“Alright, Miss Bridget,” the masseuse announces. “It’s time to turn over. We’ll get working on the fronts of your legs next.”
My eyes flip open and I sit up awkwardly.
“Actually, do you mind if I run to the bathroom first? I forgot to go before we got started and that cucumber water is getting to me.”
Griselda nods and smiles, gesturing to the door.
“Of course, right that way.”
With that, I slide off the massage table and swath myself in a big white robe.
“I’ll be quick, I promise!” is my exclamation before darting out the door. Fortunately, the women’s locker room is nearby and I step in, intending to be in and out within a minute. As always, a waft of steam greets me as soon as I set foot inside, and I sigh because the place is huge and luxurious. There are shower stalls, a steam room, vanities, and even a small lounge area furnished with pale pink couches. This is the life.
But I have a massage to get back to, so quickly, I slide into a stall to relieve myself. But when I stand to flush, I hear two women step up to the vanity, chattering as if they think they’re alone.
“I swear, the salon here has gone downhill. The color selection is so blah!” one exclaims.
The second woman titters. “Oh, please. They must have hundreds of selections.”
The blonde who spoke first rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, but other salons have thousands. And why do we always have to use Sugar Glaze products? Seriously, I’d be happy with Sally Hansen at this point.”
The brunette shrugs.
“Todd Sales owns the business, and I know he’s got a high-level membership here. Maybe he provides the polish for free? I have no idea. But I do have to say that I love that new Coffee Pucker color that just came out. I’m not usually a fan of beige, but when I heard the name, I had to go for it.”
The first woman giggles nastily then.
“I know, right? I mean, can you believe the names from this newest line? Coffee pucker? Cream swirl? What’s coming next? Shit brown? Golden showers?”
The two devolve into nasty cackles.
“It must be that girl he’s been seeing. I heard she’s a total slut who lets him do whatever, so he named all the colors after her.”
“Yeah, but some of the colors aren’t even that great. I mean, the pussy pink is a little grayish, and that crimson snatch color has a tinge of brown. What, is her pussy gray on the outside? Is she growing salt and pepper pubes? And crimson snatch? OMG, don’t even get me started.”
The other woman titters then.
“I know, right? If her pussy is actually that color, she’s probably got some disease. I swear, Todd Sales has got blinders over his eyes, but you know men. They need to change it up once in a while, and once he gets her out of his system, he’ll be back. I just hope he takes these nail polish colors off the rack because they are fucking ugly.”
With that, the two women laugh again and then exit the bathroom, totally unaware that I was hidden the entire time. Meanwhile, I collapse against the stall door. What was all that? What were those women talking about?
But my mind whirls, and in my heart of hearts, I already know. Like a zombie, I push open the stall door and then stumble back into the spa area. But instead of returning to the massage room, I go to the mani-pedi space where there are a number of ladies getting their nails done. I ignore their confused looks and instead make my way in a daze to the selection of nail polishes mounted against the wall. Sure enough, there’s a huge selection of Sugar Glaze colors, and in a trance, I start plucking them off the shelf and reading the names.
Pussy Pink.
Crimson Flush.
Coffee Pucker.
Vanilla Swirl.
While these names could be nothing, I distinctly remember a sexy night with Todd in his suite where he inspected my private parts, gently kissing each before breathing a name afterwards. At the time, it sounded like worship, but obviously, that’s not true. He was using my asshole and cunt as inspiration for his business, and while some women might be flattered, I definitely am not.
My face pale, I rush back to the massage room and throw on my clothes. Griselda looks astonished.
“Miss Bridget?” she asks. “Is everything alright?”
But I ignore her, and merely grab my bag before run-walking out of the Sanctum compound. Once the big doors open, I’m back on the streets of New York and I take a deep, shuddering breath while trying to rein in my heart rate. OMG, did that happen? Did the man I’m seeing really name those polishes after my private parts? It’s astonishing but also heart-rending because I never expected something like that to happen. I thought Todd was breathing those words in a bout of adoration and worship, and definitely not with the potential for commercialization.