Hudson wouldn’t look at me, so I had to observe him in the patinaed mirror lining the back of the cocktail bar.
“I just can’t imagine people who would tell the world about their sexual desires,” he muttered.
“Sexual desires aren’t shameful,” I reminded him. It was my motto while working at BuzzCorp. My guiding star.
“They might not be shameful,” he countered. “It’s just that people can shame you for them. People are judgmental. Small-minded.”
That was true. We saw it everywhere we looked—in legislation trying to ban the sale of sex toys, in apps designed to monitor your partner’s or family member’s porn consumption, in politicians excluding sexual health materials from freedom-of-speech laws. People could be judgmental and take that prejudice to extremes. I couldn’t fault him for thinking something that was patently true.
“Is that why you play your fantasies so close to the chest?” I asked. “You know I’ll never judge you, right?”
“I wasn’t entirely truthful earlier,” he muttered. “When we were talking about my ex-girlfriend. I did…Itriedto communicate some things I was interested in. She laughed at me. Basically called me a freak. I never brought it up again. I hated feeling so…so wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong about you, Hudson. And anyone who won’t accept you like you are isn’t worth your time.”
Finally, he turned from the mirror. His lips quirked. “You’re right. She wasn’t the one. But still, those are strong words coming from a girl who only let herself make friends a few weeks ago.”
“I’m learning. And what’s the point of knowledge if you don’t pass it on?” I teased.
I thought he might say more. Might accept my advice and admit that I was right, that it was good and healthy to embrace oneself, no matter the social consequences. But I should have known better. He couldn’t do that. Instead, he shifted the subject. “Good point. Now, what sex toy knowledge are you going to pass on to me tonight?”
I mulled it over. Then I put my hand on his knee. My pussy clenched for the wanting of him. “What do you know about cock rings?”
30
Didn’t Peg You for an Ass Man
You ever wake up and justknowthat everything is going to whomp? Like, before your eyes even open, you have just, like, this sixth sense activate, alerting every sleeper lizard brain cell to incoming danger? I’d read in academic papers that human intuition could be strong, a leftover, involuntary sensory processing maneuver our brains did from back in the days when cavemen had to sense the presence of lurking saber-toothed tigers.
I guess my ancestors only survived the saber-tooths by sheer dumb luck, though, because I didn’t have that. When I encountered a bad day, it was like a blizzard of paper clips or getting broadsided by a clown car full of drunk fish—unexpected and inexplicable.
Of all the disasters that I considered befalling me when I started hooking up with Hudson, the one Ihadn’tconsidered was the one that was most likely to happen.
Getting my period.
So, the morning after our experiment with cock rings (Hudson wasn’t a fan; he didn’t feel much difference), I woke up feeling disgusting. Cramps. Tight hips. Headache. The urge to pukemy guts out. The occasional intense, shooting pain in my cervix, often so painful it made me double over.
Y’know. Girl stuff.
Despite my IUD, I still got hormonal flare-ups consistent with a menses. I cursed my luck but popped some Advil and brushed it off. Not much I could do about it.
Unfortunately, hormonal fluctuations were the least of my issues. While Clara, Leelah, and Addie were sympathetic to my plight (Clara plying me with organic 99% dark chocolate—gross; Leelah bringing me a heating pad from her desk—better; and Addie keeping everyone away from my office like an attack dog), the same could not be said for my mother, who chose the perfect time to make another surprise appearance.
At least this time it was by phone.
“One of us could have been dead,” she said by way of greeting when I finally picked up after her tenth attempt. “And you don’t answer your phone?”
“Mom, I’m so sorry,” I replied, not sorry but knowing it was what she wanted to hear. “I was in a meeting.”
“Yes, yes, so important. The fate of humanity rests on your ability to churn out a new personal massager. Excuse me for the interruption.”
“We’re on a deadline—”
Her eye roll was almost audible over the phone connection. “Or maybe you’re just spending time with thatboy. Is that it, hm? You can’t answer your mother’s phone calls because of him?”
“No.”
I just didn’twantto answer my mother’s phone calls because of him. Our every interaction now chafed against Hudson’s indelible declaration.
