I dealt in sex.
I knew the ins and outs of every kink that existed.
I knew that voyeurism and exhibitionism were valid fetishes that were engaged in by many people. That being said, it was only fun when both parties were fully aware of the situation. It was a crime when someone watched you when you didn't want to be watched. I understood that, in this case, it was different. My sister didn't care. Hell, I had heard her flick on a vibrator when she knew he had been watching her once. But Randy still rubbed me the wrong way. Because his behavior was criminal, even if my sister was permitting it.
So it felt good to hand him his balls about it, to remind him that it wasn't right.
He probably got the wrong idea about me because I owned a sex store. Most people did. Guys, when they figured it out, thought I was a slut who engaged in all kinds of kinks from BDSM to threesomes.
Now, I loved sex.
Sex was amazing.
It was something that made life just better than it was.
And I did enjoy toys and games and such in the bedroom.
That being said, I was a serial monogamist. I had never been able to enjoy casual sex. It just felt empty and unfulfilling to me. I had tried a time or two when I was younger before I decided it simply wasn't for me. A part of me - especially when stuck in a long dry spell - really envied women who enjoyed hookups. But, hey, we all had different things that got us off. Mine simply wasn't that.
I hadn't been in a relationship in about eight months.
So I hadn't had sex in eight months.
I bought liberally from my own store.
You know, vibrator research.
So people could go ahead and think what they wanted.
I wasn't a slut.
And I personally took offense to the term.
And to sexual deviants like Randy thinking he had any right to think them.
"Alright, buddy," I said, unlocking my door. "I am praying you are house trained. And I guess I should lock up my closet. My shoes aren't all that great, but y'know, I need stuff on my feet." I went to close the doors to the bedrooms, figuring any mess would best be contained in the main living space. I walked back out to take the toys out of the bag, smiling as he hopped up on his back legs and barked for each one, never losing enthusiasm even after the sixth toy. Then I put out some water and dry food. "I gotta get to work now," I told him as though he could understand. "Can you try not to eat the furniture? It's nothing fancy, but it would be nice for it to not have bite marks. I'll be back at dinner time to walk you."
That was a perk to owning your own place.
Have a doctor's appointment, or meeting with your finance guy, or a dog that needed walking? Hang a sign on the door saying when you'll be back. Maybe people wouldn't be happy about having to wait to get their sour apple lube or Fleshlight, but they would survive. Besides, it was either wait the hour or wait two days to get it on Prime or seven days to get it from a discreet online supply store.
You had to love being the only game in town.
"And, ah, yeah. See you later, buddy. Try not to be too depressed about him, okay? We are going to have a good life, you and me."
That was the plan.
Then we went right ahead and started living it.ONEEli - 1 year laterYou'd have heard it all by now.
Don't drop the soap.
Hang a 'do not disturb' sign on your ass.
If you're someone's bitch, they'll protect you.
If you do chores, you can curry favor to keep a dick out of your ass.
And, to be fair, those were actually pretty sound pieces of advice. Prison rape was daily and brutal. If you were new, and especially if you were new and young and small, your ass was open game. One of the guys I got bussed in with was immediately taken in by the Neo-Nazis and became a bitch to the big guy. By the time I noticed him again six weeks later, he was thin, bruised, and a shell of the man he had been when we arrived.
You could avoid all that drama if you came in connected to one of the organizations within all prison systems. If you had a history of being a white supremacist, a wise guy, a Blood, a Crip, or one of the dozens of Latino prison gangs, you were likely to be protected.
If you weren't, well, you had to get crafty.
"What you think you're all big and bad because you beat the shit out of that politician's son?" I had been pushed up against the wall my third day there by some low-level Irish mob jackass. "You're in prison now, pretty boy. We know how to fight back. You want to start with me? Huh? Come on, throw a fucking punch, pussy."