He still hasn’t moved yet, just taking in the magnificence.
“You want to go in?”
He’s out of the car before he even replies. “Hell yes.”
The first thing we see when we enter is the counter made of an old pinball machine. The goth behind the counter glances at us, determines that we’re old enough to not need to show our ID, and recites, “Front room is vintage and leather clothes. The dressing room requires a key. The second floor is videos, magazines, and adult toys. If you’re looking for something a little more adventurous, feel free to explore our dungeon downstairs.” The whole thing is delivered in the bored monotone of someone who’s said it too many times. “Let me know if you need any help.”
As we walk away from the counter, Alex mutters, “They could have at least tried to slip in some game references.”
“Maybe they’re concerned about copyright.”
He grumbles in acceptance, then gets distracted by the carpet on the floor mimicking a game maze. Little pixelated fruits are hidden in some of the corners, and he starts following the path toward a cherry. He’s so focused on the treasure that he bumps right into a rack of clothes.
I steady him with a hand on his lower back and guide him around the racks. The goth at the counter could exclusively buy their clothes here and never run out of options. There are corsets and lace panties and assless chaps, but there’s also T-shirts, layered skirts, and frilly dresses. Most of the clothes seem to be geared toward the feminine, but an entire back wall has thrifted leather jackets. I grab a sleeve, rubbing my thumb over the buttery material.
“So do you like leather?” Alex asks, sidling up next to me.
“I like a good leather jacket. I haven’t explored it much in the bedroom.” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and keep my tone casual as I ask, “What about you?”
He plucks a pair of fully leather pants off a rack. “It seems … stiff.” He hangs them up again and meanders through the aisles until he arrives at a display of lace lingerie sets.
I brace for him to mention Theresa or something about their sex life.
Instead, he picks up a pair of black lace panties and holds them in front of himself at waist level. My mouth goes dry as I watch him twist and turn in front of a mirror as if modeling them. The urge to ask the goth for a key surges up in me, though I know underwear isn’t something people try on.
“What’s the appeal?”
I have to swallow before I can ask, “Of what?”
“Of men in lingerie.”
I’m not sure what inspired the question, so I’m careful with my answer, “I think some people like the juxtaposition of the masculine and the feminine.” As he continues to fiddle with the panties, I ask gently, “You are bisexual, right?” He implied as much through a dozen different ways—flirting with me at the bar, for one, and a brief mention of college escapades—but he hasn’t outright stated his sexuality.
“Yeah, but it’s been a while. I had two boyfriends in college while I was still figuring things out, and it’s just been girlfriends since them.”
“It’s probably easier to date women,” I reply.
He makes a noise that’s difficult to interpret, then finally puts the panties down. I let out a breath that’s a little too close to a sigh of disappointment. “Anyway, I was very vanilla in college, and well …” He trails off, thankfully side-stepping any mention of Theresa.
Right now, I want to pretend that the two of us are shopping together to find what we both want rather than as a distraction from our messy lives.
“Do you want to try wearing lingerie?” I ask. It’s a daring question, probably pushing the boundaries of our tenuous relationship, but he brought it up first.
He shoots me a sly look, pink lips curving in a mischievous smile. “What if I want to seeyouin it?” The words are barely out of his mouth before his face flushes red as a tomato. “I, um, I mean, sorry, that was inappropriate—”
I reach past him and pick up the largest pair—a 3x—and hold it in front of me the same way he did. “You think it’ll fit?”
He’s still off-kilter from his own words, so he just bobs his head awkwardly, then slips between the aisles of clothes, toward the stairs at the back.
I bring the panties with me.
We come to a crossroads, standing at the junction of two staircases. The stairs up to the second floor are lined with rainbow lights. The stairs down to the basement are lined in red. A red neon sign above the basement entrance reads "dungeon" with two 20-sided dice, one for a critical failure and one for a critical success. Alex’s eyes light up when he sees the sign. “Hey, I know what that means now.”
I grin at his enthusiasm. “Do you want to go down to the dungeon?”
He eyes the curtain of gray plastic chains, then looks up the stairs to the second floor. The carpet runner shows an alien abduction in progress, with a classic domed spaceship on the top step and a light beaming up cows and figures from the farm on the bottom step. “Do you think the dildos are game-themed or normal?”
The question surprises me. Since he’d only been with women recently, I assumed he’d be more interested in cock-sleeves than dildoes. I can’t tell if his words are a hint or pure curiosity.
