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Summary
Chicago, 1999. Gale Dekarios used to build systems. Now he repairs two-digit years so payroll will survive Y2K, and spends his nights buying strangers' unwashed panties.
His favorite wearer, N1ghtBloom, posts a listing for a pair with three days’ wear, a Polaroid, and thirty minutes on the phone. He has never heard her voice. He has never considered his own in this world. He bids, certain there is only one possible outcome.
Front to back it unfolded in clear zones: the sharp, pungent note of the mound, the lighter salt-and-skin of the vulva blooming to a mellow mineral edge at the opening, and finally the deeper, earthier sweet finish farther back. It hit him with the force of the sacred twined in the profane. Something in it—pheromone, chemistry, pure accident—made the room tilt.
His mouth watered before he had time to think.