When Fergie still doesn't say anything, I start confessing, "I'm the girl from that viral meme. The presidential communication aid who accidentally sent a porn link to a foreign trade minister." It's verbal diarrhea at this point.
It takes a beat for the words to sink in. Fergie's expression shifts slowly, his lips parting slightly as if his brain is still catching up with what I just said. His eyes narrow, then widen. I imagine he's flipping through a mental collection of viral moments, searching for the one. And then—bam—it clicks.
"Oh my gosh! You're her? The Diplomacy Diva?" He sinks into his chair and bursts into laughter, clutching his sides as tears glisten in the corners of his eyes. "Oh, honey! That meme was everywhere! You had the whole internet in stitches—'Negotiating trade deals and porn links!'" He mimics typing frantically on an imaginary keyboard, snickering as he recalls the meme. "I must have shared it ten times. Ten times! How did I not recognize you?"
"Yes. That was me." I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from visibly cringing. "I thought it might help if you knew."
Fergie fans himself with my resume, his delight unabated. "Oh, sweetie, you've got more flair than I ever imagined. I wasn't sure about you at first. You seemed so... serious." He winks, clearly amused. "But this? This is exactly what we need."
Relief washes over me from watching his reaction.
Fergie leans back, still grinning but now taking on a more serious tone. He taps my resume with the same deliberate flair as before. "I love your honesty. See, being a copywriter here at Kharat.Ph means you write everything. Product descriptions, newsletters, business emails, you name it. But the heart of this job? The most important part?" He pauses, tapping the paper again for emphasis. "Product reviews. Honest product reviews."
I nod cautiously. "Honest feedback is important."
Fergie raises a finger. "Not just feedback, darling—experience. I'm talking real, in-the-moment, hands-on honesty." He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The kind of honesty that comes from actually using the toy."
I nod. "Right." My face feels like it's on fire, but I maintain a neutral expression, the way I did whenever the president went off-script in a press conference after the writers spent hours writing the speech.
"We're not just selling toys, we're selling experiences. And people deserve the truth about what they're getting. If you're going to write for us, you'll need to be honest. Brutally honest."
I sit in stunned silence, processing what this job truly entails. I've written speeches for world leaders, crafted delicate diplomatic messages, and now I'm being asked to... review sex toys. Honestly. Thoroughly. I did say that I'd love to write about their sex toys while watching porn in an effort to win Fergie over. But I guess that wasn't much of an exaggeration.
"Can you do that?" Fergie asks, his gaze sharp and steady. "Can you be honest?"
I lift my chin, summoning every ounce of composure I have left. "Yes," I say firmly. "I can be honest."
"That's the spirit!" Fergie claps his hands, his bright grin returning. "Alright, darling! We'll start with a paid trial piece. I'll have Janine give you one of our sex toys. Write a review. Make it fun, make it fabulous, and above all, make it honest. If it's as good as I think it will be, we'll talk about bringing you on full-time."
He hands me a sleek business card, and I take it with both hands, my movements careful and deliberate. "Thank you. I won't let you down."
"Oh, sweetie," Fergie says with a wink. "I know you won't."
__________
A paid trial piece. This is the farthest I got to becoming employed in the last three months of my job search. It's sad, really, that I've reached a point where reviewing a vibrator is my only chance at survival. But then again, I'm in no position to be choosy. The unpaid bills on my fridge glare at me every time I walk into the kitchen. I can't afford to hesitate. This has to work.
I drop my keys on the counter, kick off my shoes, and shuffle inside. Lolita slinks toward me, letting out a low, demanding meow.
Taped in haphazard mess, my bills are cluttered in the fridge. Electricity. Water. Internet. Condo fees. FINAL NOTICE and URGENT are printed in aggressive red ink, each one practically screaming, You're running out of time. They're impossible to ignore.
Taking a seat in the dining area, I drop my bag on the table, exhale slowly, and peel The Pearl from its sleek packaging. For a few seconds, I just stare at it. Janine handed it to me right after my conversation with Fergie. She told me it's one of their best-selling bullet vibrators.
It feels impossibly smooth—cool, seamless silicone, gliding easily between my fingers. Shaped like a teardrop, it's maller than I imagined. Soft, pearlescent pink. Its rounded tip and subtle curve give it a delicate, almost innocent look.
Innocent or not, I need to figure out how to use it, and what exactly it's supposed to do. I grab my laptop, sit cross-legged on the bed, and open an incognito tab. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before typing: What are bullet vibrators for?
