OCTOBER 13, 2024: 

 

The leaves had already turned mostly orange, gold and brown for the year, but any tree that had them hanging from them—rather than on the pavement—was still a sight to see. Having spent so many months homeless, and then spending so much time in our shitty little apartment just to try and—poorly—warm away the memories of a half year on the frigid Seattle streets, it had begun to be nice to see nature again. It almost didn’t remind me of the worst months of my life.

 

Rachel, for her part, just loved trying to find which leaves she could hop on and make go ‘crunch’! Each hop was—unsurprisingly—followed by a ‘chirp’. 

 

I envied Rachel. Her ability to smile and giggle so freely despite the hellish nightmare that she’d experienced—even worse than it was for me, I’d venture—made me restless. She was so brave and so strong and—I was repeating the same thoughts I always had when melancholic. 

 

Damn Jennifer, get a grip.

 

Rachel and I had a few hours until work, so we decided to go for a stroll to a place she’d been wanting to visit since even before we got off the streets: a sex shop.

 

I understood Rachel’s needs, so it certainly didn’t bother me that she wanted to browse the toys. Since my recovery from my orchiectomy and all the shit we’d faced in an endless stream of bullshit I’d felt a great deal of sexual repression, which I knew that Rachel would be understanding towards. 

 

Now that I had a more private space to examine my, well, privates, I’d tried re-establishing some sort of relationship with them. Saving for tucking, I’d taken to touching or thinking about my penis as little as possible for fear that it would remind me of something I very much did not want to confront yet. Hell, I don’t think I ever could confront it—what was I going to do, find a therapist who would see me without proper legal identification or who paid in cash?

 

Or was wanted for a triple homicide that she didn’t commit? 

 

The entire saga was exhausting, to say the least. The past year aged me in ways I had never expected to age at a mere nineteen years old. But here I was now, watching my wife hop between leaves on our way to a sex shop, hoping to find that one leaf dry enough to satisfy her craving for a ‘crunch’ noise, and I was envious.

 

She really was like a goddess or something.

 

Finally, we arrived at our destination: a small, ill-kept, but not illegally so, building in the middle of downtown Redmond. 

 

“Sh-should we go inside, chirp?” Rachel asked, nervously. We’d been standing just outside the entrance like two schmucks for three or four minutes at this point.  

 

“Probably, yeah,” I replied nonchalantly, checking my phone for the time before sliding it back into my purse. “Let’s hurry up; I wanna try this restaurant in town before we have to go back home and get ready for work.”

 

Rachel’s anxiety just grew even worse at that. “Chirp!”

 

“Omigawd, Rach. You’re, like—and don’t take this the wrong way—the horniest girl I know, why are you the one who’s nervous about going inside?”

 

Rachel pulled out her fidget spinner and began fooling around with it to calm her nerves, “B-because! You know, I’ve never actually been inside of one before! They’re special! A-a-and I’m, like, the only girl you know!”

 

“It’s a porno store, hon. It’s not like you’re going to someplace you’ve always wanted to go, like Hawaii or Akiba.”

 

“Aloha!” the blonde shouted with a giggle.

 

Sighing, I took my wife’s hand in my own, crossed and locked our fingers, and walked inside the shop, with her in tow.

 

The shop was, as one might expect from such an obviously mom-and-pop style outside appearance, crowded with shelves of magazines, DVDs, Blu-rays, something called a VHS (?) and toys. Rows-upon-rows of gear and personal pleasure items crammed together and even hanging from walls. Not only did the building look forty years old on the outside, it looked like nobody had been in to shop in 40 years, either.

 

The checkout counter was seated close to the entrance and manned by an older gentleman of indeterminable age, gray sideburns and a suspect dye job on his crew cut and mustache. If I had to guess, I don’t doubt he’d been dying the majority of his hair since the Bush years—which Bush, I couldn’t tell you. 

 

“Welcome on in, ladies,” he guffawed, likely repeating behavior he reserved for any young woman that came into his shop. “Now, I won’t card ya,” he laughed at this, “But I bet you two would just barely pass!”

 

Rachel blinked, missing the obvious sleaze, while I did my best to offer a polite smile to avoid trouble. Letting go of my wife’s hand on the off-chance the weird old man behind the counter decided to be weird about that, I grabbed Rachel by the wrist and led her down the aisles—which had to have violated the fire code with how they were positioned so close to one another—to hopefully put some distance between us and the sustache.  

 

Once at the back of the store I let Rach go and she nearly fell over from the sudden release. Steadying herself, Rach turned to me and said, “Uh…this doesn’t look like the dildos?”

 

It was, in fact, a wall of home-recorded VHS—what a strange-looking video format. I managed to avoid reading any of the titles. Turning away from one section just led to another wall, full of uncovered DVD and Blu-ray covers depicting a concerningly similar theme. Looking up, I found the homemade sign denoting exactly what I had suspected the shelf was for and shook my head in contempt.

 

“Yeah, that tracks for this Boomer creep,” I sighed, turning to find Rachel, only to find myself faced with a shelf labeled ‘SISSY/CROSSDRESSERS’ in an elaborately illustrated pink marker text. I said something unprintable under my breath, finally spotted my wife and walked over to her.

