We're Not Going To Do That? Right?

"I can imagine," I say, half-breathless already.

"But what a choice. What a selection. Oh god, I can barely even start to make a decision."

And it's about then that my eyes fall on price tags. Ones with a large enough number and deep enough pocket to make my eyes water.

"Rachel," I say, swallowing and settling on her and knowing that I've got to set some boundaries before this gets out of hand, "These are really expensive."

"Pleasure is," she says decisively, "And if you're fun you'll get enough mileage out of this that it'll be worth it in the end. I mean fucking is fun, don't get me wrong. I'm the first one to say that picking up a guy and riding him all night long is so goddamn good that it's aspirational, but sometimes a girl just needs to focus on herself.

"Especially with the selection we have on hand. College guys are still guys, after all. They're still closer to boys than they are to men. And while you can give them credit for having enough stamina to go the distance, you can't always be sure they have the knowledge, wherewithall, or decency to see to a girls needs. Sometimes girls have to make sure they can take care of themselves, and it's always good to know you've got options."

"That's all well and good," I protest, reaching out and holding her upper arm to stop her before she twists off into a spending spree, "But I don't exactly have the cash to cover this."

Rachel smiles coyly, "I told you. I've got you."

"I can't let you buy this for me," I protest, "I can't let you spend that much on me. Maybe later, after I've got a job and can afford it myself. Maybe then I can come back and we can go shopping. Maybe... maybe just one though. Maybe I could stretch my budget to-"

Rachel reaches out and lays her hand on mine, a gesture so soft and sudden that it makes me glance up and look at her.

"I told you, I've got you."

"I can't let you spend this much on me."

She doesn't protest that, instead opting to throw me for a loop with, "Who said we were going to spend anything?"

A flash of something akin to mischeviousness sparks off behind her eyes and panic roars up in response in mine. I put the pieces together and that fantasy part of my brain leaps seven steps ahead to Rachel pocketing some of these toys and us rushing for the door.

Then it all happens naturally. The way we're caught. The way the cops are called. The way we're hauled down to a place of steel and concrete and they reach out to our contacts.

And Rachel probably has parents who are enlightened enough to bail her out for shoplifting and shoplifting sex toys at that. But I know that if my parents got that call...

Well my parents would hesitate to bail me out under the best of circumstances. They'd be so ashamed, talking themselves into a place where I was getting a good lesson in consequences they'd let me stew for god knows how long.

And that was just under normal circumstances.

If I was caught stealing a dildo? I don't think they'd ever bail me out.

"Rachel," I hiss, more urgently this time.

But by now she's not listening, mostly because we're not alone.

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