader in sexual education. I sighed.
After about five more minutes of my moping and hoping mix, I heard the door open—a male and female came in together. That occasionally happened here, but it wasn’t often. I presumed they were a couple. They were holding hands and looked close in age. If I had to guess, they were probably in their mid-forties. They were a little on the bigger side, in mismatched sweatpants and T-shirts, however the female had on a headband with bunny ears that didn’t particularly match with anything else in her outfit. She wasn’t in a bunny costume, she was just a woman in sweatpants with bunny ears. I liked it! It showed a very small but evident sense of adventure.
She dragged her partner around the store, and excitedly picked out a few toys and a few DVDs. It was apparent that it was certainly her idea to come here and not his.
“Does this come in a size large?” she picked up a French maid costume and asked me.
“Unfortunately, no,” I answered. “That’s literally the only one we have and I don’t even know how it got here!” I laughed.
“Well, that’s okay. I can squeeze into a medium, right honey?” she enthusiastically said while looking at her partner, who was on his phone not paying any attention to her. She rolled her eyes and handed me the medium size costume to ring up. “He’ll appreciate this when we get home.”
I really liked her energy. She had me with the bunny ears but the persistence of the French maid costume despite the sizing really sealed the deal. My workshop was officially beginning in ten minutes, and as far as I could tell no one was there early to claim a seat. So, to put it delicately, no one was there yet. I remembered how that sexy employee at Hustler told me to stick around for Dr. Erica, and I did. So I decided to mimic that marketing. What the hell did I have to lose?
I leaned in, as if I was letting her in on a special secret. “Hey—in about ten minutes, I’m hosting a girls-only masturbation seminar.” It sounded like some kind of drug deal. I’m not sure why I whispered it; this event was public information. I was actually striving for it to be more public than it was! I should have shouted the damn thing.
“Oh, cool! Where?” she asked.
“Right here!” I replied. And I shamefully pointed to the collection of mismatched chairs and step stools.