 

As I approached my wife I could hear her singing some sort of tune under her breath. “DODODODODO DIL~!!” Somehow aware that she shouldn’t be singing such a song here of all places, but not aware enough to stop herself from singing it anyway. It was hard not to wonder if she was a fool or brave. Perhaps there was no difference. 

 

“This place gives me the creeps, girl. Let’s grab what you need and get the hell out of here before our clothes transform into 1980s porno outfits.”

 

“That’d be so hawt, though?” Rach blinked.

 

“Just hurry the hell up,” I grouched, pressing a finger against my wife’s forehead and lightly pushing her off. For her part, she pretended I had just sent her flying through a mountain.

 

Rach found the dildo section in record time and began sorting through them to find the best fit. With Rach down the aisle, closer to the front of the store, I attempted to distract myself with whatever was near me to look at.

 

Shuffling through the crowded—and dusty—shelves I eventually came across a misplaced pile of Blu-rays, each labeled at $40USD and listed with anywhere from half to a full hour of content. “Omigawsh, no wonder someone put them back,” I muttered under my breath so as not to catch unwanted attention. Reading one of the titles I almost laughed, “Kentucky Fucked Chrissy?” The girl on the cover looked pretty cute in her daisy dukes, but the guy…was not cute at all. “Gah, do they just…never hire good-looking men for these things?” I wondered aloud.

 

“Naw, they hire uggos so the cishet guys who watch ‘em don’t, like, feel gay for fappin’ to porn with a hottie on the screen,” Rachel added, her chosen dildo held against her chest like a stuffed animal or something. 

 

“...y’know, maybe calling them ‘uggos’ is a bit much, Rach,” I countered. “Got what you need?”

 

“Chirp!”

 

“Then let’s get out of here,” I said, dropping the stack onto the shelf and then turning to follow Rach up front. 

 

Then, from out of nowhere, something swung down and hit me in the face. With a yelp I fell backward, but caught myself on the shelving just in time to stabilize myself. The close proximity of the shelves had been a strange blessing in this case. Rach immediately turned around and, dildo in hand, rushed to my side.

 

“Omigawd honey, are you okay?!” she asked, panicked.

 

“Yes!” I said in a hushed tone, hoping I hadn’t drawn the attention of the creepy guy up front. Rach helped me steady myself and as I attempted to get the dust—and something sticky, hopefully glue—off of my palms, Rachel picked up what had apparently smacked me in the face.

 

“A collar?” I asked, perplexed.

 

“And chainy-chain-chain!”

 

“Huh. Hot,” I admitted.

 

“Wait, hon, are you into…?”

 

Perhaps I had said too much, “Oh? Uh…I mean, I guess? I mean, I don’t kink shame, of course!”

 

My wife seemed unconvinced, “Wanna try it on?” she giggled.

 

“Here? With…company?” I countered, concerned by the warm feeling in my lower region.

 

“Like, yeah? I mean, I just think you’d be cutie-cute-cute in it, y’know?” Her devilish body expressions were beginning to scare me.

 

“F-fuck, Rach, not in public!” Hell, saying that alone was enough to turn me on more. ‘Focus, Jen, focus!’ Finally, taking a breath, I put the collar back onto the shelf, turned my wife around to face the front of the store, and pushed her to the checkout.

 

It really was a nice collar, though…    

 

The checkout clerk was browsing something on his computer when Rach and I reached the counter. The big box monitor looked—screen mercifully just out of view—ancient, like it was as old as at least 1998. This clashed with the mouse, which itself looked like a recent model—although still weirdly enough it was on a cord. The Boomer-of-undeterminable-age turned to face us and broke into another skin-crawling creepy smile, “Find what you came for, ladies?” 

 

I made a mental note to avoid him at all costs if I ever saw him out in the wild.

 

“Chirp!” Rachel replied, placing her beginner’s dildo on the counter.

 

The porn shop clerk raised an eye at Rachel’s tick, but picked up the dildo to read off whatever the hell he needed to read off to…hand-key the fucking item? ‘What year was this asshole from? Is that a fucking calculator?’  

 

“Weeelllll, you ladies are in for a treat. It’s your lucky day, because you’ll be getting a dick-count—I mean, discount today for being so gosh darn cute! Your total today is $35!”

 

Rachel seemed preoccupied with the flavored condoms on display at the register, so I nearly puked in my mouth a little for the both of us at the blatant sexual harassment. Deciding to pay the bill myself so that we could leave as quickly as possible I handed over two $20 bills. While waiting for the receipt I whispered to Rach, “Grab your toy, hon.” 

 

Snapped from her condom counting, Rach realized that she’d missed on paying for the dildo herself, but gleefully grabbed her now-bagged prize and hugged it tightly against her chest, yet again. “Chirp!” Rachel said, thanking me.

 

“Come again, dear?” the old man asked, looking more than a little weirded out.

 

“Chirp!” Rachel replied, not thinking about what she was getting herself into.

 

“Rach, let’s go,” I stressed, trying not to sound upset with her. 

 

“Chirp!” Rach took my hand and followed me as I tried to escape. 

