The continuing saga of the battery-operated gizmo…



My best friend James, who happens to be a straight male, called me yesterday and said “I bought you a vibrator.”
I supplied him with a very long pause and then responded, “You mean like a special massager for my wrists?” (I’m still battling the RSS).
“No, it’s a vibrator,” James continued very seriously. “Like a lady’s vibrator for your lady’s parts.”
WTF?
Yes, my straight male friend bought me a masturbating device for my lady’s parts. No, people, this isn’t the start of my new romantic comedy. This is my life.
James went on to explain that he’d just had an appointment with a specialist for his own RSS and she prescribed the use of a vibrator to massage the stressed tendons in his hands and wrists. Yes, a vibrator—a small one, the type that could be carried in a purse, the very same kind that could be used to stimulate one’s clitoris. Or I suppose one’s achy wrists.
Huh?
The idea of my dear friend James purchasing this device from the drugstore was enough to send me into stitches, but when he showed up at my door with the blue sex toy, I almost burst my braces.  “The Water Dancer” would fix everything James claimed. But he warned me I needed to use a special lubricant for glide. He even stocked me up on double AA batteries. He earnestly demonstrated, circling his wrists with the pulsating head of the pleasure appliance.
I have been dancing on water ever since, making sure to use the Vitamin E cream James provided so as not to chafe. 
Yes, this is my life. And no, it’s not a romantic comedy. But my friend James is truly a prince—and a real live one, not one I made up. This is a man who carries a box of tampons in his car just in case I ever have need of them. He should probably star in my next romance novel. The truth is there may be a bit of him in one of my male leads, but I’ll never tell you which one. And I’ll certainly never tell him. I think he’s been embarrassed enough for one lifetime.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

When a 42-year-old wears a bikini.

Image
At what point does a lady of riper years have to stop wearing a two-piece? A high ponytail? A mini skirt? A smoky eye? These are all questions that pop up when you are a woman my age. In your 20’s you are heedless, reckless in your youth. By 30, you’ve matured a little and have perhaps strived to adopt a classier look—you’ve also invested heavily in sunscreen. By 40, you still have it—if you’re lucky— but have begun to detect your glow slippage, cracks in the surface etc. Some women panic. I have chosen not to. However, it has occurred to me that maybe it’s time to ditch the two-piece. Should I invest in some totally blah racer-back unitard? Perhaps a 1920’s bathing costume— a garbage bag? Nahhhhhhhhh. I’m going to carry on with the boobs and butt front and center program. You know why? Because it’s more fun. Besides, I have recently discovered everyone at the gym is just looking at their cell phones anyway. They wouldn’t notice if I swam nude in tube socks while wea
Read more

GRANDMAS MAKE GOOD PROOF READERS, and other observations from my ridiculous existence.

Image
It seems only fitting that in honor of Mother’s Day I tease my own mother without mercy. Here goes. I find it quite hilarious that my 74-year-old mom has “first crack” at my manuscripts. I call them “manuscripts” and they are, but come on, seriously, they are steamy romance novels and sometimes that steam turns into straight up smut. The idea of the most dignified lady I know burning her tender eyes out on phrases like “throbbing need” and “pulsating male hunger” not to mention “dampening cleft” or “slippery bud of desire” sends me straight into a fit of spasmodic giggles. Especially when she uses her schoolmarm Eraser Mate pen on said salacious phrases. My mother is a lady from another time. She was born in 1812. I’ve never even seen her legs. She is prim and strict, always buttoned up. She is continually scandalized by my brashness, my rude and raucous humor, my bright red lipstick (I could go on and on) and wonders how she ever sprouted such a rotten seed. When she edits my
Read more