The First Time
This is not going to be one of those blogs. Mainly because I don't have an interesting enough private life to brag about over the internet. I could make things up, but when afforded the luxury of anonymity what's the point of hiding behind fiction?
My buddy is a huge fan of blogs. Soon after we became friends he suggested I blog. Not realizing he had a true appreciation for the forum and my only experience with blogs being my roommate's myspace musings, I was less than enthusiastic. The words "narcissistic," "adolescent" and "I don't even have insmonia" may have factored into my response. Said friend sent me links to blogs I actually enjoyed and next thing you know I'm working on my own profile. But here sat my poor bare blog ever since. I had no idea where to begin.
Today I was reminiscing about the first time I ever bought a toy. I figure this is as good a place to start as any, if only so I can start. I use a lot of code words when e-mailing at work to keep the Lotus gods off my back. I'll use code words here too. I figure without using more blatant language I come across... a little less blatantly. Do I really want my blog disappointing people when they run searches for s*x and c*ck?
In 2002 I won scads of money in Vegas and it only seemed appropriate that I purchase a little sin with my sinfully won dollars. Once I got home I headed to a seedy art store nearby, determined to walk in, secure the item, pay for it, walk out, the end.
I'd never purchased sin before or even been in an art store. Once I opened the door I felt nervous and cast my eyes to the floor as if entering a holy place instead of a seedy pleasure palace with a funny smell. I looked up long enough to establish where the battery-operated products were located, made a hasty selection based solely on an infamous episode of Sex and the City, paused briefly to gape in surprise at giant rubber fists for sale, then hurried to the counter, avoiding eye contact with other customers wandering about lest they think I was there seeking human companionship.
Once at the counter I stood a little taller and congratulated myself for being so adult and comfortable with my s*xuality. And for procuring said item in record-breaking time without suffering casual conversation with chatty strangers who might think a discussion about tassles could lead to an opportunity to rape me.
The oversized proprietess was decked out in flannel and multiple piercings. Her lipstick was black, her hair was purple, and she looked like she arm wrestled gorillas for sport. She eyed me for a moment, as if gauging whether or not she wanted to sell me anything, and then opened up a mouth with no volume control to betray a personality with no tact control. "Why do you want that one?" she demanded. The question surprised me, so I stared at my feet as if the answer would be revealed there. I'd made my selection based on the pretty pink color, but I didn't want to admit it to this woman who clearly wasn't interested in the delicate intricacies of what moves a shy, feminine soul such as my own. I fought the urge to flee altogether and shrugged my shoulders in response. She advised me that my accessory of choice was "a piece of cr*p!! That thing won't last you two weeks. What you want is..." That item was below the counter, being a popular item to shoplift because it was three times the price of the original item.
Being too intimidated by the fact that she was bellowing at me over an art accessory and not wanting to look like some pervo subject matter expert by insisting on maintaining my first choice, I agreed to the far pricier item. Why not, Sin City did nothing but give me cash hand over fist that trip. I had money to spend. Plus the cashiers in those places are always elevated four feet above the floor so as to keep an eye on all the thieving mcthievertens. This gave the woman an air of authority I found myself too timid to ignore.
Next she bellowed, "Do you plan to use this tonight?" I stared at her, mortified, while she actually waited for a response. I wouldn't answer the question. I could maybe live with the other people in the store overhearing the accessory upgrade, but not THIS. I felt like such a loser. Yes, I plan to go home and ram your product into me, by myself, let's let the world know. I was silent as Helen Keller in a library watching a chess tournament. She continued, "I can sell you batteries too. We have a good price on the cheap ones. You should only ever use cheap batteries with this cuz the expensive ones will burn out the motor." I quietly nodded and she continued, "Okay, so you do need batteries... now you'll want to wash this when you get home. Soap and water, run it under the faucet and keep the water away from the motor at the end of the shaft. [christ, did she say "shaft" in front of everyone??] Now you should get some rubbing alcohol and swab it down after every use. The alcohol won't damage it, but no Vaseline. Do you need lubricant? We have lubricant that won't damage it if you need some. Is this your first toy? Lubricant will make it easier your first time. Do you want to see our selection of lubricants?" I gave my head the slightest shake. "No lubricant? Okay, then you better be careful and work it in slowly and let your body get used to it." She said this in a doubtful, you'll-be-sorry tone. My face was so red at this point I couldn't believe I hadn't telekinetically blown up six city blocks.
Several minutes later, sin ensconsed in a brown paper bag that wasn't fooling anyone, I left w/ the goods. After getting it home and wondering if it was unwise of me to reject the lubricant, I hit the power switch.
I'd have endured hours of humiliation for that sin. That thing unleashed something in me. I never even realized how afraid I was of my own body's response until I had that sin. I had no idea what kinds of thoughts could go through my head when brought to a certain level of ... circumstances. I was struggling to make the sin do things it wasn't even designed to do and feeling disappointment that certain parts of my body had to be left with no attention because I only had so many hands and I only had one sin.
