A/N: Hey y'all hey. This is a new little fic I'm working on. And by little I mean that this will probably run just a handful of chappies. I hop you like it, I've been wanting to write it up for awhile. Big frikken ass slaps to lexiecullen17 for being my kick ass betafish. By the way you should be reading The Longest Summer by her...it's on my favs. j/s

As always Twilight stuff belong to SM I just own the crazy shit I make them do. *smirks*

Smooch, smooch...kiss, kiss. Tell me if you think I should continue this.


As I blew the wayward strands of hair from my forehead, I realized that it was going to be a long day. Well, another day of long hours and grunt errands to run; but, at least I had a job. See, when you go to college, study hard, and get your degree, no one tells you, no matter how qualified you are, you have to start at the bottom and work your way up. Hence, eight years...eight long years of college, has equaled to me doing lab runs and all sorts of other menial jobs.

Not that I'm complaining, but I'd be lying if I said that there hadn't been a few Seattle Grace delusions/fantasies floating about my head. Sadly, though, I found out I'm no Meredith Grey...aloof and slutty were not on my resume. I guess you could rank me as sort of a mixture of Christina Yang and George...determined to succeed and completely sexually unaware.

I had graduated in the top five percent of my class, and I'd been actively recruited by some of the top hospitals in the country. So, when I accepted a position at a Los Angeles facility, ranked at the top for their surgery and trauma units...I never thought it would be like this. Naturally, I assumed the long days and even longer shifts, but I was single with no living family or relationships to distract me.

So, I'd charged in like a bull in a china shop-all sorts of prepared-having memorized as much as I could of the medical journal. What I was not prepared for were my two third-year residents, Mike and Tyler. Or as they like to be called, Doctors Newton and Crowley. They were definitely not McDreamy or McSteamy...more on the lines of McFugly and McHandsy.

With every 'teaching' opportunity, someone had a hand on my arm, shoulder, or back. If I hadn't been so driven, then I would have snapped back a finger or two. Instead, I got mean and full out Kathy Griffin bitchy after months of reckless, puberty-plagued, teenage boy behavior.

"Doctor Newton," I spoke after one particular touch fell below the small of my back. "If your shoes are any indication of length and your thumb of girth, I can see that you're wasting both of our times here."

His mouth fell open, and Crowley gasped as our patient stifled her giggles. As I walked briskly from the room, I threw a parting comment over my shoulder. "And Doctor Crowley? Was that a gay gasp I just heard? I knew I had you pegged correctly when I started here."

As I hid in an on-call room and tried to steady my breath, I realized that I was tired of being touched. And I was sexually frustrated. Ironic, right? I resolved my feelings by telling myself that I could fix at least one of these problems. As I walked out the hospital's front door at the end of my shift, I hummed Alanis Morisette's "Isn't It Ironic", determined to enjoy my day off.

The streets of West Hollywood were littered with sex shops and all sorts of other interesting things. Interesting to the point that I had ditched my purse at home and carried my wallet and cell in the pockets of my faded and ripped Deisel jeans. The Pleasure Chest was a shop that had been recommended to me by a nurse that I'd gotten close with...Alice. That chick was chocked full of energy, and I thought maybe she knew all about battery operated toys because she was one.


The store was much more massive on the inside than the tiny storefront showed . Aisles and shelves upon the brightly painted walls were so packed that I was sure if someone else were in my walking path, I'd have to side step them or risk ramming shoulders.

Crazy purple walls and a gleaming, highly polished tile floor kind of made me think of a retro club turned porn shop. Correction- sexual health and novelty store. HA. What a laugh...porn shop. It was vast and overwhelming, and the second I started to back toward the door and bolt, a hand touched my elbow and a voice found my ears.

"Is there something I can help you find?" A southern voice as smooth as a good whiskey drawled from beside me. I turned, and he grinned widely at me. "I'll take it from the lack of speech and the wide doe eyes that you're a virgin." When I coughed and started sputtering and choking on nothing he added, "I mean in the shop...a virgin here to the store...a first-timer." The wicked glint in his ocean blue eyes told me he knew exactly what he'd said.

"I'm too busy with work to date." Yes, this was the only solid, complete sentence my brain could form, and I had word vommed it all over his pretty boy toes, peeking out from the straps of some Birkenstocks. But even with my embarrassment, the damned evil cowboy dressed like a hippie, winked, nodded, and with his hand still at my elbow walked down the center aisle.

"You look like you could handle yourself in the right situation...and by that I don't mean handle yourself. You're no wimp, prissy girl...I can sense the tough in you, but I still think you're a pinky." All the wrong sexual innuendos I'd heard at work and throughout my life exploded in my frontal lobe, and once again I was stammering at the blue-eyed devil. "This is one of the most popular with your type. And by type, I mean strong, virginal, hard working, pinky persona."

With a final wink, he slapped a rectangular black box in my palm before pointing toward the register. The slinky blonde working the till nodded at him and waved me over. Who knew? It looked like he got commission on my potential orgasm inducer. I started giggling at the momentary thought of percentage per production. Multiple orgasms would equal a higher commission rate.

