Smut

My neighbor Cassi invited me to a Pure Romance party at her house Tuesday night so, in spite of some trepidation, I went. I'd been to one of these parties about four years ago, and I figured my embarrassment had subsided enough by now to attend another one. Seriously, my cheeks were flushed for a week after the last smutfest. One thing I can tell you for sure: don't even attempt one of these gatherings if you don't drink. Seriously.

As I was walking out the door to trot around the corner through the snow, I posted on my Facebook page that I was "headed to a Pure Romance Party. AKA . . . smut." A guy from my church immediately replied, "I KNEW IT!" Now, I don't know what he thinks he knows, but now I can't help but wonder exactly what sort of impression I've been giving at church.

In telling you about the party, I'll have to be very careful about my word choices here, because I don't want to attract a bunch of perverts to my blog. I learned that lesson the hard way with a previous blog entry. The Pure Romance stuff really is meant to be fun (and, I suppose, useful). I arrived at the party and settled into a spot on the couch, Chardonnay in hand. We were seated in a circle in Cassi's living room. Next to the TV was a low table full of displayed unmentionables. The Pure Romance consultant began her presentation, working her way through the catalog she had given each of us. The pages in the catalog bore titles such as "Good Vibrations!" and "High-Tech Heaven!" The consultant was very bubbly and definitely knew the products well. God love a woman who can say things like "clitoral stimulation" in the very same tone of voice in which one would say "roll with butter." We also played a couple of games. And by "we" I mean "everyone but me."

Cassi's mom and sister were also at the party. Now, I don't care who you are, but you don't wanna think about your parents doing it. My mother has three children so I've allotted three sex acts to her over the course of her adult life and that's it. As far as I'm concerned, my dad hasn't gotten any since my youngest sister was conceived in 1981.

I grew up in a liberal, open family. We are not a Puritanical or prudish lot by any stretch. However, I can't seem to bring myself to discuss d*ldos in polite company (or even impolite company). It took a couple of glasses of Chardonnay at the party before I stopped feeling like I might pass out every time a sex toy was handed around the circle (I have a weird habit of holding my breath when I'm feeling out of sorts). I really do not know what is wrong with me, as everyone else seemed quite comfortable.

So, I guess you are dying to know: did she buy anything???? Yes, I walked out with a black bag just like everyone else. But, alas, I have to disappoint you. All I bought was a massage thingamajig (it heats up) and some massage oil, which may or may not ever get used. Oh, and some glittery lotion, which I thought might be fun to have on hand (sparkly bosom) for a fancy night out sometime (because you know I do that a LOT). Yes, I passed up my chance to buy my very own stripper pole and install it in my house. I'm sorry to dash your hopes on the rocks like that. There was also a, um, motorized male member that retails for $150.00. I just could not get my brain around that at all. That's a week's worth of groceries. This bugger spins in a couple of directions at varying speeds and is, of course, waterproof. Nothing I buy at the grocery store does that.

Maybe I'll host a party so that I can get a crotchless bodysuit for half price. And where, oh where, will I install that pole?