There I was, minding my own business at work when an email popped up from my friend S., inviting me to a party at her house on November 21st. Always one to hang out and eat other people's food, I immediately RSVP'd that I'd be there.
This was no regular party. This was one of those "pleasure parties," where they sold lotions not found in CVS, and toys you could never get at Toys R Us. These were things that required car batteries for power, and one even came with its own saddle. Oh yeah, and veggies would also be available for snacking. Sign me up!
The night was a blur of wine, rubber, baby carrots and water-based lubes. The woman presenting was pregnant (bonus for me and things to blog about), but she also had about as much of a sense of humor as The Queen's Guard. Do I even have to tell you she was not at all amused by me?
Like when I asked if some of the toys were dishwasher safe; or when she rubbed lotion on my arm and I asked her what she was doing the next night
Although, I couldn't help but notice that halfway through the 'show' we had all started avoiding eye contact with each other. I guess that's to be expected. No one wants to openly acknowledge that even though we all have cars, sometimes we have the urge to ride the bus. Hey, we're human. It happens. You can't look at Skid Marks sitting across the table from you every night at dinner and feel that same excitement after 10+ years, each and every time. Because trust me, he's looking back at The Nag Master and you're not exactly revving his engine all the time, either.
All in all, a really good time was had. I think if I ever decide to pick up a part-time job, it's going to be to sell sex toys to women. I'd make a killing.
A pre-emptive "Sorry, Mom" goes out.
The End
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