"What do you mean they canceled the order?" asked Venus Coleman, her tone rising with each subsequent syllable.

Taylor rolled her eyes from the privacy of the other end of the phone line. Academics, man. Were they all so . . . shrill?

With a sigh, the young analyst tapered her preferred response with something more diplomatic.

"I'm not sure, Dr. Coleman. I went into the financial system to do my usual Monday morning sweep of outstanding accounts, and I noticed that there was a change in the status of your vendor," she explained. "When I called them to confirm that it hadn't been in error, they said that there was a payment block against the original purchase order and therefore they weren't able to ship the items as previously agreed."

There was a moment of silence.

"Dr. Coleman?" Taylor asked, fearing that the connection had dropped.

"Yes. Yes, I'm thinking. Give me a second, please," the curator said as a car honked in the background.

"Sure thing." Taylor scrolled down her screen with the list of all the kinky paraphernalia that now was canceled as she waited for . . . what exactly was she waiting for?

"I know!" Dr. Coleman exclaimed as if she'd read her mind. "This must be a mistake. I'm positive it is. But it'll take time to sort out-it always does, damned government bureaucracy," she muttered the curse before resuming at normal volume again. "Anyway, we'll just have to get our display items for the exhibit another way."

"We?" asked Taylor, already fearing what was coming next.

"Of course. You are going to help me, right?" Dr. Coleman asked in a cross between boss and Mom voice. "That's part of your job, is it not?"

"Well, I-"

"Great," the curator cut her off. "So this is what we'll do since there's not enough time to start the contracting process all over. You have an organizational credit card, I'm guessing so we can just go local and direct pay. There's a fabulous wholesale place in Baltimore that's Black-owned, too, so there should be no problems with getting the sole source approval."

And that was how Taylor ended up the next morning outside of a warehouse in a sketchy part of Charm City. Standing next to the Uber she'd be needing to get reimbursed for, the analyst huddled under her umbrella and watched the rain create bigger and bigger puddles in the pothole-marked parking lot as she reconsidered all of her life choices leading up to this point.

"Are you sure you can't wait for me? I promise to be quick," she asked the driver one more time, while knowing it wasn't worth her effort.

The mustachioed man shrugged. "If I get a fare, I go. If you're lucky, I stay."

Taylor smirked. "Great. Well-"

Ping.

"Oh, I guess you not so lucky," said the man as his smartphone signaled a new customer. "Maybe I come back when you are finished. Good luck, lady."

A crack of thunder boomed as the late-model Accord drove off and Taylor took that as her cue. After running across the lot and shaking her dripping umbrella at the door, she entered the showroom part of the facility.

The air smelled of weed, latex and strawberries.

Behind a long counter, two very disinterested looking employees scrolled on their phones. Considering that he was closer to the door, Taylor slid a printed list to the guy with dreadlocks. His name badge read LeShawn.

"Hey. I called yesterday about a last-minute order and was told it would be ready for pick up today," she said, hoping her pleasant, yet urgent tone would get quick service so she could be out of there pronto.

LeShawn looked up. "Oh, yeah. You're with that museum, aren't you? I don't think we've done business with you guys before," he said with a smirk.

Taylor could feel her face burn. "No. Probably not. This is a special exhibit," she said, trying not to make eye contact, but then inadvertently looking at a poster of a big boobed lingerie model, instead. "Uhm, is it ready?"

"Let me check," LeShawn said. "Feel free to browse while you wait. If we don't have something you like in the warehouse out back, we can usually get stuff in stock within a week."

"Thanks," Taylor muttered, relieved she could step away, but not really wanting to take advantage of the opportunity to look around. She felt uncomfortable enough already being there. Testing the mounted sex swing with the big "TRY ME" sign on it was definitely out of the question.

The unexpected ring of her cell phone gave her a much needed reprieve, and Taylor quickly accepted the FaceTime call.

"Holy shit, girl. How happy am I to see you right now?" she answered into the device as her old college roommate Tissa's face popped up on the screen in place of her contact name.

"What's going on?" Tissa asked, tucking a lock of her mousy brown hair behind her ear before squinting at her screen. "Wait. Is that a giant container of lube on the shelf behind you?"

Taylor spun around in horror. "Oh my god. Pretend you didn't see that," she said, realizing that pretty much everything around her was related to sex. Because of course it was. She was in a freaking sex shop, for goodness sakes.

"No, no, no," Tissa demanded. "Now you have to show me. Come on! Don't leave me hanging."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Maybe I'll give you a peek, but you first. What's up? I thought we had the hiking trip plans squared away-"

"It's not that," interrupted Tissa. "Everything's all set for the weekend."

"Then what?" asked Taylor, tilting her phone so the display of fetish collars behind her wouldn't be visible on the other end.

