Shee-nanigans: That Party Report

I don't know what was weirder: how vanilla this "passion party" was; or how weird the world would be had it NOT been so vanilla. If you follow.

Exhibit A: The thing I'm holding in this picture. It's a feather tickler on one end and the world's tiniest, most adorable riding crop on the other. It's like a sex toy for an American Girl doll. (Probably that new Marie-Grace, amiright?) I smacked my tennis friend over and over again as hard as I could--you know, like you do--and I don't think she even felt it.

(Exhibit B, an unrelated exhibit: Those are my new fancy jeans. Matt took me out on Saturday afternoon and I tried on a zillion pairs of incredibly tight jeans for my now-skinnier bohiney. It was the world's most awesome date, y'all. My kind of romance. The bad phone picture makes the color/fade on them look really extreme, but it's not. Where was I? This might be another post. Definitely.)

I'm getting ahead of my story. Pretty Neighbor and her hubs played a quick set of tennis with Matt and me Saturday night before the party. She and I were into going to meet and greet--it was just around the corner--but we weren't sure we were up for the spray tan. Logistically, getting a full-body spray tan in the middle of this event was seeming like a hassle to me. The invitation suggested wearing dark, loose clothing so the tan solution wouldn't stain them, and even said, "Just come in your bathrobe!" Both PN and I were like, ah, no thanks. I was all, "I don't want to go to a party in my pajamas, I want to go in these new jeans I just got that I can only stand up in!" So we decided we might bring sweats to change into post-tan, because I was curious about the tanning, having never had one.

Honestly, Reader, it was knowing that I needed to get the full experience to report to you that spurred me on. You make me want to be a better (wo)man.

So PN and I calculated that the proper arrival time was 30 minutes after the start time given on the invite, and we sidled over and picked up our tennis friend T. Now, T had told me that she wouldn't be tanning because she wasn't into the nakedness required, but then she comes out of her house in actual jammies and slippers, saying "I hope I'm not the only one in pajamas!"

Well, T needn't have worried. We were greeted at the door of a beautiful house by our hostess, who was clad in--and I would never kid you about this--fleece, leopard-print footie pajamas that zipped from her crotch to her neck. As she welcomed us inside, we said, "Have you already tanned?" and she pulled us under a brighter light and then unzipped her jammies. Unzipped them rather a lot. We admired her golden-brown boob, and then I was like, "Oh goodness, shall I just leave my purse right here?" and "I'll just find a place to put this wine."

It was a very Just Us Gals moment and it set the tone perfectly for what was to come.

Then we joined the party and PN caught a glimpse of the sex toy presenter lady, who had a little table and a giant pink suitcase full of her wares, and was like, "Oh, I know her." She was super nice, Columbian, outgoing, and plays A2 level tennis. So we chatted with her and took in the scene. Lots of nice food and probably forty girls there, many of them in their pajamas.

Pretty Neighbor and a Giant Bundt Candle

It was certainly raucous. At one point, prompted by what I don't know, our leopard-footied hostess raised her voice and proclaimed, a little heatedly, to everyone, "I don't have a dildo, I don't need a dildo, I don't want a dildo, I am a GOOD CATHOLIC GIRL." PN and I risked neck injury by whipping around to look at each other. It was a rich instant of human life. If I didn't have a blog, one would have sprung fully-formed into existence right then, willed by the exigencies of the moment. I'll just note that it seemed rather like protesting too much.

Eventually we all perched on the furniture in the living room for the "passion party" portion. This was where, EVEN HERE, my congenital need to be the good student surfaced. The presenter lady was having a hard time being heard over the outbreaks of laughter and general rowdiness. As you might imagine. So I wanted to show my best respectful listening, and I even had the Hermione Granger impulse to be like, "SHHHH! You guys! She's talking about PHEREMONES! This is IMPORTANT!" I didn't though.

But it led to the presenter having to raise her voice and basically scream, "LADIES, GOD HAS BLESSED US WITH A CLITORIS!" Those were her exact words. And all the people said amen. She said it several times for different products.

