The Va Jay Jay Monologues

This is a filthy, filthy, dirty entry. So you should probably skip it.

Still here? I knew it. Sinner.

So this past weekend, we celebrated our friend’s upcoming wedding with separate bachelor/bachelorette parties. The girls were treated to an “Adult Novelty” party, and it was hysterical.

This was my first sex toy party, but I’m pretty sure there’s some sort of “code”, much like bachelor parties*. So I will not mention if anybody bought anything, who seemed the most interested, who top-secretly put icy-hot on their business, or anything like that. I’ll just write about my own observations:

They like to give you little samples of lotion and the such-and-such, so lots of weird stuff ends up squirted on your hands and wrists. Some moisture-activated lube ended up on my fingertips at some point. I thought I had wiped it off, but later on it activated with the condensation on my glass and I almost dropped my drink.

They demonstrated one kind of lube (which may or may not have been called “Anal Ease”) by having one girl make a fist and another girl stick her finger in it. I happened to be sitting in the middle of the couch, so I got tag-teamed by Jen and Niki. Jen’s new nickname for me is “Fingercuffs”.

We learned all about the Linus and the Lucy (or as our hostess awesomely called it, the Va Jay Jay). We even learned a little bit about boys and their Charlie Browns. Oh, hey boys? Apparently you all love anal. All of you. Love it.

The technology that goes into those toys is mind blowing: there are strobe lights, suction cups, alien tentacles, disco balls, animal figurines, and more. Some of those things move so fast that Steven Hawking could use them for time-traveling.

The famous “Rabbit Pearl” was cute, but the idea of having a little bunny foo-foo that close to my “doorbell” just feels wrong. I mean, make it a unicorn, or at least something that doesn’t hop by my window everyday at the office.

So passing around the stuff was funny, but then you have to go upstairs and make your selection. Now, I am not squeamish about this stuff at all (incredibly amused maybe, but not squeamish), so if I had bought a toy I would probably tell you and I wouldn’t be ashamed of it. But I didn’t buy one – I went upstairs and had the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had in my life, which I opened with:

“I want a penis cake pan.”

I’m going to be a Maid of Honor in October, so I figured it might come in handy. But seriously, when else will I ever say that? Okay, here’s the rest of my conversation:

Me: I want a penis cake pan.

Her: Oh. You’re not getting a toy?

Me: Um, no. I’m good. Thanks.

Her: Oh, honey. You need a toy.

Me: Um… can I just have the penis cake pan?

Her: Oh my god, you really need a toy. Oh my god. You don’t even know. What about the “Wall Banger”?

Me: … should I get the penis cupcake pans instead?

Her: Just tell me what toy you want.

Me: I’m… broke? I’m broke. Can’t. Sorry.

Her: So you might get one later? Oh my god. I’ll write down my number. I’ll give you a discount.

Me: [And I meant this the way a guy means it] I’ll… call you?

Her: Oh my god, here’s my number. Call me. CALL ME.

I find it really ironic that girls are taught to never talk about this stuff, ever – we’re supposed to feel really ashamed and embarrassed and dirty. And then suddenly, you end up marking your friend’s passage into womanhood by sitting in a room with a complete stranger, getting peer pressured to Do That Thing. That conversation was the most peer pressure I’ve experienced in my life, and that includes pressure to smoke cigarettes and buy Mary Kay make-up at work.

Is this what it felt like for all you boys – you know, during that one summer when you all hit puberty at the same time? Like, one second girls are grody and the next second boys have to be into them or else? It’s kind of like that, right? It was so weird. Even though I am blogging about this, I still feel really rushed into being allowed to be okay with it. I’ll stick with the rivers and the lakes (and the penis cake pans) that I’m used to… I know Party Lady has it her way or nothing at all, but I think we’re moving too fast.

Tony spent the whole weekend calling it a Sex Party: “Are you still at your sex party? How was the sex party?” We poured over the catalog later, and he picked out an inflatable sheep for Ty’s bachelor party. I love Tony.

*So if, as a completely random example, we had ended up in East St. Louis at 3 am, watching some chick at Roxy’s named “The Supersoaker”, I would not blog about it.