Dangerous Curves Ahead

Chapter 3

Three

A few days later, my hands still shook from signing the new publishing contract. I stood to make more money for the first steamy book than I made in my last three, sweet books combined. I’d spent the last few days researching the erotic romance industry. A lot of paperback books were tossed across my apartment in disgust. I couldn’t believe that modern, thinking, autonomous women were truly into these things.

Billionaires. Stepbrothers. Pseudo-i****t. s******g?

I was trying to get away from my family. Not pull them into my bedroom!

By the end of the week, I still had no clue how I would turn my sweet, virginal heroines into wanton, sexpots that shook their naughty booties at their new daddies or brothers by marriage.

I was already on plan D when I pulled up to a storefront on the other side of town. It did not look like a s*x shop. It looked like a boutique sandwiched between a beauty supply store and an electronics store. Across the street was a Babies R Us.

I’d been sitting in my car watching people go in and out of the front doors of Adonis’ Novelties. They were a mixed crowd. Mostly middle-aged couples or women of an undeterminable age. It couldn’t have been a den of heathens if mature people went in. I just hadn’t seen anyone come back out yet.

The website for Adonis’ Novelties said they held classes and sold educational and s****l health products. That’s why I was here.

I couldn’t get past the first few chapters of the best-selling, steamy romance books. I’d tried watching p**n online and never got past the first five minutes of any scene. It was so clear that the women in these grainy videos were ‘working’ and not enjoying the benefits. They kept swiping their hair out of the way of the camera lens. Their heavily made-up faces kept checking for the placement of the camera, paying more attention to it than their coworkers. And their moaning and dirty talking had me hitting the mute button. I didn’t know what an o****m felt like, having never had one myself, but it was clear that their show of passion was all faked.

So, I was here at this adult boutique shop that promised art p**n for women by women. I just needed to go in there and get what I needed in order to do my job and keep my independent lifestyle.

I got out of the comfort of Lucille and crossed the parking lot. No sooner did I step onto the sidewalk did two cars zoom up, motors growling. Wheels screeched in protest and smoke rose from beneath the tires. The drivers did a turn I’d only seen in the movies and slid perfectly into the parking lines, landing side by side.

Inside the vehicles, two young men laughed as they shouted at each other through open windows. In the car closer to me was a black man with dark shades that hid his eyes. Even with the shades, I could tell he was looking at me. Through to his passenger window, I saw a blond man. He wore no sunglasses and his smiling, blue eyes pierced my soul. The mischief in them made a giggle bubble in my chest. The heat in them had me pressing my thighs together and ducking my head as my cheeks prepared to blush.

The blond cut his engine and got out. The dark-skinned man held up his middle finger. The blond continued laughing as he crossed the street.

The dark-skinned man turned his gaze back to me. His head dipped, allowing me to see his eyes behind the shades. He scanned my body with a curl to his lip that made me gulp. Men rarely looked at me like that. I felt the heat pouring off of him as he sucked in his lower lip. He dipped his shades down lower, so I saw the intention in his eyes. He winked at me before pulling off in a roar of engines.

When I looked up, the blond was checking me out. His eyes fastened to my breasts. I crossed my arms over my chest. That’s when he met my eyes. His were unapologetic and crystal blue. Fathomless blue, like seeing down into the ocean. Only it went on forever and ever.

“Are you headed in?”

I gasped in a lungful of air as his voice brought me back to the surface. I looked at the storefront door. My cheeks blazed red. My mouth wouldn’t work to deny my intended destination.

He opened the door for me. Then, to my horror, he followed me inside. He was obviously a creep. I turned to confront him, but he moved past me and headed to the back of the store, then down a hall that looked private.

I turned away from his retreating figure to the sounds of moaning on the other side of the wall. There was a small classroom in the corner of the storefront. The door was open.

Inside, I saw couples; men and women, women paired with women, men paired with men. In each pairing, one partner lay on the floor on a set of cushions. The other partner sat next to them. The partners who lay on the floor had beautiful woven blankets covering their midsections. Their legs lay straight out and their arms were above their heads or out in a T.

It reminded me of the Crucifixion. Though not a single person looked distressed. Everyone’s eyes were closed as they all moaned deeply, gutturally, like a chant. My eye caught the sign on the door. Orgasmic Meditation, it read.

My eyes bulged out of my head. I turned back to the people spread out on the pillow-littered floor. They were all fully clothed. No one was touching anyone else.

Was this a way to achieve an o****m? Just through deep breathing and groaning? They sounded exactly like the women in the online p**n videos. But no one was fussing with their hair, or looking around for a camera.

My eyes fell to the person leading the chant. He was older, with a white beard and a gentle smile that reminded me of the preacher at my grandparents’ church. My ears turned back to the chanting which called to mind the hymns we used to sing on Sunday mornings. There had been such a feeling of community and love and devotion sitting in the pews.

With the chanting filling my ears, I felt weightless. My spirit felt lulled to enter the room, to join in on the praise song. But then the partners, who were all kneeling, reached beneath the blankets. I couldn’t see anything but the movements of their hands beneath the covers. Were they touching…? They couldn’t be. Could they?

“Can I help you?”

My body jerked as I turned to see a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of the 60’s flower child movement. She could’ve easily been my mother’s contemporary with her white blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and smooth skin. But this woman’s look was effortless, natural. Not forced and controlled like my mother’s.

“What are you looking for, my dear?” she asked. “Wait, let me guess?”

My throat seized as I watched and waited for her to make up her mind about me and my proclivities. What if she took me to the dildos on the opposite side of the store? Or over to the lesbian video collection in the corner?

“You’re here for the Candida movies,” she said after a brief pause. “Am I right? I pulled them aside for you.”

“Thank you,” I breathed in relief.

Candida Royalle was the maker of women-centered, art p**n that promised authentic portrayals of love-making and sensuality.

“You should also check out her book, How to Tell a n***d Man What to Do. It teaches women to take control of their own s*x life. It’s perfect if you’re having trouble getting your partner to please you.”

“Oh, no. It’s not for me. I mean it is, but not in that way. You see, I’m a writer.”

“Ah, for research then?” She guided me to the cash register and began the process of ringing me up. “Is your new book fiction or nonfiction?”

I hesitated. But this woman was not my mother. She seemed interested in what I was doing for a living. Definitely not my mother.

“Fiction," I said. "I’ve been writing sweet romance novels, but my publisher wants me to add steam and open doors to the love scenes.”

The woman nodded sagely as she handed back my credit card. “Writing s*x is not as easy as insert tab A into slot B. It’s about emotion and feeling and communication.”

Emotion and feeling, I understood. It was the tabs into slots I was utterly clueless about. Not utterly. I knew what went where. I just didn’t know how to describe them with the emotion and feeling of the act. Everything I’d seen had been faked. But these videos I was purchasing were supposed to be the real deal, full of emotion and feeling. The closest thing to voyeurism without being in physical attendance.

She handed the package to me and leaned over the counter as though our business dealing was not yet over. “You know, I was just having this conversation with my -Christopher, come here for a second.”

I turned and saw the blond speedster carrying a box of what looked like large pacifiers. He got closer, his eyes lighting on me. When he came up beside me, I saw the label on the box. It read; Anal Plugs.