Look At All The Pretty Colours!
Last night I went to a Dvice party. It's a party plan thing like Tupperware except it's for the purchase of sex-toys. I've been to Dvice parties before. They've had a huge sweep through the region over the years. In fact the very first party I went to I bought the love balls. Oh, which incidentally, I found out last night....will indeed be detected going through customs at the airport. (Just in case you were thinking it a good idea to work out those pelvic floor muscles whilst at several thousand feet above sea-level.)
I didn't want to go, but felt I had to go. Over the course of this week, I have received 2 text messages and 3 phone calls from my friend, the hostess...she wanted me there. What does this mean? That she thought I was going to be her biggest customer cos I'm living on my own at the moment? She seem to think I might have forgotten, although I'd penned it in my diary while she was watching...and it was on the calendar at home as well. Maybe I have that kinda sexless look about me that she felt needed some revving up....and out of the goodness of her heart...and her concern for my sexual wellbeing...she felt it necessary that I come along for the evening to discover my inner sexpot-ness.
Under the weight of this pressure, I went along. But...after my shift in the morning, I was so knackered I spent the afternoon horizontal in bed, talking to Walker on the laptop. As can happen, one thing led to another ...blah blah de blah....and my body left the house feeling warmly flushed and satisfied...but more importantly, not in the least bit needing to look at a table covered with an assortment of shapes and sizes of male phallic symbols in a rather unrealistic array of colours. Bright orange or yellow with black spots....black with zebra stripes....dark purple dildos that have the added talent of adhering to the shower wall (eh??).
We all sat there and listened to the demonstrator talk about the various attributes of each item she had displayed...vibrators with dancing pearls...cock rings made out of rubber, same made out of leather, nipple clamps, g-spot finders - with little lights on the end (for when you're playing doctors and nurses maybe??), gyrating and vibrating phenomona aplenty. When she discussed anal sex the room went quiet....it always does. Each time I've been to one of these parties, the anal sex talk is one sure way of stopping the laughter that's bouncing off the walls.
There were different sized bottles of lubrication, 75ml (purse pack, for um, that spontaneous tryst in the public bathroom), 250ml (be aware, your family could mistake this for the latest shampoo) and a 500ml pump pack (for those really heavy sessions...or the ladies who cart around huge handbags and secretly have a fetish for public displays of affection I guess).
As we age, we don't lubricate the same apparently. Being that I'm not of that age, I'm yet to experience the dryness that accompanies it. The demonstrator's favourite lube was one called "Probe" (oh my, who thinks up these names??). It's tasteless, has the consistency of your natural body fluids..saliva included and the interesting part?...if you happen to fall asleep and dry up....when you awaken, you don't need to add any extra lubrication. Just throw a bit of water or saliva into..uh..play....and wa la!... the dried up lube comes back to continue it's slippery existence again.
*nudge nudge*
"Sorry Cyril, it's got a tad crusty overnight" *blush*
"Ah no worries Hilda, I can fix that quick smart"
*hooooiik...spit*
This scenario would give me an instant 'headache', so anyone who's intending to bed me during my years of dryness...I suggest you don't attempt this with me. I feel sure it would result in no sexual activity whatsoever on my part...and possibly a black eye on yours.
Long story cut short, I actually did purchase something last night...well I tried to anyway...by the time I got to the front of the line, they'd sold out. So it's on back order. Now how unfair is that?? Not only do I now have to keep a nervous eye out for the postie every dang day until it arrives....I have to wait a few months to actually use it for what it's intended.
*sigh*
Ah well, such is life....the best things are worth waiting for.
I didn't want to go, but felt I had to go. Over the course of this week, I have received 2 text messages and 3 phone calls from my friend, the hostess...she wanted me there. What does this mean? That she thought I was going to be her biggest customer cos I'm living on my own at the moment? She seem to think I might have forgotten, although I'd penned it in my diary while she was watching...and it was on the calendar at home as well. Maybe I have that kinda sexless look about me that she felt needed some revving up....and out of the goodness of her heart...and her concern for my sexual wellbeing...she felt it necessary that I come along for the evening to discover my inner sexpot-ness.
Under the weight of this pressure, I went along. But...after my shift in the morning, I was so knackered I spent the afternoon horizontal in bed, talking to Walker on the laptop. As can happen, one thing led to another ...blah blah de blah....and my body left the house feeling warmly flushed and satisfied...but more importantly, not in the least bit needing to look at a table covered with an assortment of shapes and sizes of male phallic symbols in a rather unrealistic array of colours. Bright orange or yellow with black spots....black with zebra stripes....dark purple dildos that have the added talent of adhering to the shower wall (eh??).
We all sat there and listened to the demonstrator talk about the various attributes of each item she had displayed...vibrators with dancing pearls...cock rings made out of rubber, same made out of leather, nipple clamps, g-spot finders - with little lights on the end (for when you're playing doctors and nurses maybe??), gyrating and vibrating phenomona aplenty. When she discussed anal sex the room went quiet....it always does. Each time I've been to one of these parties, the anal sex talk is one sure way of stopping the laughter that's bouncing off the walls.
There were different sized bottles of lubrication, 75ml (purse pack, for um, that spontaneous tryst in the public bathroom), 250ml (be aware, your family could mistake this for the latest shampoo) and a 500ml pump pack (for those really heavy sessions...or the ladies who cart around huge handbags and secretly have a fetish for public displays of affection I guess).
As we age, we don't lubricate the same apparently. Being that I'm not of that age, I'm yet to experience the dryness that accompanies it. The demonstrator's favourite lube was one called "Probe" (oh my, who thinks up these names??). It's tasteless, has the consistency of your natural body fluids..saliva included and the interesting part?...if you happen to fall asleep and dry up....when you awaken, you don't need to add any extra lubrication. Just throw a bit of water or saliva into..uh..play....and wa la!... the dried up lube comes back to continue it's slippery existence again.
*nudge nudge*
"Sorry Cyril, it's got a tad crusty overnight" *blush*
"Ah no worries Hilda, I can fix that quick smart"
*hooooiik...spit*
This scenario would give me an instant 'headache', so anyone who's intending to bed me during my years of dryness...I suggest you don't attempt this with me. I feel sure it would result in no sexual activity whatsoever on my part...and possibly a black eye on yours.
Long story cut short, I actually did purchase something last night...well I tried to anyway...by the time I got to the front of the line, they'd sold out. So it's on back order. Now how unfair is that?? Not only do I now have to keep a nervous eye out for the postie every dang day until it arrives....I have to wait a few months to actually use it for what it's intended.
*sigh*
Ah well, such is life....the best things are worth waiting for.
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