I turn and look again at the front of the room. Still no sign of Maeve, even though the rush of people who were up there a moment ago has dispersed.
“Sure,” I say, and I dig my hands in my pockets and follow Miko and Harley out of the room.
*****
“And that’s why we’re the first self-lubricating pleasure toy for penis owners,” a man says to me as I stare at the tube device in my hand. Not that I’m really looking, or listening. This is possibly the hundredth sex toy I’ve had thrust into my hand today and I’m struggling to muster enthusiasm.
I mean, is it really that difficult to slap some lube on your cock before fucking a plastic tunnel?
“I know what you’re thinking,” the guy says with an assuming grin. “Is it that hard to apply to lube to one’s… member?”
So it would seem I have officially run out of energy to hide my real thoughts. Also, wow, a sex toy manufacturer who struggles to say the worddick.I’ve seen it all today.
“But think about those who are less… able-bodied than us,” he continues. “Think about how much this could help them enjoy more… pleasure."
“That’s a very good point,” I say. “Have you been working with some disabled creators then?”
The man’s face falls. “Well, no, not exactly. Not yet. Do you know of any?”
Jesus.
I make absolutely no effort to hide my eye-roll. I should check my astrology apps because my Aries moon is feeling very loud today.
“Look around. There are several here today. Please make sure you approach them, and pay them appropriately for their time and work,” I say with a slow sigh. I’m quite enjoying being too tired to have a filter.
“But you’re not interested yourself? I know you are a big advocate for using toys.”
I don’t know if he knows that from following my content or if it’s a lucky guess, but he’s not wrong, and normally, I’d loveto showcase a product that is all about accessibility, but I can’t bring myself to even fake interest anymore after spending the last four or so hours on my feet talking to people just like this guy.
“I am, but I’m also a big advocate for brands choosing marginalized creators as often as they can.”
“Well, if you change your mind…” He slips a card into my hand before I even realize it. “Here are my details.”
I put his card in the back pocket of my jeans and my fingers brush up against many other cards I’ve deposited in there. Cards I doubt I’ll look at again before I put them in the trash later.
Which begs the question, why am I here? What did I hope to achieve if not this – getting the contact details of brands that I could potentially work with? Where is the usual energy and hope and focus I feel for this work that has enabled me to achieve nearly every single thing I ever wanted: financial independence, security for my family, freedom to work when I want, how I want?
This big, big question fills my mind but I have no time to answer it as I feel my phone start to vibrate in my other back pocket.
Pulling my phone out, I hold my breath when I see the Caller ID.
“Momma?” I say upon answering it.
“Lawrence,” she says. “Now, I don’t want you to get worried—”
“Mom?” I say again, and there’s a new edge in my tone.
“–but I’m at City Hospital with Jessica,” she finishes.
“Jesus, what happened?”
“She was struggling this morning,” Mom says and I try to comfort myself with how calm and clear she sounds but it actually just irritates me. “And it wasn’t getting better. Worse actually. We weren’t able to do physio or get her out of bed so—”
“Why didn’t you call me?” I demand.
“You’re busy. You’re working.”
“Work isn’t important. Jessica is.”
