Chapter 2: Shopping Spill
The velvet box felt ridiculously heavy in Caitlin’s purse, a dense little secret burning a hole through the leather. She carried it all the way to Sarah’s apartment like a smuggler, her mind alternating between giddy disbelief and sheer panic.
Sarah’s door was always unlocked. Caitlin pushed it open to the sound of a jazz standard crackling from an old radio and the rich smell of dark roast. Sunlight poured through west-facing windows, illuminating motes of dust dancing above a chaos of art books and throw pillows.
“In here!” Sarah called from the kitchen.
Caitlin didn’t answer. She walked straight into the living room, dropped her purse on the floor, and collapsed face-first onto the deep, forgiving cushions of the corduroy sofa. A long, muffled groan escaped her.
Sarah appeared in the doorway, holding two glasses of red wine. She took in the scene: her best friend, a puddle of existential dread on her furniture. “That good, huh?” She set the glasses on the coffee table, nudging aside a stack of magazines. “I’m assuming this is a wine-required situation. Did he book a non-refundable trip to a fetish resort?”
Caitlin rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “Worse.” She sat up, dug into her purse, and without a word, tossed the small, plush box onto the cushion between them.
It landed with a soft thump. Sarah blinked at it, then at Caitlin, a slow smile dawning. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Open it.”
“I can’t. You open it.”
With a theatrical flourish, Sarah picked up the box and flipped the lid. Nestled inside against a bed of white satin was a smooth, teardrop-shaped object. It was a deep, midnight blue, almost black, with a flared base that curled into a delicate swirl. It looked more like a modernist art piece than something meant for a body.
“Oh, honey,” Sarah breathed, a laugh bubbling in her voice. “He bought you a beginner’s plug. And a nice one. Silicone. Classy.”
Caitlin grabbed her wine and took a huge gulp. “He left it on my pillow. With a note. It said ‘No pressure. Just an option. Think of it as a bookmark.’ A bookmark, Sarah. What does that even mean?”
“It means he’s being adorable and trying to make it less scary.” Sarah plucked the plug from its bed, holding it up to the light. It was smaller than Caitlin had expected. Substantial, but not intimidating. “This is good. This is him listening. He’s not demanding a damn thing. He’s giving you a tool. A very sleek, non-threatening tool.”
“It’s a butt plug. There is nothing non-threatening about its intended destination.” Caitlin hid her face in her hands, but she was laughing now, a slightly hysterical edge to it. “I opened the box and I just started giggling. Then I almost cried. Then I put it in my purse and fled the house. He’s at the gym. I think I’m having an out-of-body experience.”
Sarah set the plug down carefully on the box. “Okay. First, breathe. Second, finish that wine. This is a positive development. He did his research. He didn’t buy some monstrous, bejeweled dragon thing from a gas station. This is the Toyota Corolla of anal toys. Safe, reliable, gets you where you need to go.”
The analogy was so absurd it grounded Caitlin. She peeked through her fingers. “I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Well, you don’t plant it in a pot and hope it grows, that’s for sure.” Sarah settled back into the armchair, tucking her feet beneath her. “You explore. On your own. That’s step one. No Nick, no performance anxiety. Just you, in the bathroom, with a whole lot of lube and curiosity.”
Caitlin felt a fresh wave of heat flood her face. “By myself?”
“Yes, you absolute Puritan. By yourself. Your body is a mystery to you in this particular way. You get to be the detective. You figure out what feels like nothing, what feels weird, what feels… maybe not terrible. You learn the geography so when—if—you ever invite someone else along, you’re the tour guide. You’re in charge.”
The idea was somehow more terrifying and yet more manageable than the thought of involving Nick from the start. This was a secret experiment. A solo mission. Her own private curiosity, shielded from anyone’s eyes, even his.
“What if I hate it?” Caitlin asked, her voice small.
“Then you know. And you tell Nick it’s not for you, and you have actual data to back it up. It’s not a fear of the unknown anymore. It’s a known quantity. That’s power, Cait.” Sarah leaned forward, her expression earnest. “But what if you don’t hate it? What if it’s just… a new sensation? Something that belongs entirely to you?”
Caitlin looked at the plug again, its curves catching the low afternoon light. A bookmark, he’d called it. A marker for a new page. She thought of his patience in the kitchen, the way he’d immediately said they could forget it. He wasn’t pushing. He was presenting a possibility, wrapped in velvet.
“He really did listen,” she said softly.
“He did. Now you have to listen to yourself.” Sarah nodded toward the box. “Want me to talk you through the basics? The glorious, unglamorous logistics?”
Caitlin took a deep, shaking breath. The initial shock was receding, replaced by a nervous, thrumming energy. She finished her wine, the warmth spreading through her chest. She looked at the plug, then at her best friend’s open, non-judgmental face.
“Okay,” she said. “Talk.”
Sarah grinned, setting down her wine glass. “Okay. Logistics. First, everything you think you know from bad porn is a lie. Forget it. This isn’t about pounding. It’s about pressure and patience. Think of it as a very focused stretch, like yoga for one specific, internal muscle.”
