Portland Noir - Kevin Sampsell [73]
Amy shakes her head about Del. I suck the bubbles up from the bottom of my cup. “That blows,” I say.
She stares at her phone, mid-text. “His dick was too big. It hurt.”
“Okay, well, moving forward. Top 10 best things about vibrators. I’ll start. They come in shapes like dolphins and beavers. Your turn.” Amy will play Top 10 anything. It’s my way of making her feel okay about things she doesn’t want to do. One time we played Top 10 best things about abortions.
“Uh,” she finishes her text and puts her phone away in her purse. “Some of them ejaculate, I’ve heard, which is absolutely hilarious.”
“Good call. Number three, some of them light up. I even had one once that had glitter in the middle.”
“Isn’t that a health hazard?” Amy asks.
“Not if you wash it properly. Your turn. Four.”
“They don’t forget your birthday,” she offers.
“Oh, bitter. I like it.”
She adds quietly with a smirk, “And they can’t get you pregnant, either.”
I nod. “Six. They never get jealous when you sleep with someone else.”
Amy rolls her eyes. “And they never choose to play Xbox over you.”
“You can easily twist the base to adjust the speed.”
“Number nine … When they get tired, you can just put in more batteries.”
“Excellent point. And number ten, of course—multiple orgasms. Thank God for the Hitachi magic wand.”
Amy puts down her cup mid-sip. “Wait,” she says. “I thought the Bunny was the best one.”
“You mean the Rabbit. And you watch too much Sex and the City.”
“So then which one do I buy?”
“Well, that depends,” I reply, “on whether you have clitoral or vaginal orgasms.”
Amy bites the tiny swizzle straw in her latte, opens her mouth, and then closes it again.
I try to translate. “Neither?” I ask as we pull into the strip mall parking lot. The windows are frosted white and the neon sign above the door is written in swirly red letters with a heart dotting the i: Cathie’s. Amy opens her door and jumps out of the car to avoid the question.
Inside, I help her decipher the wall of fake wieners. I explain the difference between jelly, cyberskin, and plastic, and the importance of noting battery sizes.
“See this one?” I pick up a slim white number from the wall. “This one takes double-As, so that means it’s kind of like a quiet hum.” I pick up a bigger one, an inch and a half in diameter, with a pink leopard pattern all over it. “This one takes C batteries. It’s like having a didgeridoo against your clit.” I smile and close my eyes. “Mmm. My favorite.”
Amy bites her lip. “How do I know which one to pick? Should I get that thing with the hook on the end?” She picks up one that looks like a dentist’s instrument—long and thin with a slight curve at the tip.
“Have you found your G spot? That’s what the hook is for.”
Amy cocks her head in response, her body now mirroring the shape of the vibrator in her hand. The way she holds it, it almost looks like an abstract self-portrait.
I smack myself in the forehead with the pink leopard wiener. “This is ridiculous,” I say. “Do you do anything down there besides piss and put in the occasional tampon?”
Amy smirks and puts it back. “I know you think I’m an idiot, Kate, but I’m not.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m getting more head than you right now,” she says with a self-satisfied smile.
I roll my eyes. “Boy head, whatever. He doesn’t give you orgasms!”
“Sometimes orgasms aren’t everything,” Amy explains.
“Only people who can’t have orgasms say stuff like that.”
Amy picks up a slim silver vibrator with a body that slowly moves in and out. The base is cupped like a spoon. The box says, Hummingbird. “How about this one?”
I nod. “Sure, it looks good. I think that little spoony part is for your clit.”
Amy holds it firmly, decisively. “Okay. I think we’re done.” Her eyes dart around the store and she lowers her voice to a whisper. “See that lady over there?”
I turn to the display of butt plugs and pick up one like I’m interested. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot an older woman in