Andy was about to head to the cashier when his phone buzzed.
<<Hi darling, if you’re still in the store, can you pick up a 6 pack of orgasms? Prefer raspberry flavoured. Heartemoji. Peachemoji>>.
<<LOL>> he replied.
<<?>> said her text.
<<Wo mean ‘?’>> he sent back.
<<Seriously?>> said her text.
<<A 6 pack of O’s?>>
<<Smileyface. Crazyface.>>
(Was she being serious?) <<You being serious ?>>
<<Mmhmm. Two smileyfaces, eggplantemoji. Peachemoji. >>
<<WTF?>>
<<Aisle 6 nxt to women’s hyg.>>
Shaking his head, he pushed his trolley slowly along aisle six, mumbling, ‘Toothpaste, floss, picksters, denture cleaner, deodorant, odour eaters, tampons, pads, menstrual cups … what the …’
He stared at the piles of packets on the shelf.
‘Orgo-Plus. All natural, no chemical additives. Elevate your senses.’ The smiling matron on the label made it look like an adult incontinence aid.
‘Big-O. Treat yourself to the climax of your life, again and again. For men or women.’ Ergh, way too much pink on the box.
‘Exploda, now with turmeric and macha. Hits that spot!’ A young woman on the box, her hair flowing in the breeze, her skin airbrushed bronze. Didn’t he see her on a toothpaste ad back up the aisle?
He perused the larger packs on the bottom shelf.
‘O-go Orgasms, for women on the go – and come. Six pack. Raspberry Ride, Mango Mayhem, Kiwi Kapow’. He shrugged. It was a six pack, with at least two raspberry flavoured. He tossed it on top of the rice and was about to head to the cashier when his eye was caught by a cowgirl riding a bull backwards. He picked it out.
‘The Cowgirl Party Pack. Six orgasms, four blow jobs, two 69-ers and an extended tantra. Party time!!!’
‘What the …? Blow jobs? 69-ers?’ He looked around the aisle. A gaunt youth at the far end was stocking the mouth care shelves. He opened the box. Inside were four little boxes, marked ‘O’ (an ochre coloured box), ‘BJ’ (navy), ‘69’ (orange) and ‘T’ (azure). He extracted the navy one. Inside were four wrapped sticks like chocolate bars.
He checked the aisle again; the shelf stacker was engrossed in Dental Floss. He opened one and took a bite. It tasted a bit like sugary carob, but with a hint of … what was that, cinnamon?
Immediately he felt his erection rise with a sensation that was just like … Wow. A warmth permeated his body, and a lethargy weighed him down. His breathing increased.
He tossed the party pack on to the trolley beside the bag of basmati rice, and leant against it. His legs shook, his chest heaved with heavy intakes of breath. He let his head droop and a trickle of sweat dropped on to the seeded sourdough at the front of the trolley. He giggled. He felt incredibly aroused, and wondered if anyone could see the bulge in his pants. He closed his eyes, his breath shortening. The sensation of up and down, up and down addled him.
‘Are you alright, sir?’
He turned his head, and with hazy vision saw a woman in exercise gear standing by him. He gasped. He tried to ignore how curvaceous she looked.
‘I’d better get someone.’ She disappeared. In the fog of his mind he realised he should move from the O section, and pushed a ragged path towards Dairy, lit with its alluring milky light.
He sat on the rim of the chiller, amid the flavoured yoghurts. His groin was throbbing. He clamped his legs shut and grimaced with each leaden breath, with each piston like sensation.
‘Sir, let me help you.’
A storeman tugged at his armpit. He lurched up and crashed into his trolley. He clumsily tried to tamp down the open party pack beneath some broccolini when another pair of hands lifted him up. ‘C’mon, mate, let’s get you to the sick bay.’
He smiled deliriously at the thickset security guard with his hi-vis vest split above his paunch. Did Mrs Security make him wear his hi-vis in bed? His faced was flushed and he cackled excitedly as a wave of pleasure ripped through him.
‘May have taken some meds,’ said a voice that sounded very far away.
‘Is he dangerous?’ echoed another. Someone shook a head, maybe Mr Security.
He bent over and sucked in a vast lungful of air. The hands straightened him. He held a hand over his groin and let them take his weight. There was a big plastic flap as they entered the stock room. A flush of cool air and the odour of rotting vegetables. Petrol and pallets. Then the room changed to a bland yellow, and he was laid on a hard bed in the corner. A single bulb protruded from the grey ceiling.
He rolled over to face the wall and groaned. His head swam, his lungs lurched, his erection screamed. Still that motion up and down. Up and down. He held out his phone and yelled, ‘Sally!’
Someone took it. There were voices. He felt his buttocks being massaged, nope, it was his wallet being removed. He heard voices. ‘Sally? Husband Andy? Having a turn … supermarket … sick bay …’
He gripped the rim of the bed. His knees shook. Ecstasy wracked him. He shuddered and sweat poured out of him. The heat surged.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’ll be right buddy, we’ve called your wife and an ambulance.’
He held up an arm, like a wounded soldier objecting to the sword. ‘S’alrigh … ’
The room spun, his body boiled and shivered, he cackled with absurd laughter. They were all so kind.
After he didn’t know how long, Sally’s voice said, ‘Andy, you okay?’ Her hair brushed close and her scent shot bullets of lust into his groin. He groaned. And smiled conspiratorially. Her hand on his hip was the caress of the gods.
Through the veil of his euphoria he heard her voice. ‘Terribly sorry … no need for an ambulance … condition, called Kinsey’s Languor … happened before … just needs half an hour … I’ll sit with him, you guys go … yes sure, go … half an hour … be right as rain … truly, half an hour …’
Feet shuffled out, he heard the door click. Then she swung him around to face her. She was radiant, he’d never seen her look so sexy in jeans and t-shirt. She was holding the little navy box in his face.
‘One’s enough,’ he spluttered, ‘I’m not finished yet.’
‘Read the label, dummkopf. Only take in private when lying down.’
He giggled and a spasm of lust ripped through him. He saw her reach into the trolley and pull out the ochre ‘O’carton. She opened a reddish packet from it and extracted a small donut shaped wafer.
She smiled.
‘Raspberry flavoured,’ she said, popped it into her mouth and whispered,
‘We have half an hour.’
* * * *
Photo by Boudewijn Huysmans c/- Unsplash
