“I have to come back and dance in Orlando next weekend—just a few hours away. Wanna come help me?”
“Yeah!” I said, “I would love that!” I was sure I could work out the logistics with Sandy and work during the week instead of the weekend. I didn’t want to pass this up.
Joanna quickly packed up her suitcase, putting all the garments of clothing on the floor into little Ziploc bags. She wiped herself off with some baby wipes, zipped up her large bag, and put on her leggings and T-shirt. She handed me a card.
“Text me—I’ll give you all the details.”
“All right!” I said.
“And hey—” I added, “maybe next weekend we can do that again, and, like, someone could film it. If you want.”
“Fuck yes!” Joanna said. “Let’s do it, girly! Wanna walk me out? I gotta get a cab to the airport,” she said.
I threw my clothing back on, and Joanna and I walked out to the store with her giant suitcase. Several of her fans were there and I took photos of her and them. I called her a cab, kissed her good-bye, and watched my sex angel ride off into the sunset. Or sunrise, actually.
I went back into the store. The Fantasies guys did a really good job putting everything back in order; they even cleaned up the stage room for me! They must have left while Joanna and I were fucking, but there was an envelope with Sandy’s name on it full of cash on the counter. I counted it out: $700! There was also a note in there, addressed to me:
Taryn,
Great job with the talent tonight; Thank you.
U RULE.
They also kindly left me a Fantasies T-shirt. It was definitely too big for me now, but if I followed in their footsteps I could eventually grow into it.
It was like a light went off inside me. Not because of the oversized pants, but because of the rush of the evening. I decided that I needed to spend my life mixing lotion and water together, and having sex with more strippers. I’m sorry. I meant: features.
I made a decision, if one could say that; it felt like I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t go after this opportunity, I would miss my one true calling in life.
I was leaving Dreamz.
Sandy would be sad, no doubt, but she’d find another person to help her with the store. I’d tell her as soon as I could. For right now, I just wanted to celebrate.
I grabbed my phone to call Tyler and accept my new path. I turned on the phone and saw that there were several missed calls from Amanda, and a text message that said “Hey—I’m gonna come see you next weekend!” with multiple happy faced emojis. Something I felt was so out of character for her. I couldn’t believe a porn star coming into my store (and me cumming on her fingers, though she didn’t know that) would reduce Amanda to use eighth grade flirting methods.
“I’m busy,” I wrote back. “And I don’t know when I’ll be free next.”
I watched the dots appear and disappear in the message box. I still missed her, but I wasn’t going to obsess over her any longer. I’d been freed by an angel and I was going to strip club heaven filled with lotion/water cocktails, and shiny panties. I was moving on. On to the next town, the next strip club, the next bottle of cheap vodka. And if I ever look back, it’s gonna be at my own ass, and maybe one day I’ll even put something inside of it.
22
Within a few days, my post on the swingers’ message board had over twenty responses! People seemed excited. I checked my new and exciting inbox during work; there were several people asking me questions, responses to which I made up as I went along.
“Thanks for your posting! Question: Is this just a meet-up party or a play party?” wrote someone who went by the name of “FunTimeSheena.”
With the use of a swingers’ glossary I found online, I deduced that she was interested in knowing if she could actually have sex with people at the party, or just meet someone at the party and have sex elsewhere. I mean, isn’t every party and bar and nightclub and even coffee shop kind of a “meet-up” party then? Anyone can meet anyone anywhere, then take them home and have sex with them. I suppose the title limited the people present to people who strictly went out with a sexual intent.
“Yes! This is a play party. It is an adult video store where anything is allowed! There are rooms available for people to do whatever they want!” I answered.
One person posted, “I had no idea that store was still around! I got my first porn there when I turned eighteen.” He ended his post with a fast-moving GIF of himself (I think it was him) jerking off. He was a very well-endowed black man, and underneath the image it said “BULL.” My swinger dictionary told me “bull” referred to a single guy with a big cock who was readily available to fuck people’s wives, or be in double penetrations and threesomes with husbands and wives. I wondered if he had to get crowned as a bull or if he was self-appointed. Was there a board that approved you based on your abilities? I had so many questions for the swingers; hopefully we’d have a full store for the event, unlike this fine Wednesday at 11:00 P.M., which was particularly empty. There was no one in the store but a man with a pizza-stained Disney World T-shirt looking to buy a blow-up doll. I rang him up with a smile, I asked him the doll’s name, I asked what their plans were for the evening, and I offered him and his plastic lover a room, but he said he preferred their first intimate experience to be in the privacy of their own home. Understood.
There was still one thing I needed to do for the event—tell Sandy. If she said no, it wouldn’t matter how much planning I put into this, it wouldn’t happen. This is still her store.
I found her in the tiny stock room, dressed in pink heels and a strapless terrycloth dress. She was already half-drunk on apple-pie flavored moonshine, going through a bunch of receipts.
“Sandy, I want to have an event in the store,” I told her.
“You do?” she replied.
“Actually—I am doing one. I already posted about it. I should have told you earlier!”
“Honey, I can’t pay you any extra money,” she said.
“No! It’s fine! I just want to help bring some new people in here. It gets so boring in here when it’s slow. Oh, I didn’t mean this place is boring or anything! I just meant, there’s so much more I can bring to my work!” I stammered.
“Heh. Yes, I can understand that. Gotta make the day more exciting. Well, the more the merrier!” she said, not even bothering to look up from the long slip of annotated paper from Thongs-R-Us. She was smiling though; I think I got my yes!
I kept obsessively loading the message board on my phone while I was at work. Replies steadily came in. An attractive blonde couple in their early thirties, whose profile photo featured the two of them on the beach with surfboards, posted that they would be coming and they were looking for a couple to do a “same room swap.” An interracial couple, who could also be called an “inter-height” couple as he was fairly tall and she was pretty short, asked if anyone wanted to “bang the wife” while the husband watched. A good-looking Latino man responded with a thumbs-up emoji and said he’d be there. People were so particular and direct about their sexual arrangements; it was completely different than the college parties I went to where men and women stayed in their own respective corners, and only began speaking once they were appropriately buzzed. Very short, anti-climactic sex in a bathroom, closet, or a room where several people were actually sleeping would occur if you were lucky—which I rarely was.