Satisfaction Delivered
’We need him blindfolded,’ the host said. She was blind. A good journalist. ‘It makes the conversation equal. A surprise. It will loosen him up.’
The boss nodded. ‘Find a sleep mask by tomorrow.’
I wrote it down. I was managing the project.
Wednesday evening. I opened my laptop. Delivery took three days. Pick-up was on the edge of the city. Taxis cost a fortune. The shoot was Thursday night. I sat staring at the screen.
The driver arrived in the morning. Tall, forty-five. Charming, with terribly crooked teeth.
’Why so sad?’ he asked.
I told him. No time, no mask.
He smiled. ‘Do I have to teach you everything? Go to a sex shop.’
I found a kiosk near the subway. I went inside. Silicone shapes. Leather harnesses. The cashier wasn’t a tattooed girl with father issues. She was fifty-something. A plump, tired auntie.
’I need a blindfold,’ I said. ‘Complete darkness.’
’Leather or silk?’ she asked.
’Black silk. It’s for a man. For a shoot. And I need an official invoice for my company.’ I looked at the fabric. ‘Are they good? Does it really block the light?’
She took out a receipt book. She started writing.
’Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I sleep in one myself. In the afternoon. The grandkids run around screaming, and I just put this on.’
I stood there. I pictured the apartment. The screaming children. The toys on the floor. And her, resting on the sofa, shutting it all out with a bondage mask. I looked around the shop. The neon. The massive dildos. The mannequins in fishnets. I wondered what else she brought home to test.
She stamped the paper.
’We have other things,’ she said. ‘Toys. Erotic lingerie.’
’I’m flying solo these days,’ I said.
I put the mask in my bag. I didn’t need anything else. The thought settled in the room, heavy and sad.
I went back to the studio. I handed the paper to the Finance Director for reimbursement.
She looked at the receipt while opening the safe and laughed until there were tears in her eyes.
The stamp read: Sex Shop ‘Satisfaction’.
She handed me cash.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Iryna Somkina is a Kyiv-based writer. She is Best Small Fiction nominee; her works appear in Gone Lawn, ANMLY, Heavy Feather Review and everywhere else. She explores ambivalence of intimacy in gritty reality.
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