Updated on the 1st of every month
Whenever I get together with my friend Cindy, we have an agreement that we discuss our sex lives with each other in explicit detail. A few Sundays ago, I met Cindy for breakfast after a weekend of mild debauchery but nevertheless no sex. As it turned out, Cindy too had found herself in a bit of a rusty situation. "I think it's time we both invested in a vibrator," said Cindy in the same voice my mother used when my childhood cat died. The words tore my heart-or at least my uterus-into a thousand pieces. Was I really that desperate? Sure, I've had dry spells in my sex life, but I always maintained hope by keeping my legs shaven and a toothbrush in my purse at all times. Giving into the moment, I decided to surrender my sex life to the power of a battery-operated machine.
After a brief perusal of some tacky sex shops where there appeared to be more edible undies and penis-shaped pasta than any serious power tools, I decided the only way to do the job right was to host one of those sex toy Tupperware parties I had heard so much about. Skimming through the phonebook, I came across Joy Toyz and made arrangements for a sex toy show-and-tell at my apartment the following weekend.
The next Saturday, as my single girlfriends slowly filtered into my tiny living room, Elaine, the Joy Toyz hostess for the evening, arrived to set up for the demonstration. I looked on in awe as my coffee table lost its virginity to vibrators of all shapes and sizes. "I think I would puncture my lung with this one," I said to Elaine, as I awkwardly groped a fifteen inch dildo.
"Oh, that one's fabulous," said Elaine. "Once you get used to it, it's hard to go back to the smaller ones." It appeared to me like it would be hard to go back to men in general. Some of these machines, like the infamous Rabbit, are programmed to rotate inside the vagina while a precocious clit flicker performs external magic beyond the capabilities of the human finger.
After an hour and a half briefing of all things sex toy from anal plugs and penis rings to whips and numbing creams, my tiny living room was saturated with optimism. Elaine began taking orders from everyone interested in adding a little technology to their lives. On a mission to de-rust, Cindy insisted on ordering first. "I must have the Love Balls!" she pled. The Love Balls-two balls that you can insert in your vagina to exercise your muscles-can be worn for several hours and wearing them is supposed to add a little sensation to every move your body makes. I decided to let Cindy be my guinea pig before I started leaving anything other than a tampon inside me for more than a few hours.
My friend Laura, on the other hand, was dead set on getting herself a pet Rabbit. "If it's good enough for those Sex and the City girls," she insisted, "I'm sure it's good enough for me." After everyone else had made their purchases, I opted to buy a pocket size, lipstick-shaped vibrator-the kind that can fall out of your purse at the office without any co-workers assuming that you masturbate on your lunch break. Besides, buying the Rabbit would undoubtedly turn me into a bed-ridden slave to my vibrator, and I don't want my entire sex life to be battery operated.
A week later, I met Cindy for breakfast, our Sunday morning ritual. I had spent yet another week without any serious action and had very little sex life updates besides a few pathetic flirtation stories to share with her. Cindy, also, had not found anyone new since our last meeting at our favourite greasy spoon diner. Cindy was nevertheless all smiles as she shifted in her chair over a plate of bacon and eggs. "You're wearing those damn Love Balls right now, aren't you?" I said, realizing no one needs to move that much to get comfortable. Cindy gave me a wink confirming that she was a satisfied customer. I pulled out my phone and began dialling a number I had fortunately saved in my cell phone's memory.
"Who are you calling?" asked Cindy, offended that I would interrupt our breakfast to make phone calls.
"I'm having another party."
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