Becoming Experienced

There are several of us in the group that could have gone—but unluckily (luckily?) the others were all handling other aspects of this event—so it was down to me and Mary Lynn. I enjoy Mary Lynn at parties, and we call ourselves sisters in our “family” of friends, but we’d never really spent any time together before. However, there’s nothing like shopping to open new lines of communication. It’s just that in this sort of store—what communication lines are you opening?

I waited for her in the parking lot. This sort of store is in a nice strip mall in one of the expensive suburbs of Chicago. Fantastic Sams, Rosati’s pizza, this store and a tattoo parlor, all scrunched into one strip mall in Libertyville. This store isn’t some place with no windows and a parking lot in back across the state border. No, this is a basic suburban type place—it’s just that when I lived in Libertyville, we never had such a thing.

After half-an-hour of waiting in my car and seeing several guys in the parking lot come out of the Fantastic Sam’s or the pizza joint, I finally felt like I should go in. Where is Mary Lynn? What if one of my parents’ friends saw me waiting in the car? Was that guy looking at me? This is right on the main street in Libertyville. God forbid that I look like a lascivious stalker or whatever.

I have a real job, went to college, have been naked in front of a man, bought a house; I’m a liberated woman. I could handle this. Yeah, right. I could go through those doors. Sure.

And I’m a shopper. Nothing I like better than buying clothes, shoes, books. From the parking lot, I could see that there were all those sorts of these things inside. Granted, the shoes were glittery (not a bad thing!), the boots had four-inch heels, the clothing was peek-a-boo, lingerie barely-there, and the books—well, let’s just say they’re not what I usually find on the shelves of my favorite bookstore.

I am here for a bachelorette party. I am not a frequent shopper at this store. I wear basic white briefs—if daring, they’re colored—and I buy them at Wal-Mart in packs of three. I am a mature, inexperienced (but can you tell that?) adult. I put my chin up and walk into a store adorned by a neon sign that reads: FETISHWEAR. I’m pretty sure the, ah, color on my face stemmed from rosacea.

Where was Mary Lynn? I’m went over to the book area and browsed a little. I didn’t think I’d want anything with pictures so I picked up a book called Stories for Her, and just as I was starting reading the back—which was sort of unhelpful (it described the author, which didn't tell me a thing about the plot would this have a plot?) a clerk came over and asked if she could help me.

I don’t want to talk to people in here—not when I’m alone. Did I look like I needed help? Lots of help? Maybe, that’s why I don’t have a boyfriend? After my heart settled down from my throat, I put the book down and croaked, “Just looking!"

"I’m waiting for a friend. There’s this bachelorette party…”
“Oh, you should see the stuff in this section.”

She led me over to another area of the store and pointed out ice cube trays, cupcake tins and a large cake mold in a shape I’m not so sure I’d want to eat until I got to know it better. Maybe that’s why I don’t have a boyfriend? To be sure there were some female mammary glands, but most of the section, when used properly, would yield a shape I'm certain my friends would find little trouble carving into equal slices.

There were dice with naughty sayings, cake toppers like the snake on the spring idea. There was the bachelorette party T-shirt with a wide variety of requests for men at bars. My favorite was the ring toss.

I slipped away from the clerk and went looking around at the other stuff on the back wall. There were a variety of foreign objects whose function I couldn't quite determine—these are NOT discussed in the romance novels I read. There was an inflatable husband and an inflatable pet lamb. I figured one of the two would probably mow the grass.

The next section over from rings too big for fingers and beads too large and and too short for wrists was devoted to the kind of appendage that usually throbs in the literature I read. These promised to buzz, rotate and throb and came in an assortment of sizes and colors. Why was one sky blue and another lavender? Did color matter? I didn’t get closer than ten feet. True, I couldn't read the packaging to weigh the benefits of each model—and there were many models—but I didn't want to look like I was considering my options.

Where was Mary Lynn? There are lots of windows to the parking lot to showcase the many fine wares here at the store. And God knows enough traffic for haircuts and pizza rolls through that anyone could glance over and see me in here. Alone.

Where was Mary Lynn? Was the clerk looking suspiciously at me? Did I look like a shoplifter? Something worse? What if she called the cops? Where is Mary Lynn?

