Page 4 of Caught A Vibe

“Thank you.”

Her genuine smile is tempting, but I have got to get out of here before I do something really stupid like listen to my dick and ask for her number.

I’m a professional, dammit.

I am going to kill my editor though, for sending me in blind. No jury would convict.

No, I won’t give him the satisfaction. I’m going to write a damn good article about an up-and-coming (pun intended) entrepreneur and prove I can handle whatever assignment they throw at me.

With a half wave and an awkward smile, I back out of the booth with the pamphlet strategically employed in front of me, but relatively unscathed. Enough information for a decent article, but hard as a rock with nine more booths to visit. For the memories alone, I still count it a win.

Chapter2

Penny

Iscrunch my cropped blonde hair, reviving my tired curls that have been confined all day beneath the cursed red wig. But a few hours of itchy scalp is worth every second of anonymity off the floor. Who knew making a sex toy would open the door to men who want to prove they’re better than my machine?

Everyone.

Everyone could see that coming, except apparently me, who’d expected to be treated with a modicum of respect at a popular technology conference. This was cutting-edge robotics.

Maybe I was naive, but I hadn’t expected men to be so brazen with their misogyny in a public setting. Male privilege was truly a thing to behold. And if I behold one more unsolicited dick pic, I will swear off men entirely.

The only one who even came close to respect was that cute e-zine reporter. He’d been flustered and stared at my chest for a beat too long, but he’d asked good questions and actually listened to my answers. His voice lingers in my mind. I wouldn’t mind hearing more of it. He hadn’t been hard on the eyes either, all tall and rangy. His arms showed a sinewy strength that made my lady bits take notice.I bet he’s good with his hands.

Why am I swooning over the one guy who treated me like a professional? Ridiculous. That should have been the bare minimum of every interaction today.

He was one out of hundreds. I am disappointed in humanity.

With a heavy sigh, I release the hooks on my torture device and my breasts bounce free of their cage. I want so badly to say fuck it and let them breathe for the rest of the night, but I want a glass of wine more. I compromise with a sheer bralette TikTok convinced me to buy. It covers but doesn’t confine, and the prickle of nerve pain tells me circulation is returning to the band around my rib cage.

I know some people think I’ve already given up. If you had access to a machine that handed out orgasms like candy on Halloween, wouldn’t you give up on mere mortals?

But I like men. And women, for that matter. And everyone else along the spectrum of gender. The connection of attraction and affection between people is irreplaceable. I was never trying to get rid of human partners altogether.

But when those partners are scarce, don’t I deserve a way to see to my own needs? And why not do so in spectacular fashion? And when a person is educated about their anatomy and pleasure patterns, time spent with future partners can be even better! A personalized pleasure map. Think of the possibilities!

Enough. Save the rant for the pitch sessions.Right now, work is done and there is a big glass of red wine downstairs with my name on it.

I touch my things in my purse, reassured by their orderly presence. Key, phone, ID, lip gloss, and cash. Time to find the casino bar.

I pass through hallways crowded with beautiful people, dressed to the nines for the club in my hotel, and even more people in jeans and sneakers, intently focused on gambling and drinking the night away. Thank God I changed into jeans and a T-shirt. No one notices me as I stroll and let the crowd of people flow around me. I unlock my phone and film a quick little video of “fun in Vegas” to post to my socials later, and then I tuck it into my pocket on silent. For the next few hours I don’t have to beon, and I’m going to revel in it.

The pressure of the months of chasing funding leading up to the launch and the conference prep sits like a sandbag across my shoulders. Add in dealing with hiccups at the office from my phone while promoting and defending my brainchild to the public, and I am completely spent.

So exhausted even the MiO is barely touching it. It’s a good thing I believed in my design enough to make it a reality, because I’ve been relying on it heavily for the last six months. I’ve been too busy to put the time in on a relationship, and I am feeling the lack.

A problem for another day. My wine awaits!I walk into the bar and order a bold Cabernet. The first sip flows over my tongue with a dry, peppery heat, leaving a warm trail down my throat and a looseness in my jaw. My shoulders drop a full three inches and I exhale deeply, like my meditation app tells me to, eyes closed.

When I open them, my very first employee and best friend, Nicola, is perched on the barstool next to me.

“After dealing with the males of the species all day, you deserve whatever is in that glass. The audacity…” Nic waves down the bartender and orders her trademark rosé. “Cheers, darling.”

I raise my glass to clink with the only other person in the world who believes in this product as much as I do. Partly because Nicola had participated heavily in the “research” portion of research and design, but mostly because we’ve been together since we decided we made better friends than lovers in college. Nic isn’t afraid to tell me the truth, and I depend on her to do so. There is no better person to be my right-hand woman.

“In spite of all the misogyny, it was a good day. We talked to a lot of people, opened a lot of minds.”Maybe if I say it with enough conviction, I’ll believe it too.

“I don’t know about minds, but their eyes sure opened wide,” Nic teases.

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