It’s the breeze on my back that brings me back to myself. The toy has been turned off, and we’re more tangled in each other than when we started. My arms are wrapped around him, and his around mine, as much skin touching as possible. His cock is still inside me, and I like the feeling of being full and connected. I relax into the moment, letting my body recover.
After a few minutes, I pull back to look at him. “I don’t think I have any words to describe that.”
“Neither do I.”
I stand, stretching, feeling the open air on my skin and enjoying the alien sensation of being naked in public. There’s a rustling behind me, and I turn to find Jet getting dressed. We can’t stay naked forever. I slip into my underwear, and Jet helps me back into my dress, the contact of his fingers sending little shivers down my back. His fingers twist together with mine, and he leads me from the roof. There don’t seem to be words that either of us can say. There don’t need to be.
The limo is waiting for us when we reach the bottom of the building, and Jet gets inside with me this time. He pulls me against him as the car starts to drive, and our bodies are never not touching, and our lips are never far away from each other. The only thing keeping it from being perfect is the nagging question in the back of my mind. Why? Why all of this? Why the toys and the mystery?
We’re crossing the Brooklyn Bridge when I get the courage to ask again. “Can you tell me now what this is all about? Why you started this?”
He kisses me, and I’m lost for a second, before I realize that he’s trying to misdirect me. That he wants me to forget that I asked the question. “Jet.”
“No,” he says, “I can’t. Not yet, I’m sorry.”
I pull away, separating our bodies for the first time. “Why?”
“I promise I’ll tell you when I can.” His face is sincere, and I believe him. But what could possibly stop him from telling me why?
We’re approaching my building, and in spite of myself I scoot closer to him again. Even if I’m anxious about this, I can’t end the evening without touching him again. He follows me out of the limo when it pulls up to my apartment, and as he walks me to the door he seems hesitant, even distant.
“Do you want to come up?” I ask, secretly hoping there might be more of what we had earlier.
“Not tonight,” he says, his smile seeming a little sad.
“Oh,” I say, “okay. Well, are you at least coming by the store tomorrow?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Not for a couple days.” He leans in to kiss me, and before I know it I’m wrapped around him again, my body eager for more of whatever he wants to give me. “I’ll see you soon,” he says, pulling away suddenly.
He gets into the limo before I can collect myself to say my own goodbye. My heart falls a little. I thought that maybe I could coax him upstairs anyway. I head up into my apartment, feeling a little lost. That was a strange ending to an amazing evening. And it was amazing. But there’s a feeling in my stomach, an anxiety about the way he left. I’m sure it’s nothing. It has to be nothing.
8
A couple of days pass, and I’m back to looking up every time the door to the shop opens. I’ve opened up my phone a dozen time to text Jet, but I don’t know if I should. I don’t want to seem needy. But I do want to see him again.
On the fifth day of my moping, Joey intervenes. “Text him.”
“What?” I ask, startled as I’m rearranging some lingerie.
“Don’t be coy. Text him.”
I sigh. “He said he’d be coming into the store in a couple of days.”
Joey gives me a look. “And how many days ago was that?”
He has a point. But… “I don’t know. I don’t want to be that girl, you know?”
“It’s been a week. I think you’re safe to text the man.” He makes sure that I see when he rolls his eyes.
“Fine.” I pull out my phone and open our text stream—a gesture I’ve done all too often lately—and freeze. “What do I say?”
Joey laughs. “I have no idea. I’m not the one who had sex with him—and please,” he says, reacting to my horrified face that anyone realized that I slept with Jet on the first date, “you were over the moon the next day. I saw the man. I would have fucked him too.”
He walks away, leaving me staring, with still no idea what to say.
I start to type:
Hey Jet
Hi there
Hi Jet,
I know it’s been a while, but I wanted to let you know
tell you again that I had an amazing time at dinner.
I’d love to do it again sometime, or talk when
you come into the store.
Hope to see you soon.
I press send before I can second guess myself too much. A spike of anxiety lodges in my stomach, but it’s too late now. Nothing I can do about it. All I can hope for is that he doesn’t find my text a turn off and never show his face again. All I know is that instead of looking at the door every five minutes, now I’ll be checking my phone.
Nothing. It’s been three days and no response to my text message. I swear I’m starting to wear down the buttons on my phone clicking the home screen to see if I missed something. But no. It’s never there. I flop down on my couch with a glass of cheap wine, determined to find something mindless and numbing to watch on TV. I’m just starting to get engrossed in one of those terrible and way-too-specific home makeover shows when I hear a buzzing. I mute the TV. No, not imagining it. I put down my wine and run over to check my phone on the counter, but it’s silent. I can still hear the buzzing.
I follow the sound through my apartment, and into my bedroom. To my dresser. And the drawer where I keep all my toys—all being the ones that Jet gave me and the pathetic vibrator that I had before that. I open the drawer, and find the purple toy from our date—the We Vibe—buzzing heartily. It’s then that I remember that his phone is synced with the toy, so that wherever he is, he can control it.
So wherever he is right now, despite not responding to my text, he’s manipulating the toy, hoping that I’ll put it on. Is he serious? I’m half appalled, half angry that he’s doing this when we haven’t even communicated. But then again, is this his way of telling me he’s still interested despite the lack of contact? I go back and forth about whether I should give in and put the toy on, when it goes quiet.
Oh. Well. I guess that’s that then. Maybe the app got opened on his phone by mistake. Or maybe…maybe he’s doing what he did at dinner. It will be unexpected, a surprise. I keep telling myself that this is a stupid idea, that if he hasn’t shown up at the store or texted me after ten days that I should leave it alone, but I slip the toy on anyway. I go back to my home makeover show, but now I can’t focus. I’m hyper-aware of the toy between my legs, half hoping it will turn on, half believing it won’t. I have the day off tomorrow, so I drink more wine, I watch more episodes of the show, and eventually, I fall asleep on the couch.