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“Go.”

“Just say thank you and pretend I’m a very generous fairy godmother with bad boundaries.”

“I’m never saying that.”

“You already did. In your heart.”

He stands, gathers the empty plastic bags back into his arms, and starts toward the door. He pauses just before stepping out.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, glancing back at me, “I think you’re braver than you know.”

And then he disappears down the hall, leaving me in a quiet room with clean clothes, a toothbrush, and a silicone penis on the bed.

This is not how I thought today would go. Not even close.

Chapter 7

Ani

The pink silicone penis is still on the bed.

It’s not alone. There are two ring-shaped devices I don’t understand, a bullet-shaped thing in pale lavender, a wand with an oddly flexible head, and what appears to be a handful of travel-sized lube packets in a little pouch.

Each box is glossy and slightly ridiculous, printed with soft fonts and confident promises.

Who does this?

Who buys a stranger a full set of sex toys?

Then again, who blurts out that they’re a virgin who’s never had an orgasm to a man they literally just met?

We’re a match made in hell.

It feels like some kind of horror version of a rom-com. Except instead of a misunderstanding and a grand romantic gesture, I got a plastic sack of pleasure products and the mounting certainty that I’ll never be able to make eye contact with Finn again.

He didn’t even seem embarrassed. Just grinned and dropped the whole thing like he was delivering groceries. Should I be horrified or touched?

Maybe both?

I’ve never owned anything like this. I’ve never even considered owning anything close to this. My mother would faint. My aunts would start lighting candles. The kind of woman who explored things like this was the kind of woman we prayed for. Quietly and from a safe distance. Just in case her sins were contagious.

If they knew I had these… oh, boy. I’d be marched to confession, then therapy, then confession again. Maybe even some kind of special camp for “women like me.” And yet…

There’s one toy I keep going back to.

It’s smaller than the others. The label reads:Clitoral Suction Stimulator—discreet, body-safe, beginner-friendly.

Beginner—that’s definitely me.

I’m not just new to this—I’m blank, completely untouched. I know what goes where, obviously. I took health class. I’ve even watched a few videos, though never without an extreme amount of guilt and shame.

I know the mechanics. But knowledge isn't the same thing as permission. And I was raised on rules. I’ve always known what I wasn’t allowed to do. I just never stopped long enough to consider what I actually want. Or maybe I did, and just buried the wanting so deep I forgot it was mine.

My fingers hover over the box. Then pull back.

I shake out my hands. It’s something I do when I feel myself locking up. Then I count to five as I breathe in, and back to five as I breathe out. My hand still trembles a little when I finally reach forward and slide it closer.

The instructions are printed on a small fold-out card tucked beneath the molded insert. The directions are clear and printed in multiple languages. I read them three times before I touch anything. The device itself is smooth, shaped to fit in the palm of my hand. There’s a single button at the base. I press it carefully.