 

“She some kinda retard?” the clerk asked before we could move even a foot away.

 

I froze in place, seething. 

 

“Hurty, chirp!” Rachel whispered to me. 

 

I’d been squeezing her hand too hard.

 

Taking a deep breath, I exhaled and loosened my grip on my wife’s hand, and then continued walking. 

 

I made sure to knock over a display of overstock magazines on our way out the door. 

 

***

 

DECEMBER 12, 2024: 

 

“Holy shit, like, how much did she spend on you, Jen?” Rachel exclaimed, peaking through the dozen or so bags I’d come home with.

 

Still beaming—especially since I’d ultimately decided to put that red dress back on before leaving the boutique—I modeled any cute pose I could think of in the mirror while idly listening to my bestie ruffle through the paper bags and boxes that I had come home with. “Like, I dunno, Rachy-Rach. A couple thou, maybe?”

 

“Uh…”

 

Rachel seemed a bit hesitant, which was new for her, so I did my best to peel myself away from my own reflection to pay her my full attention. “What’s up?”

 

Examining a pair of lace red panties in her hands Rachel shot me a look, “She’s not going to try and fuck you, is she?”

 

For a moment, I was taken aback, then I remembered why that would worry my wife whom I was on the run with from the authorities: “Oh, jeez, uh, yeah, I guess it would be a problem if she found out that I have a…” My voice caught in my mouth at the thought of finishing that sentence. “Hahaha…oh, jeez. Sorry, Rach, I, uh…just got carried away, is all.”

 

An obvious concern for my well-being marked her face. My wife summoned up a smile somehow and said, “I’m glad you had a good night, Jen. Work is typically miserable for you.”

 

And then I said something I wasn’t expecting to say, “Jenni.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I…listen, it’s okay. Just, like, call me Jenni. I know you’re trying to be, like, super-duper serial mode Rach right now, but, like, I miss my wifey being herself.” I must have still been riding the high from whatever wild night this had turned into, because I was talking faster and higher-pitched than I normally did.

 

Taking a moment to collect herself, Rach dropped the red panties back into a bag and crossed our living room over to me. Bodies—and busts—now touching, Rachel leaned down and planted a kiss on my lips that I happily leaned into. It was nice to be home again.

 

After a minute or three of kissing, Rachel broke off, placed her high index finger over my lips to prevent me from inviting more, and then smiled. “I got you a little something when I went out this afternoon,” she giggled.

 

Distracted by Rach’s brilliant smile, I let her take my hand and lead me back into our bedroom. Digging through the closet, Rachel eventually pulled out a very familiar sight: 

 

The collar from the sex shop. And the chain that went with it.

 

“I was, like, thinkin’, y’know, that after this morning maybe you wanted to, like…uh…try this out?”

 

A pulsating sensation steadily grew in my belly, like a drum being beaten louder-and-louder with each beat. “O-oh,” I replied, breathing quickening. “I…uh…holy fuck, Rachy?”

 

“Yessy, Jenni?” my wife giggled back.

 

“Uh…umm…” my head was on fire—I couldn’t form a coherent thought in my mind. Just…images. Stills of what Rachel would do to me, and each of my three holes.

 

“Sorry Jenni, whatcha tryna say?” Rach asked in as fake a sweet voice as possible.

 

“I…uh…like, y’know, right?” I was panicking even worse now.

 

Tilting her head in a way that looked authentic, but was most certainly not, Rachel asked: “Like, know what?”

 

“Th-that!” I almost screamed, legs beginning to buckle.

 

“Like, sorry baby. You’ve gotsta be more specifrical! Use your wordsies!”” she teased. 

 

The last park broke me. Falling to my knees I begged in the most agonized voice I’ve ever heard from my mouth, “P-please, put it on me!”

 

“Oh, this ol’ thing?” my wife cooed, waving the collar in her hand, “Is this what you want?”

 

“YES!” I shouted.

 

“Where?” she giggled, her stance becoming strained.

 

“Around my neck, fucking gawd, Rach!”

 

“Around your neck? Like, why there?” For a second I almost bought it—almost bought that she was genuinely confused, like the little fucking bimbo she always acted like. Tears were welling-up in my eyes and I could barely make out her beautiful, airheaded expression.

 

“B-because! Th-that’s—”

 

“That’s what?”

 

The dam broke: “That’s where it fucking belongs!”

 

Rachel stepped closer, bent down, and then pulled the collar of the dress I wore off and around from my neck. Dress having fallen forward, my bra’d breasts were now exposed. My breathing grew heavier and heavier, hotter and hotter. Rachel then moved to place the collar around my bare neck. As she strapped it in she leaned forward and over my head to see what she was doing. While in this position—with her massive breasts now millimeters from touching my face—she whispered into my ear, “That’s a good girl.”

 

As the leather of the collar touched against my bare skin the memory of the restraints holding me to the make-shift operating table struck out from the depth of my mind. Before I knew it my hands shot around my neck as I screamed something even I could not make out, tore the collar out of Rachel’s hands, pulled it off from around my neck and threw it at the wall.

 

I sobbed in my wife’s arms, on the floor, for an hour that night.