One of them was here now. He repeated his same ritual that he usually did; he walked in, went straight to the DVD aisle, and strategically studied the back of 20 to 30 various box covers. He would then pick the same one off the shelf—Bisexual Cuckold Fantasies—asked me how much it was (mind you there is a large orange price tag on it clearly stating the answer to the question), and then he asked if we took credit cards. I would reply yes, we do, he would say he will be right back, then he would leave. He did the same thing today, only this time he took a few Cheetos on his way out. For Sandy’s sake, I hope those Cheetos lead him one step closer to an actual purchase one day.
Even though I still felt uneasy talking to the customers, I was learning a lot from watching Sandy. She walked around and conversed with people, and filled the dead, awkward space that existed between the handful of often-confused, sexually inquisitive strangers here.
She was currently interacting with a large, bearded man who was wearing the most stereotypical lumberjack clothes I’ve ever seen: red flannel shirt, jeans, and a black beanie. I’d seen him pacing back and forth between the DVD and lingerie aisles, clearly looking for something, but definitely not seeing it.
“Honey, would you like some punch?” Sandy asked him. He nodded, and Sandy in her own seductive way signaled him over to the plastic table, aka our makeshift bar for the evening. Sandy handed him a red solo cup full of her mystery pink concoction in a bowl.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, clutching the cup like a lifeline. He sipped it slowly, his eyes still scanning the store for the item of his fancy. I thought about going to talk with him, maybe seeing if I could help him find what he was looking for, but just then, a tall, skinny man with some stubble, a large nose, and the sides of his head shaved walked into the store.
“Amir! Good to see you!!” Sandy ran over to him and kissed him on the cheek, leaving his skin stained with pink lipstick. She gave him a very warm, motherly (or grandmotherly) hug, which was reciprocated with a very stiff pat on the back.
“Hi, Sandy.”
She poured him a cup of punch and offered it to him; he reluctantly accepted. The quiet lumberjack and the guy named Amir stood near the Home Depot table drinking punch and quickly glancing at one another. As the reddish-pink liquid in their cups disappeared, their inhibitions seemed to lower and they looked more relaxed. This was a magic punch, really. Sandy had been drinking it all night, so naturally, she danced in the butt plug aisle as a piano instrumental of a Linkin Park song played on the store speakers. Though I didn’t have any of the punch, I too could feel some bravery growing within me, so I decided to put it to use and go talk to one of the customers. Maybe I could help them find what they were looking for…
5
I decided to talk to the lumberjack; I was so curious about him. He didn’t fit the “typical” profile of one of our customers, at least from what I could tell from the past seven days. Why was he here?
As soon as I moved from behind the counter, the lumberjack downed the rest of his punch and walked back over to the lingerie section of the store with determination. Where does one even wear lingerie? It was far too ruffled and textured to wear underneath clothing. It always just seemed so impractical to me. If I was ever going to spend $120 on a bra, I would want it to be a sports bra or something I could seamlessly wear underneath my clothes, and on its own as a top if I had ever decided to go to the gym. I could even wear it to sleep. But… everything did look really pretty. The lacework on some of the panties was spectacular, the rhinestones on the bras caught the light so perfectly, and garters with their stand-out buckles were definitely sexy—you know, for the kind of person who likes this stuff. I followed the lumberjack over to the lingerie and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Sir—did you need some suggestions or help picking something out for your wife?” I asked the lumberjack. His eyes immediately shot up to mine, though he suddenly looked so… hurt. Should I not have assumed he was married? Should I have said “loved one?” Does anyone really say that?
The lumberjack dropped the large lacey garter in his hand and rushed toward the exit of the store. Sandy stopped him.
“Honey, if you want to try that on go ahead! It’s ok!” She winked at him and, holding his hand, used her soothing grandma powers to calm him down.
“Thank you,” he said, “I’m new at this.”
“That’s ok! My name is Sandy!” she said. “And that’s Taryn! She’s actually new here, too. Please let either of us know if you need anything.” There was a terribly awkward silence in the store, even with the jazz instrumental edition of a Mariah Carey song playing on the speakers. “More punch?” Sandy said while handing him another cup. I should treat myself to some. I felt terrible.
After chugging down another plastic cup full of punch, the lumberjack retreated to the lingerie section. In all honesty, I didn’t know if we had anything in his size. Most of these outfits were one size fits all, and the “all” definitely discriminated against women who were even slightly above average weight, and certainly did not take into account 200-pound men. He stared blankly at the pile of straps, lace, and spandex. It was really disorganized and that is completely my fault; I’d spent so much time arranging the dildos perfectly that I’d forgotten about every other part of the store.
“So what were you looking for? Maybe I can help you navigate through this mess,” I said.
“Well, I, um, stockings. I like stockings—do you have any?” he asked nervously.
“Oh yeah! Absolutely! They’re actually over here.” I led him back to the register, where a display of stockings stood almost camouflaged in the corner. Whenever I do get around to organizing the lingerie in the store, I should put the stockings near the lingerie. I never realized ’til now how inefficient it was.
The lumberjack stared blankly at the different pairs of stockings, fishnets, thigh-highs, and tights, his eyes running up and down the stand, analyzing each pair and then zipping to the next.
“I… I don’t know what would look good on me,” he finally said.
“How about this one? I think this would look great!” I spotted a plus-size pair of nude thigh-highs with a black seam in the back. From the vast experience I had with the two and a half boyfriends I previously had in life (the “half” was on account of the fact that I called him my boyfriend and he didn’t call me his girlfriend), I knew that men are typically terrible at picking out clothing. Whether it’s a winter coat or a lace garter, it’s never an easy decision.
“Those look really nice. Thank you.” He seemed more comfortable now. Hopefully I redeemed myself from my earlier assumptions. He was a big guy, but he was incredibly soft spoken and timid. Like a big teddy bear.
“The stockings won’t stay up on their own, so we will have to look for a garter for you!”
He followed me back to the lingerie section of the store, this time with more purpose and confidence. Who needs therapy when you have punch and thigh-highs! I pulled out a handful of garter belts from the mound of disorganized lingerie, the biggest ones I could find, but I was worried they still wouldn’t fit. Would he have the same body issues I do when I try on clothing that doesn’t fit? I wasn’t sure how to address the fact that these all might be too small without hurting his feelings.