First Times: Nine Tales of Innocence Lost (20 page)

So when I walked into the back of the store for the first time, it made my palms sweat, my heart race and my stomach tighten. It was all too much to take in. Hardcore porn movies don’t pull any punches when it comes to selling their wares. I mean, the big companies that make the high budget movies make classy covers and stuff, but everybody else… about half the floor of the back room was taken up by shelves. On those shelves was everything you could think of, and I mean everything. My throat went dry when I saw a picture of a girl on the front cover of “Double Exposure 6”. She had on high heels and nothing else, and was sitting on this guy’s lap, facing him. He was inside her. I’d never seen an erect penis before, so it was a shock to stare at the picture on the cover, seeing it hard and shiny and sticky with juices and to see her swollen, flushed red pussy lips stretched around it. It was even more of a shock to see the second guy’s hard, arched cock halfway up her ass. The picture was taken in mid thrust, the model’s eyes turned to the camera. It felt like she was looking right at me.

Then there was the other stuff. There was a wall of toys. Some of them looked benign, others were scary. Dildos as thick as my wrist, even a rubber fist, and the butt plugs. The smallest of those made my butt tighten up in sympathy. Further back in the store was bondage gear. Strap-on harnesses. Gags. Restraints. Sex swings. They even sold stripper poles and devices to tie someone spread-eagled to a bed. I had to go on a tour, listening to the owner, Dianne, going over all the products, but her voice was a buzz in my head. I didn’t calm down until we got back to the lingerie section. The really good stuff, the crotchless panties and pasties and edible underwear, were towards the front of the store. She touched my arm.
 

“You okay, hon?”
 

I nodded. “Just a little shy about this stuff, I guess.”
 

“That’s okay,” she said, smiling brightly.
 

The fact that the place was owned by a married couple alleviated my nerves a lot. Dianne did most of the work running the store, and her husband David did all the financial stuff. He was the one I talked to to fill out my application and my tax forms and all. Dianne was a tall woman who looked like she cruised biker bars. She was old enough to be my mother but in a dignified, sexy way. She liked tight hip hugger jeans and had the muscular physique to pull them off, and short shirts that lifted up to show a pattern of tattoos all around her middle when she stretched to reach for something. She worked out a lot, from the muscle in her arms and shoulders, and dyed her hair dark blue to match her eyes. David was of a height with her, lean and muscular, and liked leather. They made for a lot of rumors in town.
 

“Anyway,” she said, “it’s okay to be a little nervous. I know what kind of reputation we must have. There’s a lot of prudes in this town.”
 

It was a small town in the middle of nowhere, and she was right. I first heard about His ’n Hers from a student complaining they should be shut down and didn’t belong in town.

After the tour, I had to learn the mundane tasks, like working the register. When there was someone shopping I had to keep an eye on them, as the store had a real problem with shoplifting. I had to restock, and go around checking for little cards hanging on the rack reminding the store to reorder when they ran out of, say, inflatable butt plugs.
 

I had to deal with customers.
 

The first time someone asked me for help I could barely talk. I ended up pointing at the products they were looking for, and when they asked me if they should use silicone or water-based lube, I just stared at them.
 

For a while, it was rough.
 

By about a week in, it was second nature. I spent most of my shift either checking the shelves, working the register, or sitting on a stool working on my homework or reading a book. Most customers knew what they wanted and most were polite. There were only a few sketchy guys that would come in and stare at the movies, and as long as they didn’t start jerking off in the store I was told to just let them browse, and that was just fine with me. Dianne explained it all.
 

“Most spank bankers,” that’s what she called the guys that came into stare, “end up coming back to buy eventually. The temptation is too great, you know?”
 

Working with her was fun. She was witty and sharp and she knew everything about everything in the store. I started conversing with her.
 

One day, I started getting curious.

“I don’t get the appeal of the butt stuff,” I said.
 

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
 

Sitting on my stool, I broke out laughing. I was working on my homework, a notebook and literature textbook spread out on the glass counter over the display of high-class butt plugs, the stainless steel and glass ones. We even sold some that had tails attached to them.

Too much information is a thing, but Dianne gave me a winking grin that just made it funny. I knew she was serious, too. She looked around and stood up.
 

“Here, see for yourself.”
 

My eyes went wide as she unzipped her hip huggers and pushed them down, tugging the denim down over her thick, muscular ass. She arched her back and bent a little, and there it was. Nestled between her smooth, muscular ass cheeks was a little purple jewel set in stainless steel. Dianne was wearing one of the fancy butt plugs. She tugged her jeans up zipped and turned to sit down, gingerly, grinning.
 

“It feels great,” she said. “I love walking around and feeling it shift inside me. Dave picked it out. I have one with a tail, too.”
 

“Wow,” I said.
 

She didn’t push me into anything or try to talk me into trying any of the toys or anything like that, but she was completely open about anything I might ask about. In a weird way, it made me more comfortable around her. She had nothing to hide.

One day when I came into work, she looked bad. Her dark roots were showing under her blue hair and her face was puffy from crying. I couldn’t help myself, so I asked.
 

“Hey. What’s wrong?”
 

“Relationship troubles?”
 

“Yeah.”
 

“Not you and Dave,” I said.
 

She shook her head. “My girlfriend broke up with us.”
 

I blinked a few times. “Excuse me?”
 

She looked at me and smiled a weak smile.
 

“We have an open relationship. For a while now I’d been seeing a girl. Dave would join in, too. It’s fun, keeps things spicy. Love is about more than sex, Alexis. Our relationship is strengthened by safe sex with other people. It keeps things exciting, and you haven’t lived until you’ve had a threesome. Or a foursome.”
 

