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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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27 December 2006



Sex toys become more numerous in my home around the holidays.

Sure, I replace the bullet vibes and Orchid G when needed, and I’ll pick up a pair of SmartBalls on a mid-July whim, but as I noticed this morning, my collection grows considerably in late December.

Last year at Christmastime I bought a few silicone dildos from Blowfish, ecstatic at the way they worked with my badass harness. The year before, it was my ever-loving Rock Chick and the aforementioned Dynamic Duo double bullet vibe. Maybe it’s because I’m online anyway, shopping for gifts and ogling the goodness I’d like to be gifted with.

And while I like fuzzy sweaters and sparkly jewelry on other people, my personal taste runs to technology and sex accoutrements.

Oddly enough, my love for gadgets and tech doesn’t transfer to my love for body-stiffening orgasms. I thought I’d be wild over the Internet-Enabled Rabbit vibrator I got last summer and, well, meh. I loved the flashing, swirling lights and the idea that my friend Meg was controlling the piece of plastic in my cunt from a thousand miles away was pretty awesome, but alas, it was unwieldy and the bunny and I are not anatomically suited. So, it sits in the bottom drawer of my sex cabinet. I don’t know what to do with it.

The rabbit experience taught me what I already knew: that sometimes simplicity is best. If you’ve been in my home you know my affinity for clean design and minimalism. There are no afghans or doilies or silk flower arrangements. I like it simple, slick and maybe a little bit hard.

Quelle surprise, eh?

On Friday, December 22, I was finishing some work and preparing for a date. It was one of those easy, day-long preps: getting smooth, polished, trimmed and moisturized accomplished at a languorous pace as I answered emails and holiday phone calls. My skin was still dewy and my toenails still wet when I heard a heavy rumble outside. I threw on a robe and skipped to the window.

A brown cargo van of deliverance was parked in front of my building. Of course it was there for me. On December 22, who else would be receiving a package? I smoothed my hair and waited by the door.

The exchange—my signature for a five-pound box the size of a loaf of bread—went smoothly enough, and I nearly slammed the door in my excitement to get it in the house. I even hurriedly echoed my driver’s “Merry Christmas!” which I never do.

After tearing open the box and reading the Very Sweet Handwritten Note I set my three heavy, satin lined boxes on the futon and snapped a photo.

So simple. So slick. So hard.


I looked at my clock and decided that I had time to try one of them. It was, after all, Global Orgasm Day and I’d be spending the night elsewhere. Besides, after reading the Very Sweet Handwritten Note and noticing that the one of the Njoy boys has the same last name as my own Jeffrey, the boy who taught me to suck my very first cock, I was feeling sweet and wistful and not a little bit horny.

I hefted the steely, cold Pure Wand from its satin lined case and went to the bathroom to clean it.


Blogger Meg said...

you have some splainin to do.


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