The Clerk

         The Florida sky has just turned dark as Victor Eckhart pulls up to Smilin' Bob's Adult Literature and Novelties. The store walls are mirrored glass to prevent any glimpse of the inside. It seems that concrete would be more efficient.
         Vic puts the car in park, turns off the ignition. It has been quite awhile since he has entered a store like this, a bit longer than he likes to think about. The guest of honor at the last bachelor party he attended now has a kid in high school.
         He used to flaunt his manly preoccupation with sex. But for a couple of years now, Victor acts dignified and above the fray. In fact, he has almost come to believe it. Maybe that is the real reason he is here, to reestablish himself as a cool navigator in a hot testosterone storm.
         Putting the keys in the right front pocket of his well-ironed pants, he pauses for a minute. Imagine the look on Jacquelyn's face when she sees the little present that he is here to buy her! She is not a prude, they used to get pretty wild but he guesses that like for him, the waves on her sea of hormones have calmed with the currents of responsibility.
         Vic pulls the small latch to open the hefty door of his solid and expensive German import. Image and dependability have replaced passion in Jackie's and his marital dance. It is time to change the tempo. He springs out of the car, ready to acquire a new baton.
         The door to Smilin’ Bob's establishment opens so easily Victor accidentally flings it wide. He supposes people want to get in or out quickly, before one of their neighbors shows up. Vic is greeted with a blast of over-refrigerated air and a blaze of harsh light bouncing off immaculate pure-white walls behind polished chrome racks. It takes a moment for his eyes and preconception to adjust. This looks more like a hospital gift-shop than a lair for drooling perverts.
         To his left is a half wall with a sign on its well-waxed top saying “Books and Magazines.” There is only one person, a man who appears to match Vic's forty-two years, intently studying the covers of row upon row of clear polymer-sheathed publications.
         Several yards in front is a U-shaped glass counter, at the rear of that is a wood-paneled wall and a closed door, probably an office. There is no one behind the counter now. For some reason, that is something of a relief. On the right is a solid wall. When Vic gets close to the counter, he sees an opening in the wall to his right, above which is a sign, “Toys and Novelties.” He walks in.
         From floor to ceiling, covering the walls of the large room is every conceivable form of artificial sex organ - male, female, unknown - in every color known to plastic. He has to read the instructions on the back of the clear packages of some of these devices to get an idea how they work. Imagination and inventiveness are alive and well in the sex gadget industry.
         Very interesting, but all he wants is an old-fashioned vibrator, a simple tube with battery-powered oscillation. He finally finds a section devoted to counterfeit penises. It is right next to the section of latex vaginas, the openings to which they claim, where molded directly from the labia of various porn stars. They all look pretty much the same to Vic.
         The penis section too has several tools said to be molded from one star or another. They are expensive enough. Worse yet, they are quite a bit bigger than Vic's own equipment. He does not want Jackie to be even more dissatisfied with the real thing.
         At the bottom of the rack, he finds it. It is seven inches long and about an inch and a half thick - larger than Vic's penis, but not extraordinarily so. The core is a plain, hard plastic vibrator. Over this fits a thick, soft, latex sleeve. The latex has been expertly molded, the head, shaft, even veins, very realistic. There are two colors to choose from, deep chocolate or pinkish beige. He chooses the beige.
         He leaves the room, turns right to the counter. He cannot believe what he sees. Vic expected to find behind the cash register a sloppy bald guy. Thick droopy lips wrapped wetly around a cigar stub. T-shirt stained with yesterday's sweat.
         Instead stands a lovely, alert young woman. Her plastic nametag reads, "Constance." It fits her. Very young, if she is twenty-one her birthday must have been yesterday. Her clothes are stylish but modest. Her well-scrubbed skin smooth and lightly tanned, long, blonde hair full and healthy, parted in the middle and softly drawn back into a ponytail. Her clear, bright eyes are wide and attentive.          A radiant, friendly smile flashes glistening, straight teeth. She could easily be on a poster for some family-oriented resort, a church group, a recruiting ad for a fast-food restaurant.
         “Is that all for you today?” Constance asks in a musical, girlish voice.
         Victor is immediately transformed from a virile adventurer in the prime of life to a dirty old man caught masturbating by the Pastor's daughter. Forcing himself to maintain eye contact, in a voice suddenly devoid of confidence he replies, “Yeah . . . uh . . . that'll do it.”
         “Ok,” She says cheerfully with a quick side-to-side movement of her body from the waist up. An affirmative nod, so energetic it requires her whole torso to express.
         “Let me make sure it works.”
         Vic fights to maintain a stoic façade as a flood of lewd images pour through his mind. Experience gained in a lifetime at least twice as long as hers allows him to sustain what he thinks is an appearance of calm disinterest - more likely a look of sullen rudeness.
         She deftly opens the rectangular box, removes the highly realistic dildo. With the demeanor of a conscientious grocery store cashier checking to see if any eggs are broken, she examines the latex genital. She grasps it firmly in both hands, slowly rotating it as she holds it up to the light.
         The outward appearance apparently meets her satisfaction. Gripping the shaft in her left hand, she turns it upside down, expertly unscrews the base with her right hand. She lays the robot penis on the glass counter-top. Bends down to retrieve two batteries from under the counter, then quickly stands up. With practiced skill she inserts the batteries, screws down the cap, turns the vibrator on. A dull hum grows higher in pitch as she ensures the speed control is functional.
         “Will you need batteries?” She asks with the friendly, point-of-purchase concern you would expect at a different type of hardware store.
         “I guess so,” He mumbles, reality and preconception continuing to clash.
         “I put special, low frequency batteries in there. They cost a little more, but regular batteries will burn out too fast, and you'll be right back here in no time,” she expounds with a helpful smile.
         “Ok . . . great . . . uh . . . thanks a lot.”
         “My pleasure,” she says with continual, corner store friendliness as she counts out his change.
         “Have a nice day,” young Constance says in farewell, without a trace of irony.
         “Yeah, thanks . . . you too,” Vic finally stutters as he turns to leave.
         He reaches the parking lot quickly. Wasting no time he unlocks the car door, climbs in. As he turns the ignition one thought is foremost in his mind, “Jackie had better love this damn thing."