The woman at the counter rang up the black box-that I hadn't even bothered to check over-and in a too nasal voice said, "With the discount, it'll be thirty-four dollars on the dot."

"Discount?" I mumbled incoherently. I got a nod in return and a flick of blonde hair in the direction of Winky the devilish Cowboy. He grinned, and I handed over my credit card. And as I signed my name on the receipt, I realized I was glad I no longer shared a bank account with the paternals. Think of the fun conversation you're missing out on. "Bella, what did you purchase at the Pleasure Chest? Do we need to have a talk? Is there something you're keeping to yourself? You don't have to...just talk to me."

Again with the hysterical giggling as I walked away from the counter. I was pretty sure I was laughing and clutching at the solid black plastic bag like I was some junkie that had just scored with my drug of choice. Oh, sex toy...you are my personal brand of heroin.


When I got to the house, I tried my damnedest to set the plastic sack on the dining room table and ignore it. I fidgeted through cooking dinner but kept glancing at the table so often that I nearly burned the pan-seared chicken I was cooking. And once it came time to eat, I should have poured the fucking coal black bag a glass of wine; I didn't even move it off the table when I sat down.

The fact that my hands shook and were slightly clammy made me feel like I was sitting in some bistro on a first date. I was fucking losing it. I may have even started having one-sided conversations with myself. "How was your day at work? Fucking peachy, I finally told tweedle dee and tweedle fucktard were they could stick their hands." Yup, and heaven behold, I started laughing at my own banter.

Finally, I just gave up. I scraped my food into the trash, tidied the kitchen, and on the way to my room snatched said first date off the table. Sneaking a peek at the front door ensured that it was locked, and as I hit the light switch-turning the living area dark-the flutter of nervous butterflies arose in my stomach.

This was getting out of control. I mean, just because it had been forever since I'd had sex didn't mean that sex with an inanimate object should stir up such anxiety. Like the battery operated toy was gonna care that my hoohah and legs weren't shaved. The snort that escaped my lips echoed off the silent walls of my barren room.

It had been so long, and the tidy emptiness of my room only brought home that thought home even more. I plopped my body heavily down on the bed, the black bag in my hands. Why the fuck am I nervous about this? It's like washing your hair...penetrate, pull out, and repeat.

Five minutes of internal debating finally led to me dumping the bag onto the bed. The long slender box had a half-naked woman petting a fuzzy pink bunny. WTF? Exactly what I was thinking, and what did I let John Wayne sale me?

My mouth dropped open, and I stared at the contents like they were from the future. And I was almost positive my vajayjay stood up and took note. The vibrator was a sparkly iridescent pink, the shaft was filled with tiny, metallic balls, and protruding from the side was a fucking bunny! The words "My First Bunny" were scrawled across the top.

The base of the whole thing had buttons and lights; it was ridiculous. My mind raced at what this thing might actually do. The pad of my thumb grazed over a button and must have activated it because-I'll be fucked seven ways from Sunday-but the damned head of it started rotating in circles.

I hit it again, and it sped up. Another button and the wascaly wabbit ears starting humming and dancing. I was close to being scared and awed when I hit the third button and the rotations of the cock head changed as did the vibrating ears. Jeebus fucking orgasm-inducing What's up Doc.

There were just too many options and combinations for my brain to illicitly imagine, so I peered into the box-hoping to see some directions. There was nothing in there except a small square foil package. You're kidding me right? For sure they didn't think my vibrator and I needed to use protection.

I grabbed the packet and felt it smush between my fingertips. This wasn't a contraceptive but a sample package and W.E.T-lubricant. Well, if I was gonna do this, I might as well go all out.

My clothes were taken off quickly and tossed into the hamper, and in a moment of silliness, I turned on some music. From hence forth, Genuwine's "Anxious" would be known as masturbation musication. I laid back and tentatively started gliding the head along my now slick folds-thanks to being W.E.T.

My eyes shut and my back arched in anticipation. The molded pink head dipped into my entrance, and I bit into my bottom lip. Easing it slowly inside me, I felt my body's response instantly. My walls started to grab and caress the thing-like seducing it to stay. Damn succubus vagina.

The first button I hit happened to control the bunny ears, the jerk and near painful loss of air from lungs bordered on pleasure. My clit twitched, basking in the attention it was receiving while I was still filled. I hit another button, and the steady vibration turned into orgasmic pulses.

My eyes rolled back in my head, and with my free hand, I clutched at the bedspread. My occupied hand knew instinctively the rhythm my aching walls required. In, out, pause, in, out, in, out...the stroke's pace increased, my pinkie hit something at the base and a whirring noise filled the air. But the pounding of my heart in my ears caused me not to notice-well that was until the whirring, buzzing, pulses ceased.

It was like someone was sexually torturing me, bringing me right to the edge and then falling asleep on top of me. Some epic fail of bad sex repeating itself in my memory brought me close to tears, completely bringing my arousal smashing back into submission-and not the good kind.

Pissed off and with a female's case of blue balls, I tossed the damned selfish lover onto the bedside table, hid under the covers and resolved myself to punching that smiling cowboy right between his pretty boy blues tomorrow.


Ducks and hides...don't hate me for ending here, it seemed natural and please remember this is a Bella/Edward story I promise.

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