The search results flood the screen, and I start clicking through articles and blog posts. I frown, reading further. The more I scroll, the more I understand: bullet vibrators aren't meant to be intimidating—they're about precision. Small but powerful. The goal is to provide focused stimulation in a way that's easy and, apparently, beginner-friendly.
A warm flush creeps up my neck. I snap the laptop shut, trying to push past the awkwardness. Right. Beginner-friendly. How bad could it be?
Ermita, it's just a toy. You can do this.
I head to the bedroom, take a quick shower, change into soft shorts and an oversized shirt, and grab my laptop. Settling on the bed, I open an incognito tab and type in my favorite porn site. I'm redirected to its home page, and greeted with endless obscene thumbnails, each one worse than the last. "Neighbor's Steamy Secret" and "Housewife Breaks the Rules". All of these titles are meant to arouse people's fantasies. I keep scrolling. Eventually, I click on something that I like: a dimly lit scene with two normal-looking people tangled in sheets, moving slowly, like they're savoring the moment.
The room on-screen glows with warm, amber light, the sound of soft rustling sheets and low whispers filling my bedroom. The actors breathe in sync, their voices hushed, murmuring things I can't quite make out but that feel intimate enough to stir something low in my stomach.
The weight of the blanket presses against my legs, grounding me. I shift slightly, the soft fabric brushing my skin as the rhythm of the video pulls me deeper. The woman lets out a breathy moan as her partner pounds his cock inside her, and for once, it doesn't sound forced. It's slow, deliberate—just enough to make my heart beat faster.
I close my eyes, letting the sounds wash over me. The whisper of skin against skin, the creak of the mattress beneath them—it's almost hypnotic. My chest tightens as warmth pools low in my belly, and I allow myself to imagine... to feel.
For a moment, it's working. I exhale slowly, shifting against the bed, feeling the fabric catch just right against my thighs.
I reach for The Pearl, rolling it between my fingers. The silicone is cool to the touch, a pleasant contrast to the heat building inside me. I run my thumb along the power button, hesitating for a second before pressing it.
Nothing happens.
Frowning, I press the button again. Still nothing.
I sit up, irritation buzzing under my skin. "Come on," I mutter, pressing harder. My thumb slips, and I curse under my breath. Finally, after fiddling with it for a fraction of a second, I press and hold the button. With a sharp buzz, The Pearl springs to life, vibrating with more intensity than I expected. I yelp, startled by the sudden hum, and my fingers fumble.
"Oh, crap—"
The vibrator slips from my hand, bounces off the bed, and lands on the floor with a dull thud, still buzzing furiously like an angry hornet.
And that's when I hear the soft creak of the door.
I forgot to lock it.
Lolita's head pokes through the gap. Her ears twitch, and her green eyes lock onto the source of the noise. She crouches low, her tail flicking with interest.
"No, Lolita—don't even think about it," I whisper, scrambling to grab the vibrator.
Too late.
Lolita pounces, batting the buzzing toy with her paw. This accidentally switches the speed into maximum. Buzzing hard, the Pearl bullet vibrator pulsates on the tiled floor of my bedroom, sending Lolita into full attack mode. With a victorious meow, she grabs it between her teeth and bolts out of the room.
"Lolita! Get back here!" I shout, diving after her.
The chase begins.
She races through the living room, the vibrator buzzing like a maniac between her teeth. I trip over the laundry basket by the couch, barely avoiding a headfirst collision with the coffee table. Lolita zips under the dining table, her paws skidding on the tiles, while the vibrator hums with every bounce.
"Seriously?" I pant, dodging furniture as I chase her. This old cat is rarely active, but when she does, she's freaking chaos.
She takes the toy on a wild joyride, hopping over the couch cushions and skittering into the hallway. I lunge after her, missing her by inches. Finally, I corner her near the front door. Lolita drops the vibrator at her paws, tail swishing with amusement.
With one last, desperate grab, I snatch the toy from the floor. "Got it!" I gasp, holding it aloft.
Lolita flicks her tail, glaring at me as if to say, You ruin everything.
I collapse onto the floor. My hands shake as I switch off the toy. The soft hum fades, leaving the room eerily quiet. I sit there, catching my breath, the vibrator clutched in my hand. The absurdity of it all sinks in—chasing a vibrating toy, wrestling it away from my cat, all in the name of honest product reviews.
And then it hits me—really, truly hits me.
I've never done anything like this before. Never used a toy. Never had to. Because, well... I've never even had sex.
Truth is, I'm a thirty-three year old virgin.