My breasts have never done anyone any harm, while bin Laden’s war has caused thousands of victims. — Ilona Staller, former disco singer, porn star and Italian politician
I’ve recently put in a shift here and there at the Lahaina Lingerie shop. In general, I’m enormously busy with my regular full-time gig. But every once in awhile, Aunty Panty needs a day off, I could use some extra cash and hey, what girl doesn’t love to be surrounded by lacey, silky, vibrating, chocolate-covered and banana-shaped things?
This is, of course, delightful news to my guy friends. They get this half-crazed look in their eyes as they ask stuff like, “How many breasts do you have to squeeze to find out their cup size?” and “Do you help put on garter belts and lace up corsets?” as well as the ever-popular, “Have you ever, you know, been with a hot girl in the dressing room?”
For the most part, the work is decidedly less erotic. I find that much of my time with customers is spent finding adequate replacement underwear for visitors who’ve lost their luggage, or to answer questions about parking.
Still, there are the rewarding moments. Like, when older couples come in giggling, holding up various negligees or thongs they’d like to see each other in. It’s seriously cute. Or the sheepish but sincerely lovelorn guy who needs help impressing his girlfriend. So sweet. Or when a middle-aged woman, slightly embarrassed but determined, asks which dildo is best for her first one ever. Now that’s downright tragic. But damn if I can’t help a sister out when duty calls!
Even before all that, I knew I picked the right temporary side-job when, after a couple hours into my first shift, Aunty called and beckoned me to join her for a Sunday afternoon mimosa. Now who am I to refuse my new Panty boss?
It was a scorching hot day when I met her at the members-only, dive-bar-on-the-sea Lahaina Yacht Club and I was drenched in sweat from the short walk. Pasty white-skinned tourists scrambled for shade and air-conditioned comfort within the gecko-inundated gift shops along Front Street. Had this been a city in Middle America, kids would be playing around busted fire hydrants in the street. You get the idea.
But beyond the saloon doors of the Yacht Club, there was Aunty, sitting solo in her tastefully skimpy white tennis outfit, nary a drop of perspiration, makeup flawless, blonde braid neatly tucked under her white visor. Two champagne splits sat on the bar in front of her in individual buckets of rapidly melting ice.
I didn’t sell much for Aunty that day, as one mimosa morphed into seemingly five million and the hours quickly raced by. I met some fascinating people, including Aunty’s ex-cop friend, who had recently survived an in-the-field attack and was recovering from the resultant six-week coma.
Aunty’s friend was very fun, but was intent on enlisting me to help debauch her visiting guy friends from the mainland. Apparently, these guys were quite naive and easily embarrassed. Well, after my third mimosa, color me compliant! I always welcome the chance to corrupt grown men. Once you reach the legal age, innocence is for losers!
Aunty insisted I run back to the shop and adorn myself with her feathered nipple clips and peek-a-boo fishnet body stocking.
Through the rounds of champagne and naughty displays of affected hedonism, Aunty and I did have some poignant conversations. We talked a little about “defining moments.” You know, those little moments—like when your new lover orders dessert for you without asking or puts new sheets on the bed before you come over—that can be a turning point in your relationship, or even just help you discover something about yourself.
I thought about this as another shift at the shop had me confronting a series of strange encounters. I knew the day would be unusual when the first couple that came in began asking me explicit questions about my piercings, and then asked if they could see them. I politely demurred.
Later in the day, another woman demanded to know, rather hostilely, what exactly does “motion lotion” do and can she use it with the textured silicon rings? My face beet-red, I timidly stammered my normally eloquent dissertation on lubricants and penile attachments.
But the coup de grace, the moment that would have my lascivious male friends moaning with disbelief, occurred at the end of this odd day. And no, I am not making this up.
Just as I was about to close up shop, a raven-haired cutie in her early 20’s walked in. She said she was visiting from San Diego and shopping for a discreet travel-size vibrator. We made the usual small talk as I closed the sale on her new purchase. Then she asked me if I could “help her out” in the dressing room.
I’d love to tell you what happened next, but it would just ruin my guy friends’ fantasies.
Samantha Campos is considering running against Cicciolina in Milan’s upcoming mayoral election.