Please note that this story is going to be very broken up due to editorial comments, which are in italics. Bear with me! 🙂
So a girlfriend of mine calls me today to tell me a funny / horrifying story.
Well, funny to me – horrifying for her.
Once or twice a year (!) she pulls out a toy to play with.
And the rest of the year, she… what? Uses her hand? The shower massage? Closes her eyes and prays for that naughty feeling to go away? I left that alone at the time, but I think we’ll have to pursue that topic at a later date. And for her, that probably means after a few beers. 😉
And last night was one of those nights. After she was done, she was tired, so instead of putting it right back away like she usually does…
The woman’s got much better control than I do. Of course you’re sleepy right after! That’s the whole frickin point, many a night.
And then she got busy today, and forgot to put it back, and left to do some errands. Came home to find the cleaning lady was already in the house, working. And was horrified. Ran up the stairs double-time to get to her room before the cleaning lady found the terribly embarassing sex toy that she’d inadvertently left out. Luckily…
She said that part with such a sigh of relief it was all I could do not to laugh out loud.
The cleaning lady hadn’t yet entered the room, and she managed to get in there and put the toy back before cleaning commenced.
Perhaps it’s just me, but I really don’t understand the horrifying deal. Sure, perhaps a little awkward, but it’s not like she left her 200K stash of heroin laying around or was in the middle of an orgy when the cleaning lady showed up. It’s just a sex toy, folks. 😉
But then, I’ve always been a little different about these things. There was a time not so long ago when I had an entire surface of my bedroom devoted to sex paraphernalia, like a little shrine to lubricious goodness. Butt plugs, vibes, lubes (both edible and non), condoms and ben-wa balls had their own place on the shelf. And really, I only ever entertained sex partners in that room anyway, so it was all good.
In time, of course, I began to have two problems.
1) Lack of available surface space in my bedroom.
2) Growing cache of sex toys.
So, the shelf became a drawer, and then in time that also expanded to some longer or more interesting, er, implements, being hung from behind the door to my bedroom. But there’s still a ton of sexy things around my apartment if you look for them – an entire bookcase full of erotic literature (both fiction and non), the aforementioned hanging implements, and a few naughty bits tucked into DVD collections or drawers around the house.
I hide none of it from visitors, nor do I invite them to explore. They’re simply there, a part of my life.
Though I will say the bookcase usually gets a visit from most of my friends when they stop by.
My sexuality is a part of me, a vital and healthy part. I don’t rub it in the faces of my visitors – a show and tell session, while amusing, might be too much for some visitors to take – but neither am I going to tuck in all the corners of my life so that I’m all hospital-approved spic and span, either. If I happen to forget a toy lying around, well, oops. Sorry. I pick it up and move it someplace else.
There are so many other things in this world to get tense about. Where my sex toys are at – and who sees them – is just the least of my worries. 🙂