Scissor Link by Georgette Kaplan (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

baluster, staring down at her. It was too far for them to really hear each other without phones, mollifying the ridiculousness of the situation somewhat, but Wendy still felt like shouting across the thirty or forty feet between them. Preferably something rude.

“What do you care?” Wendy asked. “What is it, anyway? Seven Habits of Highly Efficient People Who Don’t Get Fired For Sexual Harassment?”

Even from a distance, Wendy could see Janet’s brows knit together. “Who fired you?”

“You did!”

“You’re not fired.”

“Yes, I am!”

“Wendy, who would know better, you or me?”

Wendy realized, familiarly enough, that she was being ridiculous. She took a deep, calming breath and tried to force her brain out of sleep mode. “So what’s in the box?”

“Go home. Then open it.”

“Oh, so the bomb only takes me out?”

Forty feet between them and Janet managed to fill it all with confused indignation. “It’s not a bomb!”

“Office supplies, then? You gonna frame me for stealing office supplies?” Wendy shook the box. “Maybe a tablet…”

“If it is a bomb, I’m sure shaking it’s a good idea.”

“You said it wasn’t a bomb.”

“You said it was!”

“Well, I say things, okay, I think out loud!”

“Good to know you do your thinking some way.”

Wendy harrumphed. Maybe the kiss had just been so good because Janet hadn’t been talking. “What is it?”

“Go home and find out. I gave you the rest of the day off for a reason.”

“Tell me or I’ll open it.”

“I said not to open it!”

Wendy peeled the tape back. “Janet?”

“Don’t open it in public, dummy, it’s a vibrator!”

Oh. Well then.

Janet took her own calming breath—more affected by their whatever than Wendy had figured—and then lowered her voice from the shrill hiss that had just gone into Wendy’s ear. Resuming the seductive timbre it’d had in her office, Janet said, “I would really like it if you were inspired by me. The same way I am by you. Especially if you could send me…proof, shall we say?”

All the air had left Wendy’s lungs, never to return. “Proof. Okay,” she wheezed.

“You have my phone number,” Janet finished, and hung up her phone. Without a second look, she turned around and walked.

Well, that ass was inspiring.

Her legs decidedly unsteady, Wendy put one foot in front of the other, the lobby stretching before her for an eternity, each of them determined to outlast the other.

She wasn’t fired.

She was going to masturbate while thinking about Janet Lace.

While filming herself doing it.

For Janet Lace.

She wondered how this would affect the bonus situation…

Well, it was a vibrator, Wendy could say that with some confidence. What it was supposed to vibrate, she had no idea. Oil derricks? Small naval ships? Kinky elephants? Jesus, it looked like a suppository for Optimus Prime. It looked like a baby redesigned by H.R. Giger. It looked like the little dangling thing at the back of your throat if you were a monster truck.

Wendy definitely didn’t have enough lubricant for this. Maybe she was supposed to ride it? Had it come with a saddle? She checked the box. No saddle.

“Maybe she forgot the saddle.” Wendy took a drag from the bottle. She’d been saving the tequila for a special occasion, it being a gift and her not really liking tequila, but if there was one way to describe having your boss sexually proposition you, getting a vibrator from her, and then not being able to figure out the mechanics of clitoral stimulation like she was a guy or something, she supposed ‘special’ was on the list.

Maybe it was literally a massager. Like, for your back. If she laid down on it, it would work the kinks out of her back, and that was Janet’s fetish.

Only it looked like it would roll around, like a medicine ball. A medicine ball that had also tried to kill Sarah Connor.

She swigged some more tequila. It was getting better the more she had of it. Maybe that was the design principle behind the vibrator. Sure, the first foot or so would hurt, but then, like, by the metric system…

E-mail. Wendy happily abandoned the vibrator-slash-possible-Roswell-artifact to get on her laptop. She would send Janet a nice e-mail saying that, while she was very excited about the prospect of kinky sex with her—preferably kinky in the sense of Miley Cyrus trying to be shocking, not the backroom of a sex shop—she would prefer something that had less mental association with a C-section for her. Maybe, it being their first date and all, Janet could just pee on her?

Wendy quickly hit backspace. Don’t suggestpeeing, obviously. Handcuffs? Probably give her a cramp. Whips? Riding crops? Painful. She didn’t get the appeal. If she wanted sex to hurt, she would date a woman with long nails.

“I was born in the wrong decade,” Wendy lamented to her computer. “I managed to be prepubescent through the years when just being a lesbian was kinky enough, and now that I’m in my twenties, I have to pretend I like strap-ons.”

Maybe a dog collar. That wasn’t so bad. A little demeaning, but hell, she rode the subway. Of course, a collar also meant she’d have to let Janet put a leash on her, right? Again, not so bad, but it definitely seemed like there should be a hard NO in there somewhere.

Wendy counted off on her fingers. “Barking like a dog. Walking around on all fours… I should probably only be called a bitch once or twice. I’m not that hip, that’s not a friendly thing for me.”

She jotted that down. This was coming together nicely. What else, what else was kinky—blindfolds. She would totally let Janet blindfold her. And ice cubes. She didn’t really get the appeal of rubbing ice cubes all over someone, but if Janet was into that, she could meet her halfway. And leather clothes—she could do that, as long as it wasn’t summer. Leather didn’t breathe, after all.

Wendy took another swig. She could absolutely be kinky. It wasn’t a problem at all. Not like she’d never had a weird sexual fantasy in