Excerpts

Remotely Pleasant
© 1998 Jacob Hugart
Excerpted from "Sex Toy Tales", Down There Press, San Francisco

Patrick Johnson sipped his wine. It would stretch the limit of his meal allotment for this trip, but the kitchen of this hotel produced excellent - and inexpensive - dinners, if his just-completed meal was a typical example.

With a sigh, he reclined in his chair. The hostess had seated him by the glass doors which, during the day, opened onto a courtyard dining patio. Patrick was becoming very familiar with the arrangement of tables and chairs on that patio. Usually, he enjoyed talking to his wife during dinner, but she was half-a-continent away. His company discouraged the practice of having one's spouse along on business trips by the simple method of making the paperwork unfathomable.

He had endured the silence surrounding his meal with the grim determination that his manners would be impeccable - and not one crumb had fallen on the tablecloth! - but he had to look somewhere, and instead of staring at one of the handful of patrons in the large dining room, he stared out at the patio.

Not that he hadn't noticed the other diners: a man, woman and two children at one of the round tables; two men conversing by another window table somewhere behind him; a lone woman in a corner booth. All served by the same waiter. And two hostesses had seated all the patrons in such a way that the waiter was forced to cover the entire space of the dining room to visit each occupied table.

Patrick watched as the waiter distributed bills to the other diners before approaching his table with another glass of wine ... and a small, white box.

"Compliments of the lady," said the waiter, glancing to the corner booth. He set the glass and box down, then withdrew.

Patrick looked toward the booth, but the woman was concentrating on a slice of chocolate cake. When Patrick reached for his glass, she looked up and smiled: a winning smile in a not unattractive face. Patrick nodded his head with a small smile, and raised the glass in acknowledgment.

The woman's eyes then darted to the box on the table as her lips pursed together. Looking back at Patrick with one eyebrow arched, she seemed to ask, Aren't you curious about the box?

Patrick took a breath and let it out. He could appreciate the wine, but was not interested in any rendezvous. Setting down his glass, he reached for the box.

Opening it, he was surprised to discover no message, no room key ... just a small plastic device with a little dial on one side. Turning it over in his hands, he noted a small door which resembled a battery compartment. He looked back to the woman, only to see that she had returned her attention to her dessert.

Tentatively, he place his thumb against the dial. Slight pressure didn't budge it. A firmer touch released it. Unsure of what to expect, Patrick slowly ran the dial up as far as it would go. Noticing no effect, he dialed it back down, until the feel of a soft click told him he had returned it to its initial setting.

He looked up to the woman with a frown of confusion on his face, to see her sitting against the upholstery of the booth, head back, eyes closed, hands on the table. Slowly, her eyes opened, and the winning smile began to grow on her face.

Patrick's eyes flicked to the plastic box, then back to the woman. Her grin seemed a trifle wider. On impulse, Patrick flicked the dial on and off quickly.

At that, the grin vanished from the woman's face and her eyes shut quickly. She opened them and looked back at Patrick, shaking her head a little.

Then he understood.