I'd sit at work, impatient to get home, I was that excited to hurry back and play with my sin. I was so astonished by my purchase I was telling anyone and everyone they must have this product. Even my jesus freak friends. Especially at happy hours. The alcohol combined with the anticipation of a long night with myself and my sin compelled me to completely ignore the nervous giggles when I'd ask my girlfriends have they ever....? And I'd just launch full speed ahead into the kind of passionate sales pitch that would have moved anyone to save a child for what it costs for a cup of coffee every day. If saving a child meant having intense and continuous O's at the simple touch of a button. I'd never gone for double or triple lutzes prior to that product, but with the sin there was no work for me, no carpal tunnel inducing effort, just kick back and ahhhh.
This was the year I was training for the marathon. My legs were so f*cked up from training it was unbelievable the pain I was in. I'd run, then go home and prop the gams up on stacked pillows and cover the knees/thighs w/ ice packs and then pluck my accessory off the nightstand and who needs vicodin when endorphins can do the trick?
I seriously considered bringing it to work and just enjoying it all day while processing. In spite of some valiant efforts I wasn't ever able to be very quiet when using it. I was discovering that when I allowed myself to be unrestricted in my response, I had more fun. The sin itself wasn't very quiet either, my cubemate would have wondered what the hades was going on under my skirt. Given my afore-mentioned propensity for offering unsolicited testimonials it wouldn't have taken her any time to figure out I was m*lesting myself. But i really gave it my all in trying to come up with a way to make that happen, so it certainly wasn't for lack of trying that I attempted to have an all day at work marathon of O's.
In the end I still managed to burn out the motor in two weeks, as I was overusing the product. I kind of scared myself, I enjoyed it so much. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and go "Oh, my sin is lonely, I better use it." First thing in the morning, first thing when I got home from work, first thing after my run, first thing after dinner, first thing after my bath, first thing after my prayers. When it broke and my poor little brazillian rain forest was crying with no possible hope for gratification, I decided to go the other end of the spectrum and not replace said product. I was falling in love, or at least my rainforest was, and I felt all kinds of guilt about all the joy I felt over an inanimate object. Surely that's not healthy. Surely a body can only withstand so much pleasure before you do some irreparable damage? Surely one should only experience that kind of pleasure within the boundaries of a church-endorsed, legally binding commitment to the man one loves. No more art supplies for me til I'm married and can make an honest woman of myself!
I remained steadfast in that oath for three yrs before breaking down and purchasing again, but that time I bought over the internet.
My buddy is a huge fan of blogs. Soon after we became friends he suggested I blog. Not realizing he had a true appreciation for the forum and my only experience with blogs being my roommate's myspace musings, I was less than enthusiastic. The words "narcissistic," "adolescent" and "I don't even have insmonia" may have factored into my response. Said friend sent me links to blogs I actually enjoyed and next thing you know I'm working on my own profile. But here sat my poor bare blog ever since. I had no idea where to begin.
Today I was reminiscing about the first time I ever bought a toy. I figure this is as good a place to start as any, if only so I can start. I use a lot of code words when e-mailing at work to keep the Lotus gods off my back. I'll use code words here too. I figure without using more blatant language I come across... a little less blatantly. Do I really want my blog disappointing people when they run searches for s*x and c*ck?
In 2002 I won scads of money in Vegas and it only seemed appropriate that I purchase a little sin with my sinfully won dollars. Once I got home I headed to a seedy art store nearby, determined to walk in, secure the item, pay for it, walk out, the end.
I'd never purchased sin before or even been in an art store. Once I opened the door I felt nervous and cast my eyes to the floor as if entering a holy place instead of a seedy pleasure palace with a funny smell. I looked up long enough to establish where the battery-operated products were located, made a hasty selection based solely on an infamous episode of Sex and the City, paused briefly to gape in surprise at giant rubber fists for sale, then hurried to the counter, avoiding eye contact with other customers wandering about lest they think I was there seeking human companionship.
Once at the counter I stood a little taller and congratulated myself for being so adult and comfortable with my s*xuality. And for procuring said item in record-breaking time without suffering casual conversation with chatty strangers who might think a discussion about tassles could lead to an opportunity to rape me.
The oversized proprietess was decked out in flannel and multiple piercings. Her lipstick was black, her hair was purple, and she looked like she arm wrestled gorillas for sport. She eyed me for a moment, as if gauging whether or not she wanted to sell me anything, and then opened up a mouth with no volume control to betray a personality with no tact control. "Why do you want that one?" she demanded. The question surprised me, so I stared at my feet as if the answer would be revealed there. I'd made my selection based on the pretty pink color, but I didn't want to admit it to this woman who clearly wasn't interested in the delicate intricacies of what moves a shy, feminine soul such as my own. I fought the urge to flee altogether and shrugged my shoulders in response. She advised me that my accessory of choice was "a piece of cr*p!! That thing won't last you two weeks. What you want is..." That item was below the counter, being a popular item to shoplift because it was three times the price of the original item.
