Latte Darling: Book Two of The Darling Series
Latte Darling: Chapter 15

I’ve made it halfway through the aisles of Walgreens when I realize I’ve made a huge mistake. Or should I say another huge mistake. Because as the day progressed my chest felt tighter and tighter with disgust at myself. Not only did I grope a man who didn’t welcome it, I also did it without having any condoms on hand.

Griff’s comment about consent and safety… yeah, that hit home. Since I struck out on both accounts.

So here I am, nearing the family planning section at my local drugstore, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me!?

Why would I come here of all places?

I could drive the extra 30 minutes to a Target, grab a box of contraceptives, and take my ass through the self-check-out lane. Then no one would have to see what I’m buying.

Or hell, I bet they sell condoms on Amazon. I could open the app now, order a jumbo box, have them delivered before the end of the week, and never have to buy them again in my life.

But I didn’t do that? No. No, I decided to torture myself.

Slowing my steps, I glance around to be sure I’m alone in the aisle.

After triple checking, I stop in front of the condom display.

And it’s a whole freaking display.

Why are there so many?

My palms feel sweaty already, so I rub them against my hips.

This is it. This is my punishment for being a bad person. Having to stand here, with the fear of being caught by someone I know, and have my sexual inexperience rubbed in my face.

I start to reach out, then I let my hand fall back to my side.

For real, why are there so many? How do I know which one to get?

Forcing my anxiety to calm, I focus on reading the labels. Trying to figure out which one to get.

Ultra-thin. Her pleasure. Lubricated. Bareskin. Mixed Pleasure. Magnum. Slim. XL. Barely there. Extra Sensitive. Tropical flavor.

Flavor?

Is that a thing now? Are you supposed to suck a dick through a condom?

My heartrate kicks up.

Is that what people do?

I can’t overthink this.

Reaching for the Her Pleasure box, I pause. Is that selfish? Should I get one for his pleasure?

But looking once more through the selection I don’t see one for him.

Or are they all for him?

Thinking of Axel and how big he is, I start to reach for the XL box. I bet he’d need big condoms.

Then I pause, my arm outstretched.

I’m not buying these for Axel. He’s not the one I’m going to sleep with. He left. No number. No note. No way to reach him.

I need to put him out of my thoughts.

Plus, if I ever do see him again, I owe him an apology, not a condom blowjob.

I move my hand towards the lubricated box but quickly divert. I don’t think that’s an issue for me. Sure, it’s been… just that once… but I know my body. I can’t do much right but slipperiness isn’t one of my many problems.

I’m still deciding what to do when I hear footsteps.

Holding my breath, I listen and determine they’re nearing my aisle.

Panicking, I grab the closest box within reach, and, hugging it to my chest, I hurry away for the approaching steps.

Not wanting to walk up to the checkout counter with just a box of condoms, I dart down the food aisle and grab some of my comfort snacks. Needing them tonight more than ever.

My whole body is covered in panic sweat by the time I move into line with my armful of items, and I’m wondering the penalty for shoplifting and if it’s worth the chance. But thankfully there’s only one person ahead of me, and I haven’t recognized anybody.

I tap my foot on the ground as I wait, wishing I could speed up time.

After the longest minute of my life, the person checking out leaves and it’s my turn.

I’d stacked my other purchases on top of the condom box, using it like a little tray, so I just set the pile on the counter as is.

Praying to the gods of mercy that this cashier will move quickly, I watch as she scans the items.

Red Gatorade.

Gushers.

A box of Dots.

“Oh, Maddison!”

My spine straightens.

Oh no.

With horror, I look up to replace Mrs. Nicolini only a few steps away and getting closer.

I hold up a shaking hand, hoping a simple wave will hold her off. But of course that’s not the case. She’s the town’s biggest gossip.

She closes the distance between us, pulling me into a forced hug that smells of vanilla perfume and mothballs.

“It’s been too long, dear.” She releases me from the hug but keeps a grip on my arms. “What’ve you been-”

Her words cut off as her eyes move to the checkout counter beside us.

The hands on my arms snatch away.

Flames fill my body.

Praying to anyone that’ll listen, I silently beg the condoms to be out of sight before I glance over. And die.

I instantly die.

Because the box is still there, the label up and facing towards us.

Lubricated condoms. Tropical Flavor. Value Pack.

The cashier snickers as she picks up the box. “Really got a theme going here?”

I let out a choked sound, feeling Mrs. Nicolini’s gaze move to my bag filled with candy and a drink. And the cashier is right. I do have a tropical theme going here.

“Well,” Mrs. Nicolini huffs. “Maybe you’d like to come to church next weekend, instead of… whatever it is that’s been keeping you busy.”

The cashier snickers again and irritation swirls with my humiliation. The combination of gross emotions sends my mind into the beginnings of a mental spiral. I want to puke. And it sucks, but it makes it a little easier to ignore Mrs. Nicolini.

Normally I wouldn’t have the courage to ignore someone, but she’s making me mad. I’m used to her church related crap. She’s been trying to foister her religion on me for the last 20 years. But trying to shame me for buying condoms is a new level of shitty for her.

I want to tell her to butt out of my business. That there’s nothing wrong with buying these and practicing safe sex. That just because my condoms are flavored, doesn’t mean my soul is damned to some sort of eternal torment.

Except, come to think of it, it’s already happening. This right here is my literal hell.

But I don’t say anything. Not to the cashier – who’s still grinning – and not to Mrs. Nicolini, because I can’t. I can’t make this an even bigger confrontation by opening the door for an argument. My body is revolting at just the idea.

So with my head down, and my lips shut, I swipe my card, and wait for the long receipt to print. The second the cashier holds out the strip of paper, I snatch it, and the bag, and walk as quickly as I can for the exit.