“I haven’t had a twosome,” I blurted.
 

She looked at me for a good minute, giggles building the whole time. Finally she burst out laughing.
 

“Oh my God. The virgin porno store clerk. You are too precious.”
 

I turned beet red and shifted on my stool. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” I said, defensively.
 

“Of course not,” she said, “everyone has a right to their own body and their own sexual expression. I don’t judge people for the things I do, so I certainly don’t judge people for the things they don’t do, right?”
 

“Right,” I said.
 

“Still, you must have fooled around.”
 

“Not really.”
 

“I mean, there’s lots of things that are fun but aren’t sexy. You’ve at least had somebody eat you out, right?”
 

“No.”
 

“Fingered you?”
 

“No.”
 

“Dry humping?”
 

“No,” I sighed.
 

“Well, you’ve blown a guy, right? Boys are all about the blowjobs.”

“No,” I sighed. Louder.
 

“Given a handy?”
 

“No.”
 

“At least tell me somebody has copped a feel.”
 

“No,” I said, shifting uncomfortably.
 

“I can see I’m
 
upsetting you. I’m sorry, hon, it’s just… are you asexual?”
 

“What’s that?”
 

“Some people are oriented towards men, some towards women, most towards both at least a little, some towards both fifty fifty… some people are oriented towards not being sexual at all. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
 

“I’m not that,” I sighed. “I’m just…”
 

“Just what?”
 

I looked down. I hid behind my big mop of hair, to conceal the tears stinging my eyes.

“I’m fat, and… I don’t… I just…”
 

I shrugged, and the shrug turned into quivering shoulders as I broke into sobs.
 

She touched my shoulder. “Hey,” she said. “Look at me.”
 

I looked up, and scrubbed at my eyes with the back of my hand.
 

“You’re not fat,” she said. “You’re curvy. With the right clothes you could really flaunt it. I didn’t want to say anything, since it’s not my business, but you could be a real knockout if you got your hair done up and worked on how you dress.”
 

“I can’t afford that,” I sniffed. “I have to work here if I want to afford soap.”
 

“Maybe I could help you,” she said.
 

“Huh?”
 

“I’m not going to take you to New York to go shopping hon, but I know how to buy the right kind of clothes without making it real expensive, and we could get your hair done. We’ll make it a date, huh?”
 

“O-okay,” I said.
 

“Friday night, after your shift. Just us girls, okay?”
 

“Okay.”
 

“Now, I want you to go home. No one is going to buy dildos from a crying girl.”
 

I sniffed. “You’re sending me home?”
 

“Vacation with pay. Go get some rest, sweetie. I’ll mind the shop.”
 

I gathered up my things and left. Dianne must have felt better. She looked better as she walked me out to my car. It was a bit of a ritual she and I had. She’d walk me out, with her Colt .45 stuck down the back of her jeans, until I was safe in my car. She didn’t trust the place in the dark, she said. She waved and went back inside.
 

When Friday finally came, I was so excited I could barely contain myself, even if something was bothering me. In the back of my head I kept remembering the way she said
make it a date
. She didn’t mea like a date-date, did she?
 

When I saw Dianne I almost tripped and fell. She’d gone all out, and she was sex on legs. She wore dark blue leather pants that hugged every sinuous curve of her long legs and were cut so low that I was sure I’d have been able to see her pubes if she didn’t shave. She topped it off with a skin tight black-tshirt with nothing under it, carefully tugged into place to ride up from her hips and expose the field of multicolored flowers that formed a belt of tattoos around her waist, with a lotus above her tailbone. She had full sleeves on both arms, too, flowers and vines from her wrists to where they disappeared under the sleeves of her shirt. She’d dyed her hair a riotous shade of unnatural dark red with purple lowlights.
 

“Hey there,” she said.
 

“H-hey yourself,” I said back.
 

Nothing changed. I did my homework, sold pornography and sex toys, and Dianne puttered around the shop, checking the shelves and doing inventory with a clipboard. The store closed at seven on Friday. When no one came in after six forty-five, Dianne locked up early.
 

“We’ll take my car.”
 

She drove. I curled up in the passenger’s seat, trying not to look at her. She put on a jacket against the cold but it only served to draw attention to her tattoos and the fact that she was obviously not wearing anything under that t-shirt. The first place she took me was just a department store in the mall. No one noticed me, but everyone looked at her as she led me through the women’s department, grabbing things off racks. By the time we made our way to the dressing rooms, she had both hands full. I went in and moved to pull the door closed, but she stepped into the dressing room with me. I pushed back against the wall and stared at her.
 

“What? I haven’t got anything you haven’t got. Here, try this on.”
 

I swallowed, hard, and turned to face away from her as I stripped out of my baggy sweats. Even in my underwear I felt naked and vulnerable with this woman sitting on the bench while I put on the dress she picked out. I turned around and looked myself, shocked by what I saw. The material was drawn up under my chest, thinning me out a little, and was cut for deep cleavage, my pale breasts on full display.
 

“You have a fantastic rack, if you don’t mind my saying.”
 

She picked out some other things for me, and I was amazed. She had an eye for it, and every outfit she’d put together fit me better than the last.”
 

“Very good,” she said, and paid for all of it. I hung around awkwardly, feeling even dumpier in my regular clothes. She took my arm.
 

“Now, your hair.”
 

By the time the salon was done with me, my frizzy, curly brown hair had been moisturized, trimmed, and straightened. She tried to talk me into dying it all a color, but I got away with one thin strip dyed dark purple. I wasn’t ready for something so radical yet.
 

“I wish I could take you to a bar,” she said. “Why don’t you come back to our place for a glass of wine or two?”