Being too intimidated by the fact that she was bellowing at me over an art accessory and not wanting to look like some pervo subject matter expert by insisting on maintaining my first choice, I agreed to the far pricier item. Why not, Sin City did nothing but give me cash hand over fist that trip. I had money to spend. Plus the cashiers in those places are always elevated four feet above the floor so as to keep an eye on all the thieving mcthievertens. This gave the woman an air of authority I found myself too timid to ignore.
Next she bellowed, "Do you plan to use this tonight?" I stared at her, mortified, while she actually waited for a response. I wouldn't answer the question. I could maybe live with the other people in the store overhearing the accessory upgrade, but not THIS. I felt like such a loser. Yes, I plan to go home and ram your product into me, by myself, let's let the world know. I was silent as Helen Keller in a library watching a chess tournament. She continued, "I can sell you batteries too. We have a good price on the cheap ones. You should only ever use cheap batteries with this cuz the expensive ones will burn out the motor." I quietly nodded and she continued, "Okay, so you do need batteries... now you'll want to wash this when you get home. Soap and water, run it under the faucet and keep the water away from the motor at the end of the shaft. [christ, did she say "shaft" in front of everyone??] Now you should get some rubbing alcohol and swab it down after every use. The alcohol won't damage it, but no Vaseline. Do you need lubricant? We have lubricant that won't damage it if you need some. Is this your first toy? Lubricant will make it easier your first time. Do you want to see our selection of lubricants?" I gave my head the slightest shake. "No lubricant? Okay, then you better be careful and work it in slowly and let your body get used to it." She said this in a doubtful, you'll-be-sorry tone. My face was so red at this point I couldn't believe I hadn't telekinetically blown up six city blocks.
Several minutes later, sin ensconsed in a brown paper bag that wasn't fooling anyone, I left w/ the goods. After getting it home and wondering if it was unwise of me to reject the lubricant, I hit the power switch.
I'd have endured hours of humiliation for that sin. That thing unleashed something in me. I never even realized how afraid I was of my own body's response until I had that sin. I had no idea what kinds of thoughts could go through my head when brought to a certain level of ... circumstances. I was struggling to make the sin do things it wasn't even designed to do and feeling disappointment that certain parts of my body had to be left with no attention because I only had so many hands and I only had one sin.
I'd sit at work, impatient to get home, I was that excited to hurry back and play with my sin. I was so astonished by my purchase I was telling anyone and everyone they must have this product. Even my jesus freak friends. Especially at happy hours. The alcohol combined with the anticipation of a long night with myself and my sin compelled me to completely ignore the nervous giggles when I'd ask my girlfriends have they ever....? And I'd just launch full speed ahead into the kind of passionate sales pitch that would have moved anyone to save a child for what it costs for a cup of coffee every day. If saving a child meant having intense and continuous O's at the simple touch of a button. I'd never gone for double or triple lutzes prior to that product, but with the sin there was no work for me, no carpal tunnel inducing effort, just kick back and ahhhh.
This was the year I was training for the marathon. My legs were so f*cked up from training it was unbelievable the pain I was in. I'd run, then go home and prop the gams up on stacked pillows and cover the knees/thighs w/ ice packs and then pluck my accessory off the nightstand and who needs vicodin when endorphins can do the trick?
I seriously considered bringing it to work and just enjoying it all day while processing. In spite of some valiant efforts I wasn't ever able to be very quiet when using it. I was discovering that when I allowed myself to be unrestricted in my response, I had more fun. The sin itself wasn't very quiet either, my cubemate would have wondered what the hades was going on under my skirt. Given my afore-mentioned propensity for offering unsolicited testimonials it wouldn't have taken her any time to figure out I was m*lesting myself. But i really gave it my all in trying to come up with a way to make that happen, so it certainly wasn't for lack of trying that I attempted to have an all day at work marathon of O's.
In the end I still managed to burn out the motor in two weeks, as I was overusing the product. I kind of scared myself, I enjoyed it so much. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and go "Oh, my sin is lonely, I better use it." First thing in the morning, first thing when I got home from work, first thing after my run, first thing after dinner, first thing after my bath, first thing after my prayers. When it broke and my poor little brazillian rain forest was crying with no possible hope for gratification, I decided to go the other end of the spectrum and not replace said product. I was falling in love, or at least my rainforest was, and I felt all kinds of guilt about all the joy I felt over an inanimate object. Surely that's not healthy. Surely a body can only withstand so much pleasure before you do some irreparable damage? Surely one should only experience that kind of pleasure within the boundaries of a church-endorsed, legally binding commitment to the man one loves. No more art supplies for me til I'm married and can make an honest woman of myself!
I remained steadfast in that oath for three yrs before breaking down and purchasing again, but that time I bought over the internet.
posted by Jen @ 8:41 PM
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