Authors: Helena Hunting
Pucked (50 page)
Her first UTI had snuck up on her like a hairy little kitten. She never got urinary tract infections, but when she wound up crying from the burning sensation while peeing, she made an appointment with her decidedly female general practitioner. Dove filled her prescription for antibiotics at her friendly Save-Mart pharmacy, comfortingly staffed by discreet ladies. Dove vaguely remembered commenting on her pharmacist’s large belly. Mrs. Pills should be about eight and a half months pregnant as of right now.
When Dove found herself battling a yeast infection due to the powerful antibiotics, she had to make a return trip to her doctor and picked up her current prescription. Now, as she got to the Save-Mart Pharmacy counter again, she waited patiently. She didn’t see Mrs. Pills. From the conversation Dove overheard between the woman’s assistants, she was now both a pharmacist and a happy mom to a healthy baby girl.
Dove didn’t notice the gentleman tucking purple and white bags into uniform alphabetic rows until he noticed her first. She had no time to run with her prescription clearly in view. He unfurled his large frame and his handsome smile at the same time.
Oh crap, kill me. Someone kill me dead. A lot.
“
Hello. Dropping off?”
His voice should have been counting down the hits on some radio station. His green eyes flashed with friendliness and maybe a bit of flirtation. Dove swallowed hard and nodded.
After an awkward pause, Mr. Fitzwell, as his nametag claimed, reached between her breasts to pluck the paper from her clenched hands. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow—possibly at her bizarre behavior—and smoothed the paper on the laminate counter. Dove wanted to crap her pants when he announced the name of her drug way louder than Mrs. Pills would ever mention a lady prescription
.
“
Gynazule
®
?”
Anything with the sound “gyn” in it would perk up people’s ears. Dove looked over her shoulder. What looked to be an entire football team of boys was gathered around a grandmotherly lady. They were obviously showing her their support in great testosterone-filled numbers. Dove was sure the woman’s problem was a lot more devastating than her own.
All eyes were trained on Dove. She tried to curl her body into itself and turned back to Mr. Gorgeous McLoudypants.
Dove whispered quietly, “Yes, that’s it. Thank you.”
Mr. Fitzwell leaned closer to hear her. “Okay.” He seemed to want to engage in some more conversation. “Have you ever used it before? Because it’s a little bit different than your regular VAGINAL cream.” His voice just carried; it was like he couldn’t stop it if he tried.
Dove let her hands grab one another for support. If she didn’t have a wall of teenage meat behind her, she would’ve run. She wasn’t exactly sure because her heart was pumping loudly in her ears, but she thought the supportive boys behind her were snickering.
“
No, I… haven’t used it before.” Dove wondered if she could fit in her own purse.
He obviously was quite proud of his extensive knowledge of pharmaceutical products. He decided to spout the difference between “traditional” yeast infection creams and GYNAZULE
®
.
“
You see it’s administered with one dose in an APPLICATOR. It’s unique because it contains adhesive that will stick to your VAGINAL WALLS, as opposed to running DOWN YOUR LEGS. I think it’s called VAGI-GRAB
®
. But let me check.” Mr. Fitzwell ignored the large crowd and clicked away on his computer.
Don’t check. Good fucks out loud. DON’T check!
Dove thought the blush she felt on her cheeks might actually give her sunburn. She tried to be savvy. She wanted to be an empowered woman who tossed tampons around like confetti to just anyone, but she wasn’t. She could always try.
“
Yup. That’s it. VAGI-GRAB
®
. So, Ms. Glitch, any questions?” He turned his interested, trying-to-be helpful, sexy eyes back to her red, red face.
Dove’s voice got quieter as she tried to think of something—anything—to ask. “Um. Is it unscented?”
Mr. Fitzwell squinted as if he could turn up her volume by making his eyes smaller. “I’m not sure. Are you allergic to any types of VAGINAL medicines?”
