“Really?!”
“Yeah!” I answered. I was so nervous about her being potentially disgusted with my event, or being appalled by just the insinuation of hanging out here for longer than she needed to, though I don’t know why. She was most definitely a local and she didn’t seem spoiled by the foam latte-art and the doctorates of sex that existed in the world. She was just a middle-aged woman in bunny ears, for no reason, looking to spice up her sex life. She was exactly who I was looking for.
“Well that sounds like a lot of fun!” she said. Her partner guy was still engrossed in his phone. She put her arms around him and leaned towards his face.
“Babe, why don’t you go watch the fights and pick me up when you’re done? They have a fun thing going on here tonight I wanna stick around for.”
“What? Are you serious? Brody was saving us seats!” he said.
“I never know what the hell is going on, anyway! You’re always having to stop and explain to me everything. Won’t this be better?” she asked.
He sized me up and down. He was actually looking at me for the first time all night, as if he had to get a good judgement of me before he “let” his wife hang out with me. So strange. He didn’t pay any attention to her when she picked out the French maid costume, why was he so concerned about her now?
“So you’re just gonna stay here.” He was talking to her but looking at me.
“Yes,” she answered. “Me and a bunch of girls are gonna be here, talking about girl stuff.” I smiled. There were not “a bunch” of girls here, at least yet. But, I still had a good eight minutes before they needed to show up.
They stepped outside, I could vaguely hear them arguing through our door that never quite closes all the way. I was sure I would never see either of them again and I felt guilty. I hadn’t even started yet, and I was causing a domestic dispute, which is the exact opposite feeling of an orgasm, from my experience. But the bunny-ear sweatpants lady must have worked this out; she came right back in, with a big smile on her face! I smiled right back. She was unintentionally the first person in my seminar!
“I’m staying!” she said. “Thanks for the invite!”
“Hell, yeah!” I answered. “Um, you can have a seat? We will be starting soon!”
We didn’t have a café for her to wait in. This really would have been a good time for punch. I tried calling Sandy again, but she didn’t answer.
The woman didn’t seem to mind the lack of refreshments, though. She took her jacket and purse off and claimed a chair. She grabbed an issue of Jugg’s magazine, and read it like one would read the newspaper, looking over articles and occasionally saying things like “interesting,” or “Who would have thought?”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Lucy,” she answered, still entranced by the magazine.
“Well, hello, I’m Taryn!”
“Nice to meet you!” she said.
“We will be starting soon,” I said.
“I know, you just said that!” She laughed. It’s true. I did. My nerves were highlighting my awkwardness. I paced around the store unsure of what to do next. But, at least I had one person to teach! I went behind the register to review my lesson plan. I could change it to fit one person’s particular needs pretty easily, though Lucy’s appearance had heightened my hope again. There were still a few minutes until the start time; I would concentrate on more people coming through that door in that time.
Maybe it was my hard-ass thinking, or perhaps the six-time shared Facebook post, but in the next ten minutes, four more women came in! One of them, I recognized; she was one of the fairy girls who came in here with Jimmy all those weeks ago. I wasn’t sure where the other three came from, but they were here and that was all that mattered. Jimmy’s friend looked different in her non-fairy attire. She wore tight blue jeans, UGG boots, and a tight purple tank top, with a crop-top hoodie jacket over it. It was appropriate day-off raver/club girl wear. Two older black women came together, both in heels, one wearing leopard-print leggings, the other in a knee-length, tight pencil dress, with a large belt in the middle. They were totally overdressed, even though I didn’t have a dress code at all. They were holding shopping bags and large cups from Jamba Juice. This event got incorporated into their girls’ day! I found that pretty exciting. And then there was another, who reminded me of me at the Hustler store. She looked pretty young, somewhere in her early twenties. She wore Converse sneakers, black denim pants, and a flannel top. She went straight to a seat and didn’t look at anyone, or talk to anyone, or introduce herself, or anything.
Five people was certainly enough to quantify as something. I suppose it didn’t matter. It was go time, no matter what this was. I locked up my register, and overheard the girls chit chatting with each other (well, all except the younger one), asking where they lived, introducing them-selves—it was beautiful. Different, unlikely women united under the fluorescent lighting, in the name of vaginas and orgasms and stuff.
I walked over to the group.
“Hey everyone, my name is Taryn! Thank you for coming out tonight!”
The women clapped their hands. I couldn’t believe they were clapping their hands, for me!
“So I put this event together tonight, so we could all take some time out of our hectic lives and focus on ourselves. In just the last few months I have really discovered the importance of masturbating. I think this is an activity women dismiss—we get caught up in our day-to-day lives and we forget that pleasing ourselves is so important to our confidence and growth. I thought we could all just get together and talk about what gets us off, how we masturbate, and maybe we can try out some toys if we’re feeling adventurous.”
Everyone nodded and smiled and laughed. That came out rather naturally! I had written and rewritten my opening statement for the night and it all sounded so stoic and rehearsed. I am not a PhD; I am not any kind of sexpert; I’m just a girl from a city about forty miles outside of Tampa who just got introduced to her own vagina, like four weeks ago.
“Before we start, why don’t we go around the circle and introduce ourselves and talk about our experience with masturbation?” I suggested.
“I’ll start!” the fairy who wasn’t a fairy this evening said. “My name’s Krissy, and I love masturbating! I actually like it a lot more than having sex most of the time! I like using anything strong that vibrates on my clit! It’s awesome!” She giggled. “Okay, your turn!” she said as she playfully poked the bunny-ears-wearing woman next to her with an expertly manicured nail.
“Well, my name is Lucy, and I’m so glad I found this class. My husband doesn’t want me to masturbate! Every time he catches me doing it he gets angry and tells me that’s his job. But he doesn’t ever do the job! What the hell! Is he really jealous of my own finger?”
“Honey, he’s not jealous of your finger; he’s probably jealous of your dildo if it’s bigger than his dick!” one of the black ladies said, after finishing her Jamba Juice through a thick, large, phallic-looking straw. Everyone laughed, except the young one, who looked a bit frightened, but I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do about it.
“And my name is Kira, and this stunning beauty next to me is Raylin.” The two older ladies both waved to everyone in the class.
“Nice to meet both of you,” I said. “That just leaves… you!” I pointed to the younger girl, whose face immediately turned red. Whoops. I definitely made a mistake; the poor thing was getting very uncomfortable.
“Um… you don’t have to talk about your masturbation experience if you don’t want. But let’s get your name so everyone in the group can address one another.”