Her friend's expression toggled between frustration and anger.

"I know this is totally a first world problem, but why doesn't my boyfriend want to fuck me?"

Although the incoming call couldn't be publicly heard because of her AirPods, Taylor also instinctively lowered her speaking volume. "Is this that older guy from your grad program?"

Tissa nodded, but remained guarded-like every time before-about revealing much more.

"And you guys have done . . . other stuff, right?"

"Yeah, he just doesn't want to," Tissa cut herself off and made a gesture with her fingers mimicking sticking an oblong object into a hole. "Is that weird? What should I do, Tay?"

Taylor sighed. She was no relationship expert and even less of one regarding sex. Thank heavens she was already married because otherwise, it would probably just be her and her trusty vibrator.

"I don't know, man. Maybe there's something wrong with his dick," she said, trying to lighten the topic as her gaze landed on a stap-on penis hanging on a hook. Feeling more emboldened by the second, she picked it up and waved it in front of her phone screen. "I could get you one of these if you'd like."

"Can I help you find something?"

Startled by the question, Tay spun around to see the distracted sales girl from earlier standing behind her.

"Er. Uhm, no. Thank you though. I'm just looking," she said sheepishly, hanging up the toy and scurrying further down the aisle.

"Oh my god, I'm going to die," she said into the phone amidst fits of giggles.

On the other end, Tissa was similarly amused. "Where exactly are you?" she asked as tears streamed down her face from laughter. "Show me around, will you?"

Taylor was just about to flip the camera view around when LeShawn re-emerged. "Miss! I think I have everything here for you now if you're ready to check out."

This was purely for research.

Never would Professor Andrew Pace log on to a webcam site for no good reason. He had a beautiful, successful wife he could screw every night of the week if he had wanted. She just happened to be at some sort of work thing tonight, that was all.

Pace took a swig of his scotch, the smoky Glenlivet burning his throat as it traveled down into his empty stomach.

And there was also that prissy little tart from university whose illicit pursuit used to be enough of a thrill to make her interesting, but who was increasingly a distraction now that he'd made the catch. She also barely made an effort for him. He really should have been thinking of replacing her with someone more appreciative of his intellect.

Swishing the quickly melting ice cube in the glass, Pace scoffed out loud.

Yes. He deserved better. He deserved more.

The soft moaning from his laptop's speakers drew his attention to the screen. The young woman in a lacy black bra and panties sat on the edge of a bed, spread her knees apart and slowly drew her hand down her naked body until she reached her crotch.

"You like that, huh?" she asked as if reading his mind through the camera.

Pace took another sip of his liquor. "Fuck yeah," he whispered, tilting the screen for a better view.

Maybe it was the alcohol speaking, but he really wondered if he could find this girl in real life. She would be perfect for him. Skinny with big breasts, a beautiful face, and anticipating his every desire.

No, that was stupid. These women remained anonymous for good reason. He knew that from his historical study of sex workers, which was the only reason he ever watched these live webcam peep shows like he was doing now. It was an essential part of what had gotten him invited to help curate the upcoming exhibit at the Museum of Ethnography in DC. He was a goddamned professional, not a pervert.

"Take off your pants," instructed the woman on the other side of the camera with a naughty smile, and at first, Pace was tempted to flip the monitor closed now that the real show was starting.

But Samira wouldn't be home for at least another hour and there was plenty of scotch left in the bottle.

Unzipping his khakis, he pushed them to his knees before sitting back down again and pouring another drink.

"That's a good boy," said the cam girl in a husky tone as she kneeled in front of her own camera.

Pace downed his second scotch in one gulp, closed his eyes, and touched himself. He moaned at the thought of the leggy brunette holding his dick and even though deep down he knew it wasn't true, he was just drunk enough to not care.

"How does that feel?" she asked as he slowly began to stroke himself.

"Bloody amazing," he whispered back, in spite of knowing she couldn't hear him.

For a few seconds, all he could hear was his increasingly labored breathing and the sound of skin on skin friction.

"I'm going to suck you dry."

The bold statement made Pace open his eyes just in time to catch the woman bend down in front of her camera so that only the top of her head was now visible. Her gentle up and down bob was accompanied by a slurping sound and occasional moans of contentment.

"Son of a bitch," Pace groaned to himself as he watched the action, pretending that it was his cock that this hot-ass stranger was going down on. The increasing speed of the bobs and slurps quickly got him off and soon he was reaching for the box of Kleenex on the side table.

Ping.

The sound of a direct message got his attention back to the laptop where the camgirl was now starting a segment of self-pleasuring. In the corner of the screen, there was an icon for an incoming message.

ONC rolling word count: 13,088