"Thus…" she held up Lady Clitoria. "This. Doesn’t gaslight, cheat, or lie, never forgets to put down the toilet seat, always comes through with a solid release, and, bonus prizes, it doesn't leave you all drippy afterward."
I gagged. "Drippy? Gross, Linz.”
She laughed. "Raw-dogging it feels great in the moment, but good lord is it messy."
"I'm hanging up now. I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with your shenanigans."
"Fine, but answer one question, first."
"Maybe."
"Are you or are you not going to let Duncan Badd explore your cave of wonders?"
"Bye-eeeeee!" I sang, drawing out the last syllable, and then ending the call.
Curiosity is a nasty thing. It's subtle, but insistent. Once it gets its hooks into you, it's nearly impossible to resist.
"Lady Clitoria," I mumbled, ripping open the packaging. "Ridiculous. How good can it really be?"
Within the box is a purple device made of some sort of soft, rubbery material with a white oval opening.
"Fine," I say, talking to the thing. "Let's see what you can do. But I'm not giving you some stupid name."
I am talking to it, though.
I wiggled out of my underwear and kicked the sheets away, tucked my heels up against my butt, and held the button until the purple device started vibrating. Which means it is a vibrator…Lindsey. Whatever. I closed my eyes and summoned the usual mental fantasy or scenario or whatever you want to call it: A faceless sexy guy who wants nothing but to eat me out until my legs are Jell-O. Boring, sure, but it's what gets me off.
Only, instead of a faceless dude with big arms and a long tongue, my imagination supplied something more…concrete.
He has messy reddish-brown hair and liquid chocolate eyes that sparkled with wit, intelligence, cocky confidence, and wry humor. He has thick arms and a six-pack—because if there is a god, then Duncan Badd has a six-pack.
In my imagination, Duncan is at the foot of my bed, shirtless in nothing but a pair of tiny shorts, all golden skin and brawn. He prowls toward me, buries his face between my thighs, and…
I centered the vibe over my clit, unsure what to expect.
"FUCK!" I screamed, yanking the thing away. I nearly came, literally instantly.
I cycled through the settings until it was at a lower intensity and tried again. This time, it was merely like being struck by lightning rather than a nuclear apocalypse in my vagina.
Jesus, Linz, warn a girl.
Imaginary Duncan went to work, then, and I could almost feel his big hands on my thighs as he licked and suckled, and I found myself on the cusp of a megalithic orgasm. I'm not exactly sure what megalithic means, but that's what I’m going with, since this purple device was, as advertised, doing something miraculous to my lady bits. Usually, it takes me at least five minutes of start-stop bean-flicking to get to this point, and it's been literally less than thirty seconds.
I let go with a shrieked gasp—and accidentally hit the button again, cycling to a higher intensity. My orgasm splintered into something new and titanic, my thighs shaking and my channel spasming as waves of heat smashed through me.
Fuck it—I cycled to the highest setting as a wave of release crested within me, and now I couldn’t breathe to even scream as the orgasm utterly incinerated me.
Holy shit.
Sweating, panting, and shaky, I snapped a selfie while holding the vibrator and sent it to Lindsey: IT'S A VIBRATOR, BITCH. BUT ALSO. HOLY SHIT.
She responded almost immediately: RIGHT? SEE WHAT YOU'VE BEEN MISSING OUT ON?
Me: YEAH, BUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN A GUY CAN'T COMPETE WITH IT? I JUST CAN'T COME WITHOUT IT?
Lindsey: UM, YOU USE IT DURING SEX, DUH.
Maybe I am a bit sexually conservative, as I've never even thought of using a toy during sex. I enjoy sex, okay? In fact, I love it…a fucking lot. Hayes and I fucked three or four times a week, at minimum, our whole relationship. He may have been a lying, cheating, gaslighting asshole loser in the end, but the guy could fuck. I always got off with him, and if I didn't come during sex, he always made sure I did afterward.
