A postscript to my previous post “The One Where We Talk About Sex”
Warning: This is way more explicit than previous post, so move along to different posts for some family friendly mommy bloggy reading. Like this one about how my daughter doesn’t like to cuddle.
I was 23 years old when I got my first vibrator. Which to my friends seemed like ancient. How have you lived so long without one? they wondered incredulously. You, with the whole Sex and the City Dvd set, doesn’t own a vibrator? You, who lost her virginity (17) before any of us? Yes me, the vibrator virgin.
It was September 10, 2009, and I was driving to Omaha for a friend’s wedding with three male friends and one of their girlfriends who I was meeting for the second time. I know the exact date because in my iphone I still have the note created at 1:36 pm with directions to Romantix the store we had googled that wasn’t too far off the path. The Economist, whose sexual exploits were well known in our group of friends, demanded that we must correct this wrong. He also a connoisseur of proper sexual toys encouraged me to purchase a Doc Johnson chocolate.
I didn’t bring it out until I was safely returned to Minnesota, after all what kind of girl do you think I am?, and it was alright. At best it was merely awkward. I googled how to instructions as I’m an instruction follower what can I say. I just couldn’t disassociate myself from reality which was me awkwardly in my guest bedroom/office glancing at the computer screen of what I was to do next. Despite its chocolate color, it was nothing like my ex. It was after all toy, but not even a toy as I knew it for it didn’t resemble the countless amounts of plastic battery operated objects that were next door in Bear’s room.
Since I couldn’t actually bring myself to try and focus on anything sexy, I had to google it so I’d have something to look at that wasn’t the ceiling and photos of Bear. And it was better than okay, it was borderline great. I must confess its impossible for me to orgasm. While I certainly have small little baby mini sort of ones often, real orgasms the way you see in movies I could count on two hands and never because of my own two hands. I decided that it must be the toy, I needed something better, I need the real thing. The thing Sex and the City made famous. I needed the Rabbit.
As Amazon tells me, I purchased the Grape Rabbit Pearl on September 14, 2009. Clearly I wasted no time. And it was pretty awesome, after of course I read the instruction manual, and I don’t think I was even using it correctly either. I began pleasuring myself at a shockingly young age. An age so young that now as a parent seems even more so fucking young I’m not even going to frighten you with the age. I think as an adult I was sort of over it, kind of a been there done that mentality. Plus, of course my success rate was paltry so why even bother. The Rabbit was great, but required a lot of quiet alone time I didn’t possess or often chose to instead to spend watching TV and eating something delicious. My priorities have always been clear.
I tried recently to pull the bad boy out of the storage where he’d been collecting dust since probably October of 2009 when I quickly grew bored of him, went to Mexico, got knocked up and forgot what sex was all together. I realized I’m just not that kind of girl. I’m never going to be really comfortable putting a vibrating plastic object near my beavie like its normal. I can barely turn off my brain to do it with my husband much less during my precious alone minutes.
So I’m declaring on June 21, 2011, bye bye to the Rabbit. You were fun, for that month, three years ago.