Deep breaths, in and out, in and out. You’ve been alone in the store with only two clerks for over twenty minutes, the sky hasn’t fallen, the earth hasn’t trembled and lightening hasn’t struck. Just chill.

They have a camera! They’re recording me in here, there’s EVIDENCE! I didn’t touch anything, didn’t get close to anything. Maybe I’ll just sit here in the middle of the most open spot and breathe. But not deeply. No, don’t want to be a heavy breather. Am I panting? How does that look on camera? Where is Mary Lynn?

Time to drift back to the book section—I’m usually most comfortable reading—and here were books that I hadn’t had a chance to see before. I might be inexperienced, but I wouldn’t want to act like it. Maybe I can learn something from one of these books. I picked one called Down and Dirty—maybe I could consider it an instruction manual for some of these store items? Okay, don’t read the back, though. Wouldn’t want to look too interested. Don’t need the camera to see that. The cover just has a high heel—so maybe it’ll tell me which is fetishwear: the shoes or the clothes. I am adult enough to buy this. I am adult enough to buy this. Uh-huh. I’ll tell people it’s for a friend, a birthday gift—no, no a divorcee gift—they won’t see through that. Right?

Mary Lynn finally arrives laughing about the mix up on where we were meeting. She can laugh—I just about fall on her neck in relief. She was sure that I was too much a good girl to actually be in the shop waiting. I didn’t want to explain the looks I was getting in the parking lot and the cameras and the breathing. Besides, I used to live in this town, someone I know might have come to the parking lot for one of the other stores—and I’d have been busted.

We wanted lingerie. I was partial to a leather sex swing. I wasn't quite sure where one might put such a thing, but where else could you get something like that! Also, I wanted an explanation of the different straps and stuff. I wondered if the helpful clerk would explain it. Unfortunately, Mary Lynn called “Mom,” and that idea was nixed.

I don’t get why when everyone knows you’re a greenhorn you get overridden about these things. Our friend was marrying a contractor, he would probably find a way to hang it securely. The store had it inside an iron trapezoid thing with a spring on it. We wouldn’t have had to buy the trapezoid—just the swing. The spring, I assumed, was included.

We found a couple of games the helpful clerk had suggested. Now that there were two of us giggling—definitely better to be with someone than not—the clerk had come back to help. We chose some items that would make the bride-to-be blush as we looked around. Mary Lynn moved closer to the shelving than I had been standing. She found coupons with pictures in the book area.

She is opening the books and looking at the pictures! Don’t breathe, don’t breathe, OHMIGOD! Best to leave the looking in Mary Lynn’s hands. I’ll just stand back and see if I can read the titles from five feet away, that’s okay. What is the Compleat Spanker?

She found restraints that were all about bachelorette parties. She found gels and she found mints that I wouldn’t want to be caught in a car accident with.

Mary Lynn and the clerk agreed that the edible underwear was an unwise purchase. Why? I mean, not that it looked like you could have put the licorice type things on easily—but obviously they both understood from experience. What’s the problem with edible underwear? And that’s bad, but the chocolate sauce right next to it is okay? Why?

The helpful clerk talked mostly to Mary Lynn, I think like most good retailers, she sensed who was leading this party, and who was just along for the ride.

At the cash register they had condoms on a stick, like a lollipop. Not the usual checkout candy but possibly more useful. I hung onto my book. I immediately told Mary Lynn that it was for a divorced friend. She believed me right? We did find some cards that were definitely not Hallmark approved, but fit the occasion. And then we received a couple of shopping bags that announced to the world where we'd been and what we had been doing there. I put my chin up one more time and handed them to Mary Lynn before putting the smaller bag underneith my coat and slinking back through the parking lot to my car.

Well, Mary Lynn was going to do the wrapping—so of course, she had to take them home.

I’m a woman of the world now. I’ve been to Paris, I’ve been to New York, and I’ve been to the store between Rosati's Pizza and the tattoo parlor. I've come to think an erotic arts store is more educational than international travel. The book, by the way, is a disappointment at best. Lots of action, but the plot’s a bit thin. Not much character development.

Next bachelorette party, I’m going back and getting me another one. Something that will explain the store's items a little better. No pictures, though. Not yet.