Battery-Operated Fun
The subject of this blog has crossed my mind more than a few times over the past couple of months. I kept trying to push it to the side because, well, I guess it isn’t the most p.c. topic and won’t settle well for the faint of heart. But, I must be true to myself, so here it goes…
In the name of humor and the empowerment of women, the topic at hand is: Adult Toys. My bottom line is that vibrators feel great, can enhance the sexual relationship between partners, and allows a woman to avoid being a Ho. I’ve developed those three core beliefs within the past decade, “my 30’s”, which consisted of equal amounts of singleness and monogamous relationships.
My first experience of being offered the option was when my ex (when he wasn’t my ex) handed me a magazine and told me to pick out something we could order. He suggested an inclined pillow and I recall my words to be along the lines of, “If we order something, it’s going to be way better than a pillow.” At that moment, all hell broke loose. He ordered the inclined pillow and we still got divorced, though I’m sure that speaks more about the ex than the product.
At that point, I was fresh out of an eight year marriage with hormones comparable to a teenager. I recently read, “Desperation repels, gratitude attracts.” This was in Jen Sincero’s book, You are a Badass at Making Money, but I’m positive that this statement applies to the vibrational signal that we emit, no matter if it’s about money, material objects, or relationships. I bring this up now because I know at this point in my life, I was strung out on the D. Thankfully, while out for drinks one Saturday night, a girlfriend offhandedly suggested that I needed a Rabbit, and not the kind you buy at the pet store. Her comment, though commonplace to her, hit me on genius level. Why hadn’t I thought of that?! Since this was still back when liquor couldn’t be purchased in Indiana on Sundays, I was worried that all purchases providing adult fun would be blocked the next day. Therefore, I cut the night short and went shopping on my way home.
One purple friend and a battery later, my first thought (after “Wow”) was somewhere between pissed-off and disappointment with my exes. Why would they have not wanted me to feel this good? Why were they not open to adding more awesomeness to our bedroom? I remembered that no one knows what they don’t know, though, and moved on to the feeling of empowerment. Hell yes! I didn’t need a man to make me feel that wonderful. That didn’t mean that I no longer wanted a man, I just knew that with this new found tool, I could be in control of my hormonal urges. I also realized that this meant when I entered a relationship with a partner that was comfortable enough to welcome toys into our bedroom, it would equal Mind Blown.
A few years of this empowerment speech within my circle, and I found that I had become the undercover Dildo Dealer. I had teacher friends asking me to make a purchase for them at Cirilla’s because they didn’t want to run into any administration or parents of students at the store. Mind you, I was also a classroom teacher, but at least felt like the embarrassment would be mutual if that situation occurred. These behind-the-scenes sex toy purchases then led to my dabbling as a Pure Romance distributor. This role was short-lived, however, due to a few misdirected shipments of product. On a positive note, there is someone in Greenwood, Indiana that was very happily shocked and surprised when they received my $1,000 order one day.
I must admit that adding toys to my repertoire has insisted on me developing hiding skills that don’t come innately to a naturally honest person. I distinctly remember taking a road trip for a week away with just me and my kiddos and packed my friend in hopes of having some small amount of private time. As I was driving 70 miles per hour down the highway, a yellow Butterfly (not the insect) appeared right between my head and that of my oldest son’s, who was sitting in the passenger seat. It was accompanied with the high, tiny voice of my daughter inquiring, “What’s this Mommy?” In horror and with a small gasp, I grabbed the rubbery thing and swiftly answered, “My personal massager and quit going through my stuff and sit back!” Luckily, my son, who was old enough to recognize the shape, was so engrossed in his electronic thingamajig of the time that he missed the whole ordeal. I have since then advanced my secretive skills and make certain that I pack clothes with pockets that zip on all trips.
I have also since then enjoyed a couple of relationships in which a stop at the Adult Shop on the way home after dinner was something we looked forward to together. Because of those shopping excursions, I will never be able to look at an item like the curling iron above in the same way again, but, still yet, those were my best sexual partners so far. An older couple that I won’t name once told my they had a dedicated box that they kept in the top of a closet and only brought down when they knew they would not have visitors over the weekend. Although this image may be slightly disturbing, the fact that they celebrated their 50th anniversary about five years ago can attest to the connection that these battery-operated bits of joy can bring to an intimate relationship.
I’m currently back to thanking the sweet Lord above (out loud at times) for the invention that has helped me get through the past five months alone. I can proudly say that despite nature’s funny little plan of giving a 41-year-old woman hormonal urges that could only compare to those of an adolescent, I am able to have high standards of my next partner and myself (i.e. I haven’t had to be a Ho). My vibration is purely of gratitude: thank you smart, kinky-minded inventors for thinking outside the box and also for creating quiet batteries.
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