Unwrapping Holly

A few blocks later we stood on the corner of 5th Avenue and East 27th street. I pointed with one arm, and Holly’s mouth dropped open comically wide.

“OH MY GOD.”

The Museum of Sex took up the whole corner, its steel-cut sign stating exactly what it was. I had to pull Holly across the street as the pedestrian light blinked, she was that stunned.

“Remember,” I smirked back at her. “Anything.”

We approached the entrance, and I nodded toward sign. In black and white, behind frosted glass, a simple set of instructions has been written:

Please do not touch,

lick, stroke, or mount

the exhibits.

“Holy shit,” Holly breathed. “What’s in there?”

“Not sure. I’ve never been.”

She turned to me incredulously. “So you were lying about the breast bounce house?”

I chuckled. “Sadly, no. I’ve seen photos of it.”

I paid our admissions and we worked our way inside. For the next hour or more we were entertained by exhibits that ranged from informative, to fanciful, to outright raunchy. We read about the history of sex, the stigma attached to it. There were entir

e sections dedicated to all things taboo, including BDSM. I couldn’t help but notice Holly taking a particular interest in that part.

“Ever been tied up like that?” I smiled over her shoulder. Some of the mannequins were really good.

She hesitated. “Not really,” she said.

“Then I’m buying rope and handcuffs at the gift shop,” I announced. When she raised an eyebrow, I shrugged. “Hey, you did say anything.”

The last section went over the evolution of sexual toys and games. Holly turned a vibrant shade of red as we passed a long array of dildos and vibrators, but it might’ve just been the lighting.

“See anything familiar?” I teased. Rather than answer, she only smirked back at me.

It turned out, of course, that the gift shop really did carry handcuffs. I bought two pairs of padded ones, while Holly pretended like she wanted nothing to do with the cash register. For someone who’d done some incredibly sexual things in private, it was cute to see her publicly shy.

By the time the museum spit us back out into the street, it was dark outside. We huddled together for a walk to my apartment, which she’d been curious to the point of killing the cat about.

“My roommates are sort of weird,” I warned.

“You said that already.”

“I know. Just… preparing you.”

My apartment was on Bleecker Street, on the outskirts of SoHo. I’d been sharing it with various students over the past two years; between that and the educational subsidies we received from the University, it was the only way I could afford to actually live in the City.

“I wish we could be alone,” I told Holly as we stepped into the elevator. “But when you live with three other people, there’s always someone ho—”

She stepped in and kissed me, causing my stomach to drop at the exact moment the elevator rose. The double-dose of vertigo sent my mind spinning. Her lips were soft and pliant as they churned slowly against mine. Her hair smelled delicious, like a watermelon jolly rancher.

“I fucking want you,” she whispered huskily. A shockwave went through me as her hand closed over my crotch. “Bad.”

“Where was this not-so-shy girl back at the Museum of Sex?” I chuckled.

“Waiting to get you alone.”