A while back, I crossed a new line in my friendship with another girl. We didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. When we walked into the lingerie store, we only wanted to scope out the latest styles of hanky pankys; but fate had something else in store. Sex toy shopping.
It was both horrifying and liberating.
As soon as we spotted the table of “goodies” at the back of the shop, we pulled the saleswoman over for some wildly inappropriate questioning (naturally). I must admit, I was embarrassed at first. The craziest I get in the toy department is usually board games, and that’s only after a few glasses of wine. Give me a phallic-shaped toy that winds in circles when you turn it on? I’m pretty fucking lost, not to mention red-faced.
She was very patient, explaining to us each model and the subtle differences in their – ahem – effects. (I have to wonder if trying them all out is a prerequisite to the job. Not sure how their managers check up on that.) As she described each of them, I tried to picture the kind of woman who bought it.
First, we had “the lipstick.” This little jimmy was – you guessed it – in a lipstick-sized container. The lady helping us raved about its discreetness, portability, and the fact that it can charge on-the-go with its built-in USB!
Back the fuck up. First of all, why do you need a portable pleasure stick? Who the fuck is sitting at the Olive Garden wishing they had a tiny, discreet device they could whip out for a quick go before dessert? And a USB charger? Good God, I hope they wash the damned thing before plugging it into their laptop on the airplane. *Shudder*
After we grew bored of the portable lipstick lover, our eyes gravitated to the model on the far right. We stared in awe. I’m not talking the kind of awe that makes you want to grab it, run out of the store, and hop into your bed… it’s more the kind that gives you nightmares of literally busting at your most delicate seams. I don’t know what type of girls are buying this, but I am willing to bet this is not their first rodeo.
“I wouldn’t recommend that one for you girls,” the saleswoman warned us. “That’s the kind of model you, um… work your way up to.” Apparently we looked far less freaky than whatever kink-a-riffic lady rolls up demanding the deluxe edition.
Next up was a strange little ovular contraption. I didn’t understand what it was for until the nice lady clasped it between her thumb and two fingers, clenching the fingers toward the thumb in an upward motion. Oh. Yep… got it. Understood. You can stop the motion now. Really, you can stop.
This one actually seemed fairly normal to me. With its harmless pink hue and lack of a carrying case (good to know some people can last a business trip without something battery-powered), I could see some elementary-school-teacher being a closet freak and stashing this in the drawer of her bedside table. Come on, nice girls have to keep up their sex drives, too. How else do you think they have a freaking litter of children? Naughty teachers.
At this point, we were pretty captivated. I had never given sex toys a chance, but my new-found singlehood was broadening my horizons. One of the models was even kind of beckoning me. I secretly hoped that if I stared at it long enough, it would attach itself to a dashing, wealthy, 28-year old man with a killer six pack and great sense of humor. A girl can dream.
Yes, I was feeling crazy. Excited! Free! And then, she whipped it out. The rabbit. Now who in the fuck thought that making a gigantic rubber penis with a million rotating joints, disturbingly lifelike texture and toy bunny on top was a good idea?!
I prefer to call it the life-ruiner, because there is not a single man on God’s green Earth who can stimulate and move in that many ways simultaneously. Hell, men have enough trouble patting their head and rubbing their bellies at the same time. And guess what! If you want a penis that size, you’re going to have to sleep with a fucking Sasquatch.
Personally, I think the rabbit should be available only to lesbians who have the good fortune of never relying on a man; because in real life, there are no rotating beads where the pubic hair should be. No speed adjustment settings. And absolutely no tiny bunny pecking away at your pleasure zones.
I must say, this was one of my most informative and enlightening shopping trips to date. I learned some important life lessons, including but not limited to:
1. Never trust a girl who charges her makeup.
2. There is such a thing as too big.
3. Unless you never want to enjoy another carrot again, steer clear of the rabbit.
I hope these lessons stay with you ladies. Remember to keep it classy, and keep the lipstick for your lips.