I realize my last blog post was very personal, heartfelt and touching and that probably confused the hell out of you, so how’s about I regale you with the time I bought a dildo from my neighbor?
There is a little known secret of the suburbs you city-dwellers may not be aware of. Out here in the land of manicured lawns, soccer clinics and exemplary schools are where the freaky freaks are. I had no idea, y’all. That woman on the PTA? Out planting begonias in her garden? She’s also into planting ben-wa balls. In her lady-garden. I know this because I watched her buy some.
I was invited to one of those sex-toy parties they frequently have out here. It’s similar to a Tupperware party in that a “hostess” hosts the event at her house and a “consultant” in a Talbot’s twinset shows the products to a bunch of housewives. Except in this instance, the “consultant” walked around not with a colorful plastic lid that “burps” but a colorful plastic penis that vibrates. Often, she too is wearing a Talbot’s twinset, but she is probably sporting nipple clamps underneath. These parties are coyly called “Fun Parties”, “Passion Parties” or like this one, “Slumber Parties” but I just kept calling it the “Dildo Hoedown.” After I received my super sexy e-vite, whenever I ran into my neighbor outside, in the grocery or in church* she would whisper, “Hey! Are you coming to the… you know…” and I would say, “Oh, the Dildo Hoedown? Yeah, yeah I’ll be there… what time again?”
*That church thing never happened– we both know that.
|Come with me, won’t you?|
So on the night in question I met up with another
freak mom, I’ll call her Stephanie, and we walked on down the cul-de-sac to see what all the buzz was about. The Current Legal Spouse was home with the kids. Usually whenever I go to a thing in the neighborhood where someone is selling something– scented scrapbooks, funky jewelry, $30 culinary spice rubs, he grumbles, “Don’t buy a bunch of shit that you’re never going to use…” Oh, but not this time. He was totally on board for the Dildo Hoedown. Before I left he sweetly offered, “Do you need some cash? Is that enough? Here take some more… Maybe you should take the checkbook?”
Totally. On. Board.
On the way over we noticed several other husbands peering out of their front windows, noses pressed up against the glass like dogs to see which wives were attending this hussy shindig. Or maybe they were just drooling, anticipating their wives’ return with a long-awaited can of sexual Alpo. By the way, “Sexual Alpo” will be the name of my heavy metal band. Sometimes I even gross myself out.
One of the most important ingredients in a successful sex-toy party is not dildos, as you might guess– it’s drinks. Lots and lots of drinks! As soon as we hit the hoedown we were handed a cocktail. Literally a COCKtail, because it had penis-shaped ice cubes in it. In fact, all of the drinks and food were phallic in some way, I noticed. I admired the two nut-covered cheese balls with a giant cucumber centerpiece. I deep-throated a couple of uncircumcised penis-in-blankets and eyed the creamy white dip… skeptically. All the ladies were getting good and liquored-up, and considering the entire room, nay– the entire nation is gripped with Fifty Shades of Magic Mike fever, this party was pretty much the perfect horny housewife storm. Fish in a boozed-up barrel.
The perky hostess introduced herself as the ladies grabbed a seat, giggling and forming a circle around her. She warmed up the room by introducing some sensual bubble bath, massage oils and sparkly edible powders. Then she took it to the next level with the lingerie and velvet hand cuffs. Then, bam! She brought out the big guns– no really– she brought the girly goods in a gun case (only in Texas, y’all). Yee Haw!
|You thought I made that up, didn’t you?|
I consider myself to be pretty darn sexually savvy, but I swear some of this shit looked like it belonged in the leaf-blower section of Home Depot. I honestly would need a detailed manual with drawings to know what to do with some of these contraptions. But hey, whatever blows your skirt up. As we sat in rapt attention, she passed around each item like a naughty show and tell. The twelve year old boy in me would immediately turn each device on all the way up to “jackhammer” and pass it to the woman to my right. If she wasn’t paying attention or still fascinated with the last item passed around, I would graze her cheek ever so slightly with the gyrating dildo and say, “Here ya go, take it, baby! Ya like that? Huh?” It never got old. We were all pretty silly and you really get to know your neighbor after you help her pick out a sex swing and some anal beads. Good times.
Each lady had a chance to discreetly pick and purchase her items in a separate room with only the consultant. Each came out with a smile and a nondescript black bag. Some bags were bigger than others, but we’re not here to judge. Some bags were small, like you get at the jewelry store. Some bags were a bit larger– like you get when you buy two king-sized comforters at Bed, Bath and Beyond. Again, no judgement.
And yes, I myself made a purchase or two, but I’m not telling you perverts what I bought. I’ll just say my black bag was not too big and not too small. It was juuust right! Call me “Goldicocks.”
So we stumbled home, giggling and buzzing (literally) and I immediately hid my little black bag. Then a few days later I moved it and hid it again. Then I forgot where I hid it. That is the last thing you want to explain to your nosey kids. If they do happen to find it, I’ll just tell them it’s Muno from that show “Yo Gabba Gabba.”
|“Mamma, why does Muno have 4 speeds??”|
Generally I think these parties are a good idea. They are fun, educational and a great way for women to make friends and spice up their sexy-time with a partner or alone. Self knowledge is always a good thing because it leads to greater self respect, in my opinion. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. Hell, lady– you’ve got five kids! Something’s going on over there. Might as well make it interesting, Amiright??
Yes! Yes! Yes!