Round 4 Challenge: Weave an element of Fyor’s story into your passage. It should be no more than 450 words.
Liz called me the next day to ask if I’d go with her to a “classy sex toy shop” in SoHo called Kiki de Montparnasse. She wasn’t kidding about the classy part. It had a dimly lit mansionesque interior hung with original Richard Avedon and Man Ray photos. Even the dressing room was velvet-draped. The place had style. Style with a price tag. One of their titanium “dilettos” went for almost $4000 (dildos had been renamed “dilettos” and sex toys “instruments of pleasure”).
I knew Liz wanted lingerie to jumpstart her boyfriend, who had zero sex drive. They did it like once a week. Maybe that’s normal if you’re married with kids but she was 22 and ready to spend half her waking hours spread-eagle. She was always going on about it.
From inside the changing booth, Liz said, “So how did it go with Ashton last night?”
“I told him he was a stingy prick who only wanted a cheap lay.”
“Are you crazy? I liked him.”
“Yeah, I noticed at the bar.”
Liz parted the velvet curtains and popped her head out. “You’re kidding right? I hope you’re kidding.”
I said, “Come on, nobody said flirting with your friend’s date was illegal.” I was this close to saying I’d give her his number since he, unlike her boyfriend, might actually get it on with her.
“Yeah, and nobody said wanting to have sex was illegal either. You should have gone for it.”
“I’m waiting for the right guy.”
“Waiting! Waiting! I haven’t even tried any backdoor action yet and you’re saying you’re the one waiting!” Liz broke into laughter. “You’re the weirdest girl I’ve ever known, Trisha. God bless you.”
“I’m straight as an arrow compared to the boys I’ve found on the Internet. I’m done hunting boys online.”
Liz said, “I just read about some guy in an Internet cult who stuck his dog in the washing machine.”
“See what I mean? Freakoids.”
Liz stepped out of the booth in a black lacy bodysuit. “What do you think? It’s $200 off.”
“Turn around.” She did and wiggled her hips. “Makes your bum look nice.”
“How about my boobs?” she said, turning to the side and cupping them from below. They projected, that’s how big they were. Like 99.99 percent of big-boobed girls, Liz always wore low cut blouses so boys could gape at them. It was annoying but I tried to remember she didn’t have much else to work with.
So I said, “They say come and get me.”
She forked up $185 and bought it. Nothing changed in her sex life. She should have taken my advice and gone for a diletto instead.