From the catalog

So, the products. This was really interesting to me, to see how this was all presented. The catalog starts (and her spiel started) firmly in the familiar discursive space of self-pampering. Ladies, ya gotta take care of yourselves and find pleasure in everyday activities like bathing, grooming, etc. Body lotions, oils, and sprays with names like Entice and Glow can ease the drudgery of living. Everything is an "experience" or a "transformative escape" that will make you feel "deliciously irresistible." This should tell you what it was like, this first part: there was a pack of 100 silk rose petals for you to strew on your sheets (and clean up after, I suppose). They came with four tealight candles and "an invitation for your lover." T bought them.

Every product was lickable or edible. She went around and squirted some kind of goo on everyone's fingers and was like, "Try it!" I was like, "Uh no way am I EATING that stuff that just came out of that tube." I mean, I am game for just about whatever, but please.

It all smelled pretty good. Mangosteen is an important fragrance in this world.

Okay, so there were these various unguents, then some lube, which seemed pretty good, then more products that make your skin tingle in various ways and locations. One of them is called Nympho Niagra. Believe.

Then we broke for more wine before she brought out the big guns.

First we looked at these little chapbooks. Tickle His Pickle and Tickle Your Fancy. The pickle one promised, improbably, 50 ways to tickle that pickle. (Cue Paul Simon? "Ya just blow some air, Claire.")

I apologize. For this whole post. If you have better gags please share. I am truly over my head here.

The Tickle Your Fancy book was For Us, and contained hints for "self-pleasure and "awareness." LADIES, GOD HAS BLESSED US...

So Pretty Neighbor had the most concise critique of the night, I thought, when she observed, "Hey, in the pickle book it's all pictures of the woman pleasing the man, and in the girl's book it's all pictures of her by herself. Doesn't anyone wanna help her tickle her fancy?" Yes, truly. That was the overall tone of much of what was presented: spicing up your sex life is a DIY project, ladies.

Okay, I got to hand it to the copywriters of this catalog, and to whomever trains the sales presenters, they get through the whole shebang and never, never say any ugly words. They are at particular pains to avoid "blowjob." The preferred term is "oral favor." Which I actually found kind of sweet. I don't know. I was into my third glass of wine by that point.

One of the little vibrators plugs into a USB. And one looked like a lipstick. Everything comes with cute drawstring sacks so the cleaning lady doesn't have to see it. One had a suction cup base, and she stuck it to the mantle. I took a picture but I don't want that picture looking at me on the front page of my blog for days and days.

I also took a picture of Pretty Neighbor holding a really complicated dildo in each hand, but she hissed, "Don't you dare put that on your blog!"

Presented without comment and I will not answer questions, Mom.

So I said this whole thing was vanilla, but you know, by the end, if you flip to the back pages of the catalog, the train takes you straight to Funkytown. The product range passes through every kind of dildo--all the Sex and the City girls ones--and gets right into what most people would think of as kinky.

Before it gets there, though, it passes through silly. When I was telling Matt about the whole night, I got as far as, "There's a c**k ring that looks like a Goodyear tire," and he burst into a giggle of pure joy. Like a child on Christmas morning.

And as unlikely as it seems, that product is reversible? There is also pink duct tape.

Then, at length, properly prepared and educated in the worlds of exploration and escape, we arrive at the section entitled, "A New Sensation!" You get me. (I don't want those searchable terms on my blog forever and ever.) And here I must say, Mom and Dad, that I had no idea what it was talking about and I flipped through a copy of Readers Digest Condensed Books instead. I mean, I knew what all the words meant but not when put together in that way!

Okay, I'm lying on the fainting couch now.

Now I'm back.

And Lord, the hooting and hollering at every moment of this.

This post is already way, way WAY too long and I haven't even gotten to the tanning! Which was seriously a whole separate experience. Tomorrow! There is no way you have read this far!

Wishing you pleasure and awareness.
xo