The instructions for Step Eight were simple.
> "A sensual adventurer must expand her toolkit. Pleasure is not a suggestion—it's a responsibility. Explore instruments of joy. Batteries not optional."
Maxie Langford was nothing if not responsible.
Which is how she ended up standing in the middle of Lust Depot, a neon-lit, slightly overwhelming emporium of adult pleasure, trying not to make eye contact with a rubber fist.
---
"Can I help you find anything?" asked the chipper sales assistant with lavender hair and a nametag that read Darla (She/They/Certified Toy Whisperer).
"Yes," Maxie said. "I'm looking for something… advanced. But not like, I have a safe word in Latin advanced."
Darla nodded thoughtfully.
"Something more 'Ooh' than 'Oh God, not the clamps again'?"
"Exactly."
She was shown a collection of vibrators that looked less like toys and more like weapons in a futuristic anime. One even had Bluetooth compatibility, which deeply unsettled her.
"Does this one… sync with Spotify?"
Darla grinned. "Only if you want it to vibrate to Lizzo."
Tempting. But no.
---
Maxie eventually settled on a sleek, rose-gold wand, a discreet rabbit-shaped number called The Whimsical Whisker. According to the box, it had seven speeds, a warming function, and "whispers to your soul in frequencies only unicorns can hear."
She bought it immediately.
Also in her basket: a blindfold with "YES, CHEF" embroidered on it, a bottle of strawberry lube named Berry Me Deeply, and a silk rope she had no clue how to use but made her feel like a Bond villain's hot niece.
---
At home, she lit candles and put on soft music.
Then she turned on the Whimsical Whisker.
BZZZZZZZTT.
It roared to life like an electric lawn mower possessed by a bee.
She nearly dropped it.
"Okaaaay," she muttered, adjusting the settings. "Less power tool, more power tool."
She tried the low setting.
Better.
She gently introduced it to her inner thigh like she was meeting royalty.
Then—BZZZT-ZZZZZZZT!
It shifted into turbo unexpectedly and launched out of her hand, smacking a framed photo of her aunt's wedding off the nightstand.
Maxie dove for it like she was tackling a grenade.
By the time she got it under control, she was sweaty, a little breathless, and oddly turned on by her own determination.
---
After a long, satisfying round of self-exploration—which involved one leg on the wall, the accidental triggering of the warm mode, and a brief debate with Alexa about setting the mood—Maxie declared the night a glorious success.
But not before one final, unexpected hiccup.
---
The cucumber incident.
She was in the kitchen the next morning, making a smoothie, when she saw it.
A lone cucumber. Innocent. Chilled. Slightly curved.
Her brain—fresh from a night of indulgent imagination—connected dots that should never be connected.
"I wonder…"
She stared at it for a long time.
Then shook her head violently. "No. That's how the dark side starts."
Instead, she chopped it up, blended it with spinach and pineapple, and chugged it like a responsible adult.
"I control the toys. They don't control me."
---
Her journal entry:
Step Eight: Toys are fun. Until they start learning your Wi-Fi password.
Also, never underestimate the power of a well-placed blindfold. Or a sales clerk named Darla.