“Are you at the airport?” I stared at the message, willing a response to show. Please let a response show soon!
Five minutes later, she replied.
“Yeah, but I’m always at the airport ;)”
She was so frustrating. Every time I felt like I was close to sending some kind of dramatic text with an ultimatum on our relationship and her behavior, she would make a remote orgasm happen and I would forget why I was ever angry in the first place. But not this time, damn it! This was my night, and I wasn’t going to let my anger at Amanda ruin it, and I wouldn’t forgive her for missing it. I was still hopeful she’d show, but if she didn’t, well, I wouldn’t be having any more technologically transmitted orgasms, that’s for sure.
I continued getting ready for the event. Sandy made her signature “punch,” with apple-pie flavored moonshine and some kind of cranberry drink. I researched what foods were the best aphrodisiacs and the internet kept telling me oysters, but there was no way I was going to bring raw fish into Dreamz. Semen is one thing, but raw fish sitting out for a long time had to be against our health code. I settled for a giant bag of heart shaped chocolates I found at CVS, and Sandy brought a giant tub of imitation Cheetos (the generic brand that is just called “cheese puffs”) that she loves so much. I’m not entirely sure what is in Sandy’s diet other than moonshine and cheese puffs.
I put up signs all over the store, hand printed signs I made with markers and scrap paper, posting sales and package deals on toys, lingerie, and ROOMZ. I put Make Me Creamy on the TV. I had actually played it almost every night; I had every last sex position memorized by this point. It reminded me of Amanda and I felt a warm nostalgic comfort when cum spilled out of those vaginas.
I wore a little pastel pink dress; it was tight up top and flowy on the bottom, shaped like a bell. Underneath I wore a pair of black high-cut lace panties. Since I last saw Amanda, I had developed a small collection of bras and panties that served some fashion and not purely just a function. Most importantly, my direct telecommunicator to Amanda was fully charged and sat comfortably inside me, clipped on my inside and outside like a paper clip.
I wasn’t sure what would happen tonight. I didn’t have an itinerary, just free snacks and half-priced dildos, but from the little I’d learned about this culture of sexually advanced couples I think that should suffice. Sandy was putting her fire-engine red lipstick on. About sixty percent of it was on her actual lips.
“So, who is coming in here tonight?” Sandy asked me.
“Oh! Well, hopefully, a bunch of couples who wanna have threesomes and trade partners and stuff,” I said.
“They’re called swingers,” Sandy said. I don’t know why I assumed Sandy didn’t know the proper terminology.
“Yeah, I uh, I just learned that recently!” I said.
“My ex-husband and I used to be in the lifestyle! And when we first opened we had a lot of parties here.”
“Oh really? I had no idea!” I did wonder sometimes what the old Dreamz was like. Knowing this information made me feel slightly less guilty about having sex while on the clock. Even though I didn’t actually feel that guilty in the first place.
“What happened? Why did you stop?” I asked.
“Well, I got divorced. And things got a little complicated, and now my friends from that scene are just too old. You don’t want them coming in here and having sex!” She laughed. I didn’t think about couples who got divorced in the lifestyle. Can you get promoted (or demoted?) from a swinger to a unicorn? Watching your husband have sex with your friends could be fun—watching your ex-husband have sex with your friends would be a different story. But I didn’t need to think about these things right now. Tonight was going to be filled with lots of sex, fun, cheese puffs, and possibly Amanda.
A few hours later, the store began to fill up. I watched as couple after couple came into the store, some beautiful, some really not, some that looked so mismatched I couldn’t picture them having sex if I tried! Then, of course, there were the couples who were like gods on earth: so incredibly hot, each bone perfectly placed, skin gleaming, eyes sparkling in a way that said I’ll be the best fuck you’ve ever had.
I couldn’t believe all of these people were here because of me! In my head, I quickly gave myself a congratulatory pat on the back, then went to mingle and sell things.
It was interesting to overhear the conversations that went on. Different types of couples meandered around the store, scoping each other out, making professional arrangements as to who should have sex with whom, and what their limitations were. Some couples insisted on their “swap” being in the same room. Other preferred to be separated. Some were simply looking for another couple to have oral sex with, without any “below the belt” penetration. One couple asked me if they could have sex somewhere in the store, because they wanted everyone to just watch but they didn’t want anyone else interacting with them; I told them that they could make an announcement and let people watch them on the ROOMZ monitor. They happily agreed and purchased one of the ROOMZ. One couple eagerly awaited for a single man they had prior arrangements with to double penetrate his wife, but he was nowhere to be found. The wife wasn’t pleased. I tried to sell them an extra-large dildo to solve the problem and they seemed moderately insulted. It was their loss, I knew first-hand that it was a truly good dildo.
There was one unfortunate disgruntled couple who came in—everything about their synergy was just off. The man clearly didn’t want to be there; he huffed and puffed the whole time. He was short and scrawny, with dark hair that looked like a Brillo pad on top of his head, swimming inside his jeans and his oversized flannel. His wife was a very tall, blonde woman with large, broad shoulders that made her look like a linebacker.
“My husband can’t give me orgasms anymore. What the fuck do we do about this?” the woman abruptly came up to the counter and asked me.
“Oh! I am so sorry. My name is Taryn! Maybe I can recommend some toys to help you guys out?”
“Hi, I’m Jen,” she shouted. She was a little rough around the edges, and struck me as someone who might have a slight case of Asperger’s. Her husband looked petrified and didn’t speak.
I picked out a few things from around the store that I thought would help. I mean, they still wouldn’t be orgasms her husband was giving her but he could hold the toy while it did the job for her. A Hitachi wand, a vibrating egg, and a rather expensive eight-inch curved metal wand with circles on it that were supposed to hit your G-spot. It was a product that I thought was a little too advanced for the Dreamz customer base but Amanda swore by it and made me order it wholesale. I felt like this big angry woman needed a big solid toy to make her cum. They purchased a room together without attempting to invite anyone else in.
“Good luck!” I shouted to them.
Sandy mingled with everyone—casually grabbing guys’ cocks, and kissing girls on the lips (leaving their faces stained red). She served her punch in plastic cups, and carefully arranged the snacks on paper plates as if it was some kind of charcuterie board (I learned what that was at the “gastropub” I went to with Amanda).
The couples were all starting to split off, some making out in dark corners, some purchasing time in ROOMZ, or buying toys and leaving to partake in sexual excursions elsewhere. There were plenty of people here, even some single men who had come to provide additional services. I did not see any single girls there to be a third party to the couples. I guess unicorns really are rare.