Page 727 of Deep Pockets

Dominika’s email almost seems like a cruel joke.

Apparently, she’s joining a convent tomorrow. She, the woman who pretended to seduce—and then creatively violate—all the orifices of “nuns” at a strip club.

I fire off an email asking her if she’s kidding, only to get an instant autoreply reiterating her plans to become a nun.

If I tell Ava, she’ll die of laughter at my expense. Dominika the Nun will have a forked tongue and will be covered from head to toe in tattoos, some of which depict sexual acts prohibited by the sacred texts.

Entering my apartment, I feed Monkey, my guinea pig. Originally, she was a gift to my ex, but he didn’t want her, so I ended up with her in the reverse of a custody battle.

“What do I do now?” I ask her when she’s done with her chow.

The little rodent hops up and down as though she’s dancing.

“You’re no help,” I say, then refresh her water and pace the apartment as I ponder my situation.

I thought I’d gotten a lucky break with Dominika. She’s an expert with toys, lives impressively far away, and was willing. I guess the far away part isn’t a big deal—I can use a proxy server to simulate that with someone local if I want. But the willingness to shove toys into holes is harder to find.

I meet Monkey’s pink eyes. “Do you think I should hire a prostitute?”

She scurries into the little house she usually sleeps in.

Judgmental much?

I resume my pacing and think further about prostitution.

The biggest problem is that it’s illegal in New York. More importantly, I have no clue where to find one. Or a pimp. Do they still use pimps?

Either way, I doubt you can just place an ad for a hooker on a freelancer site.

Damn Giuliani—or whoever it was that cleaned up 42nd Street. Back in the day, you could hire a sex worker there.

Maybe I could put an ad on Craigslist?

A quick search later, I learn that they got rid of the relevant section of the site, and some other similar services, like Backpage, got shut down completely.

As I read up on the topic, I realize that by hiring a sex worker, I could inadvertently end up supporting the evil that is human trafficking.

So that’s a no-go.

Would women working in a local strip club be interested in this? Or some escort service, perhaps?

Are traffickers involved with that?

Unlikely, but not sure I want to risk it. With hindsight, even Dominika could’ve been a victim of exploitation. Maybe it’s for the best that she backed out.

So where does that leave me?

A silly idea crosses my mind.

Sandra said to let her know if there’s anything she can do to help.

I picture myself approaching my boss for this and preemptively die of mortified laughter. Apart from the obvious, what if she has a weak heart and dies on me? I’d be infamous as the weirdest murderer in the history of crime.

But asking a woman I know is a promising direction.

Would Ava help?

She swears by her vibrator.

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