Page 93 of Trailer Trash

I avert my gaze, mortified. “No, I just... Toys are hard to get off with.”

I’m so stupid. Why did I just say that?

Think, Harlow. Say something funny.

But I’m not Killian. Nothing quick comes to mind. The best I can do is:

“I must not be the only woman who struggles to find a toy that works. Women have a million types of toys.”

A million! Jesus, Stop talking.

I don’t.

“Men probably just have fleshlights, and they work for all of you.”

I twist in my seat, praying for an escape.

“Want to see?” he says.

I do a double-take, stealing several glances at him. I’m tense and unsure I heard correctly. He doesn’t flinch and clarifies, his tone steady and serious.

“Do you want to see me use mine?”

I can’t help it and straighten in my seat like I’ve been cattle prodded.

“Um—”

“You’ve seen my dick. It’s not a big deal.”

I squirm, mouth gaping open.

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine. I just thought you were curious.” He looks at the television like he didn’t just propose I witness something so insanely private.

But honestly, I do want to see it. I don’t know how to say it professionally.

Because it’s not.

“Okay, I’ll watch,” I blurt, way too loudly.

He chuckles, making me feel like an awkward idiot. Then he coolly leads the way to his bedroom. I follow with my clammy hands clutched together. I search in every direction as if the CNA-cops are about to pop out and arrest me. I even close my eyes as I walk through the bedroom door, knowing every step is a moment I should turn around.

As usual, he places his hand on the small of my back instead of pointing, and guides me to the bed where I take a seat on the edge. The light is low and calm. It should be relaxing in here.

Nope.

I’m as rigid as steel.

He retrieves the cylinder and a bottle of lube from the dresser drawer. Then his shirt floats off. His pants drop to his ankles, and he steps out of them.

As usual, he doesn’t seem nervous at all.

I hold my breath as he’s about to slide off his underwear, but he stops.

“Take off your clothes,” he says.

“What?” I squeak.

“I need to get hard.”