Her eyes linger on my face, and I stare at the floor, refusing to meet her eyes.
“But you’re certain this is what you want to do?”
I nod my head miserably, feeling even worse as I realise how many minutes Finley has spent coaxing me already. I’m wasting both of our times.
“Laugh.”
“Yeah, not in the mood.”
“No shit.”
She puts the camera back on the stand and leans down, tickling me until I’m fighting her off. “What are you doing?” I say between snorts of spontaneous laughter.
“Getting you in the mood.”
“Oh, this is how you get the ladies into bed, is it?” I ask, feeling cheerful for the first time in hours. “Remind me never to take the Finley express.”
“Get your kit off, woman.”
I pull the sweatshirt off again and reluctantly release the edge of the blanket.
“No, keep that around you. Look over here.”
I follow her fingers, rolling my eyes as she buzzes her hand in a circle. “Is this a sobriety test or what?”
“Getting drunk is a wonderful idea, but I’m all out. Now look over here.” Finley zipped her hand to the other side, snapping her fingers. “Now get on all fours.”
“Who knew you were such a bossy boots?”
“Ah, everybody who’s ever met me,” she replies. “What are all these toys? Read some boxes out for me, please. I might need to take one or two off your hands.”
I read the back of one. “This is a finger simulator,” I start, then break into a giggle. “Presumably for people who lack fingers.”
“No need to get all ableist on us. Just read.”
“To provide stimulation, working your way from the outer labial folds until you end on the sweet spot.”
“Sounds delicious.”
I turn the machine on, the tiny purple tip buzzing furiously. “If this is its lowest setting, I’m legitimately scared of what the manufacturers think fingers are. There must be something lost in translation.”
“Try it.”
“On me? While you’re in the room?” I shake my head. “Not sure that’s safe.”
“I’ll try to contain myself,” Finley gibes back at me. “Some lesbians can restrain themselves. Just promise you’ll let me know if you want me to jump your bones.”
I burst out laughing, holding the buzzing wand near my crotch with one leg propped against the bed and the other bent and splayed on the floor. “Yeah. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Try on another outfit.” Finley points to a dark purple corset with matching G-string. “That’s my favourite.”
“Can you help me with it?” I ask, trying to hold the edges together and hook them and finding it impossible to perform both tasks simultaneously.
She lends a hand and I squeeze myself into the garment, my back instantly straightening while my bust pops out. “Oh, wow.” Finley turns the phone around to show me. “If you’re not keeping that, can I have it? It looks like you just spent a month dieting yet went up three bra sizes.”
“You can have it straight away,” I complain. “Good luck with the not being able to breathe.”
“That’s fine. It’s overrated anyway.”
