How Dirty Are You?

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It all had to start with a bottle of champagne. Not just any champagne, and not just the right bottle of champagne. It had to be a bottle of champagne expensive enough to get her to fuck Joe.

If he was lucky, Marcia would be in the mood once a month. But a bottle of Taittinger-and it had to be over $100-was good for at least one or two rounds of sex on any given night.

Lately, though, even the champagne wasn’t cutting it. He had to combine it with a really nice restaurant. And really nice as in-bend over and shit $100 bills. Joe sighed and made a reservation for seven o’clock on a Saturday at the new French-Thai fusion place he read about in a friend’s Tweet. He called Marcia at work to tell her about the reservation for dinner. She wasn’t at her desk, so he left a voicemail message.

Marcia wasn’t at her desk to answer Joe’s call because she was in the bathroom masturbating. Most women prefer to keep the skin on their clitoris, but Marcia didn’t much care anymore. The head of her electric toothbrush faced away from her clit most of the time, though, and the vibrations were finally clearing her mind. No more thoughts of benefits packages and coworker complaints about harassment or body odor-challenged colleagues. Licking her fingers, she touched herself to lubricate and felt her hard nub. Rocking her hips lightly against the toothbrush, she caught the tight rhythm that would make the tension go away.

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