Dove’s mouth talking before her head could shut her up. “Uh… I need to use very gentle soaps because I have sensitive… parts.” Her voice was getting higher and higher.
Mr. Fitzwell looked as professional as a brain surgeon. He clearly wanted her to have the correct information. There were definitely stifled chuckles behind her now. Dove was pretty sure her ass was blushing as well. The crack was sweating all on its own, like it was on a super high diving board about to jump.
“
Okay, Ms. Glitch GYNAZULE
®
is not a soap. It will not work if you put it in and then rinse it off in the shower.” He patted the prescription paper to emphasize his words.
Oh God. We’re talking about me being naked, in the shower with cooter cream. Please world, end. Kill me.
“
I know it’s not soap. I just… if it’s scented… I can’t do scented. Flowers and stuff like that. Fruit-flavored soaps make… things… burnish.” She could tell from the peeks at his face Mr. Fitzwell had never stepped foot in a bath and lotion store, wanting to try the array of fun fragrances. Nor had he purchased Peppermint Candy shower gel, foamed up his nether regions, and felt like he had dipped them in lava. Dove crossed and uncrossed her legs at the memory.
Mr. Fitzwell seemed concerned. “Okay, just a heads-up. It’s definitely not good to put any fruits or plant life near your genitals.” He made a V with his hands and formed his own pretend vagina in front of his pants.
Dove covered her eyes and tried to defend herself because now she could hear the sickly older woman beating her supporters with a purse.
Dove’s mumbling got louder with her embarrassment. “I don’t put weird things down… there. Just make sure that the cream’s vagina-scented. Just plain. For vaginas.” She kept her eyes on the counter.
Stop saying “vagina,” you screaming asshole!
The assistants were cooing and ogling pictures on the computer. Mrs. Pills had obviously forwarded images of her newborn baby to her coworkers at the perfect time for them not to come to Dove’s aid. Finally, Mr. Fitzwell asked her for her phone number and birth date.
“
You can wait right over there; I’ll have this ready in ten minutes. I’m sure the itching is horrendous.”
Dove shuffled to the hard purple chairs and grabbed a magazine off the rack to hide behind. From the questions and directions he asked, Mr. Fitzwell was obviously Mrs. Pill’s temporary replacement for her maternity leave. Dove peered over the top of her magazine at him. He was stunning and from the way smiled, he almost knew it. His jaw was like a stiff, hard cliff somewhere in Ireland. The kind on postcards. His Adam’s apple was like his throat’s erection. Dominant. He had the sleeves of his shirt pushed up and his forearms revealed. Veins and muscles. From doing stuff. All kinds of sexy, manly stuff. The assistants fluffed their hair when he wasn’t looking and pretended to pinch his butt.
After the football team took care of the lovely grandma, Dove was as alone as one could be in a Save-Mart. Mr. Fitzwell looked over the counter while he was working to see if she was still there. Just before Dove could scurry her gaze away, she saw him look at her magazine and raise his eyebrows in surprise. Dove hadn’t thought to check which magazine she was pretending to be reading. She’d just needed a shield to hide behind. She closed it and looked at the cover. It was a copy of
Cosmopolitan
with large print over most of the cover:
MAKE YOUR ORGASMS LOUDER, HARDER AND LONGER!
Dove dropped the magazine like it was a snake that had bitten her.
Fuck you! Crazy lady magazine!
Dove wanted to cry. This was the worst twenty minutes in her entire existence. After all her semiclandestine feminine product acquisitions, she was facing everything she worked to protect herself against. And the drop-dead gorgeous pharmacist had witnessed it all.
He knew her vagina was sensitive to products and that it was itching. Dove contemplated the magazine again. She wondered if she could actually paper cut herself to death while sitting in the waiting area.
Mr. Fitzwell called her name. “Ms. Glitch? Your GYNAZULE
®
is ready.”
She grabbed her purse and stomped over to the counter. He was smiling at her, ready to ring up her purchase. “You might want to grab some probiotics to go with this. Fight the infection from the inside and the outside.”