She got up and headed to her bathroom, calling over her shoulder. “And the supreme ruler of this entire realm is lube. Not a little dab. A generous, ridiculous amount. You reapply like you’re afraid of a drought.”
She returned with a sleek bottle, placing it next to the plug on the coffee table. “Silicone-based. Lasts longer. And you’ll want it body-temperature, so maybe roll the bottle in your hands for a minute first. Cold lube is a mood-killer of epic proportions.”
Caitlin stared at the two objects side-by-side. The simple, clinical terminology was somehow calming. This was just a process. A series of steps. “Okay. Lube. Temperature. Got it.”
“Then you relax. And I don’t mean just ‘think calm thoughts.’ You breathe into it. Literally. When you go to insert anything, you exhale slowly. Your body naturally relaxes on the exhale.” Sarah demonstrated, taking a deep breath in and letting it out in a long, audible stream. “See? That’s the secret key. The exhale is everything.”
Caitlin mimicked the breath, feeling her own shoulders drop. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding them near her ears. “Exhale. Okay.”
“And if it hurts, you stop. Not ‘push through,’ stop. Discomfort is one thing, a sharp pain is a full-stop signal. You listen to that. Always.” Sarah’s tone was gentle but absolute. “So. You wanna try? Here. Now. No one here but us.”
The question hung in the sunlit air. Caitlin’s heart thumped once, hard, against her ribs. This was the moment. She could say no, pack the velvet box away, and let the idea fade. But Nick’s hopeful face flashed in her mind. Her own whispered no in the kitchen, not to end the conversation, but to continue it.
“Here?” Caitlin squeaked.
“My bathroom is clean, I promise. It’s the most private public space you’re going to get. And I’ll be right out here. You can talk to me through the door, or just be quiet. Whatever you need.”
It felt absurd. It felt safe. Caitlin nodded, a quick, jerky motion. She picked up the plug and the bottle of lube. They felt foreign in her hands. “Okay.”
The bathroom was small, tiled in white, flooded with the same golden afternoon light. Caitlin locked the door and leaned against it. Her reflection in the mirror looked wide-eyed, a little flushed. You can do this. It’s just information. She ran the bottle under warm water from the tap, rolling it between her palms as Sarah had suggested.
She followed the steps like a ritual. The initial touch was strange, clinical. The lube was slick and warm. She focused on her breathing, on the low hum of Sarah’s radio from the other room. On the exhale, she applied gentle, persistent pressure.
There was a tightness, an intense, unfamiliar fullness. It wasn’t pain. It was just… new. She paused, breathing through it, letting the sensation settle. It felt less like an invasion and more like an arrival. The flared base rested snugly against her.
She stood there, hands braced on the sink, and just felt. The world had narrowed to this quiet room and this specific, private experience. The initial shock melted into a low, constant awareness. It wasn’t pleasure, not exactly. It was presence.
A minute passed. Then another. The tension in her belly unwound, replaced by a pulse of something else—a warmth, a deepening sense of calm control. She moved slightly, experimentally. The sensation shifted, intensifying the feeling of fullness.
A startled, soft laugh escaped her lips. It wasn’t horrible. It was just… a thing. A thing she was doing, by herself, for herself. The plug, this bookmark, was marking a place in her own body she’d never consciously acknowledged.
“You alive in there?” Sarah’s voice was muffled, gentle through the door.
“Yeah.” Caitlin’s voice sounded normal. Steady. “I’m… yeah.”
“How’s the geography?”
Caitlin looked at her reflection again. The flush on her skin had deepened, but the fear in her eyes was gone. It had been replaced by a focused, curious light. “Strange,” she called back. “But not bad. Just strange.”
“Good. That’s perfect. Stay with it as long as you want. Or take it out. Your call, boss.”
Caitlin decided to stay. She washed her hands, the water cool on her skin, and unlocked the door. She walked back into the living room, moving with a new, careful awareness. She felt hyper-conscious of the hidden weight, the secret she carried in plain sight under her jeans.
Sarah looked up from her phone, her gaze assessing. She saw the changed posture, the calm in Caitlin’s face. “Well?”
Caitlin sank back onto the couch, the motion different now. She felt the subtle internal shift. “It’s in,” she said, simply.
“And?”
“And…” Caitlin searched for the words. She thought of Nick’s note. Just an option. She wasn’t having an epiphany. She wasn’t seeing fireworks. She was just sitting on her best friend’s couch, fully and completely aware of a part of herself that had been a dark, fearful unknown an hour before. The fear had dissipated, leaving only fact. “And it’s okay. It’s just a thing. I’m just… here. With it.”
Sarah’s smile was slow and bright, full of genuine pride. “Congratulations. You just conducted your first independent research. What’s the verdict?”
Caitlin let her head fall back against the cushions. The plug felt less alien now, more like a part of the moment—the sunlight, the jazz, the taste of wine on her tongue. A secret experiment, successfully concluded. She didn’t know what it meant for her and Nick. But she knew, with absolute clarity, what it meant for her.
“The verdict,” she said, a real, unforced smile touching her lips, “is that I’m not scared of it anymore.”