‘Just on the corner here. Can you wait for me? I’ll be five minutes, ten tops.’
‘OK.’
It was early evening and the street wasn’t too busy. An hour earlier it would have been filled with studenty types seeking vintage clothing and original pressings of Led Zeppelin LPs. In about an hour, it would be filled with studenty types seeking beer and snogs. But for now, it was relatively safe to keep that coat hem scrunched in my fist and run, clip-clop, across the pavement to the shop.
It could hardly look less welcoming. The frontage was painted in an unattractive brown, while the window was blanked out by beige strip blinds. Parceltaped to the door were a variety of handwritten notices, including one that said “Are you over 18?” and another than forbade smoking on the premises.
I didn’t dare look around me to see if I was observed, but quickly pushed open the door, finding the shop empty but for a bored-looking young woman reading a magazine.
‘Can I help?’ she asked.
I sighed a breath of enormous relief. Thank God she was a woman. This wouldn’t be quite so bad as I’d thought.
‘Yeah, uh, I’m looking for a good vibrator.’ The words just came out! And nothing happened, except that she smiled faintly, revealing lipstick-coloured teeth.
‘Oh right. Most of the girls like this one.’ She pulled out a flesh-pink thing with some kind of mechanism at the base. ‘Cos it’s got, like, a clit-stimulator too, yeah? What do you think? It’s our top seller.’
‘I’ll take it,’ I said without pausing to even look at it. Hearing this woman talk about clit stimulators in her flat estuarine accent as if they were vegetables on a grocery list was making me want to giggle.
She shoved it into a brown paper bag.
‘Twenty quid, love,’ she said.
‘Oh, there was something else.’ I swallowed. Vibrators were easy to buy – they had become an acceptable thing to carry in one’s handbag along with the lipsticks and breath mints – but my other item was rather less so.
She paused, hanging on to the bag, sword-like blue fingernails poised over the cash register.
I lowered my voice, hoping the words wouldn’t get stuck in my throat.
‘Nipple clamps.’
Her perfectly plucked eyebrows leapt.
‘What sort? Clover or regular?’
‘Oh … I don’t know …’
‘Hang on. Steve!’ She bellowed through a doorway hung with a plastic strip curtain.
Could I leave with just one of the items on the list? Could I just slap the twenty down and snatch the bag and run?
A huge man in dark glasses appeared. Behind the glasses it was entirely possible he was checking me out.
‘Customer wants nipple clamps but she don’t know if she wants clover or regular. Can you get the display ones out to show her?’
‘Sure.’ He took a key from his jeans pocket and unlocked a cabinet under the counter. ‘Are they for you?’ he asked, producing a box of little silvery tormentors.
No, they’re for my aunt’s Christmas stocking. Of course they’re for me.
I nodded, staring at the objects. Should I ask for a recommendation? Horribly aware of the man’s fascination, I decided to choose quickly, before he started licking his lips.
‘Them!’ I said, jabbing a finger at the prettiest pair. They looked like earrings with a series of crystal drops dangling from the ends.
‘Right you are,’ he said. ‘Not the most painful. Are you new to this kind of sensation play?’
‘Yes. How much do I owe you?’ I really didn’t want to get drawn into a conversation.
‘Thirty four pounds ten,’ contributed the woman.