Dove just stood and stared at him. She rarely got angry and certainly not over womanly products with a man, but she’d had enough.
“
Listen, Mr. Fitzwell!” She slammed her purse down in front of him, and he blinked in surprise. “For future reference, when a lady hands you a script like that?” She pointed to the crinkly bag he was holding. “Go get one of the assistants to handle it. No one wants to talk about her ‘vaginal walls’
”—
she mimicked his V-shaped hand motion from earlier—“with a
dude
!”
Dove let out a satisfied breath.
I told him. Good for me.
She didn’t expect his hurt expression and dejected nodding. His loud voice was quiet, finally.
“
Of course, ma’am. I’m very sorry.”
He motioned for her to sign the screen in front of her to accept the prescription. She hated the look on his face—like he was a puppy and she had just kicked him. She took the bag from his hands, careful not to touch his beautiful, long fingers. She couldn’t leave him all dejected and dragging.
“
It’s okay. I overreacted. I get mean when I’m embarrassed.”
Instead of helping he shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Great job, Fitzwell. Living the dream now, you big fool.” He ran a hand through his perfect hair. He was talking to himself.
Dove bit her lip, and he used her pause to explain himself more. “This is my first day as a pharmacist. I just wanted to be really thorough and make sure you were comfortable with the medicine. I did a great job with that, huh?”
She had been angry with him, but now she had compassion. This was his dream, and she was probably the worst customer to have right out of the gate.
Dove smiled at him. “It’s okay, Mr. Fitzwell. I think you’re going to make a great pharmacist.”
He looked at her doubtfully.
“
No, really, you will.” She reached out and patted his hand to solidify her message.
They both felt the spark—an actual, blue, snapping spark. Dove’s wool jacket, combined with the pharmacy rug, had turned her into a walking electrical appliance. They both pulled their hands away from the contact, shaking their fingers.
“
Damn!” Mr. Fitzwell stepped a few feet away from the counter and her.
Dove laughed; it was clear nothing here was going to go well.
“
Well, I guess you got me back. I hope you feel better soon, Ms. Glitch.” He was smiling at her laughter. At least they could end the experience with a bit of joy. His teeth were pearly white and straight, and there was a hint of a dimple. Her uterus swooned.
“
Call me Dove. You already know so much about me.” She held out her hand formally.
He gave her a huge smile and went about the most awkward handshake of her life. He touched her palm with his first finger. When there was no shock, he flicked her finger to get rid of any latent electricity.
“
Ow!” She winced. His thumping forefinger made her fingers curl into her hand.
“
Sorry, sorry. I’m making a mess of this, but it’s just that I hate shocks.” He finally grasped her hand, but it was before she could completely unclamp her fingers, so he wound up shaking her claw.
“
I’m Johnson. Thanks for being my first customer and breaking me in.”
He seemed like he was about to release her hand when she dropped her prescription bag between them. They both reached for it at the same time and clanked foreheads together like drunken sumo wrestlers.
“
Damn it!” Dove staggered backward.
Johnson put his hands to his head, wincing in pain. The assistants tried to stop giggling, but lost their battle. Dove scooped up the bag and backed away from the disastrous transaction.
“
Well, Johnson, I might remember nothing at all after that whack, but my head won’t forget when you banged me.”
Oh, holy piss cushions. I just said he banged me. Like ‘sex’ bang.
Johnson reached into the little pharmacy refrigerator and pulled out the first bottle he laid his hands on. He pressed it against the slight contusion on his forehead.
He waved in her direction and had clearly missed her verbal faux pas because he was deep in the middle of his own, shouting, “I like to leave a mark when I bang people!” in his too-loud voice.
Dove’s last glimpse of him made her smile for hours. To his forehead, as impromptu first aid, he had a bottle, clearly marked in bold letters: Anal Suppository! Keep Cold!
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