The Misadventures a Professional Sex Toy Buyer

I said that to my boss?

2006-07-05T23:22:00.000-07:00

My boss came around today and asked me what I was working on (it is my first day back post sex-conference in St. Louis). I looked up, sighed audibly, and passionately exclaimed, "I need another word for 'Butt-fucking'."

It didn't even occur to me to think this was odd until much later in the day.
And when it finally did cross my mind that my job vernacular is unusual, my very next thought was, "I should have asked if he had better slang terms for butt-hole, too."

Needless to say, he suggested that I "check my references" for inspiration. What kind of boss encourages porn viewing while at the office? I can watch "Cum Loving Sluts" in the plain of day but get in trouble for checking my bank statements while not on break. Sometimes I wish for the latter. It's a tough life I lead.

Defacing my Lube

2006-07-04T11:03:00.000-07:00

It seems like everyone has a favorite lube these days. The ol' trusty, hide-it-in-the-night stand type that you grab in a moment's notice, just when things start to heat up. Thing is, no one seems to know why they picked that brand in the first place.

Confession: I buy every single brand of pasta sauce Trader Joes has to offer in a calculated rotation in the hopes that I will stumble across the perfect mixture of tang, garlic, and chunkiness. (Mind you, finding the perfect sauce has not happened yet, but I am only up to Luigi's Homestyle Blend, so I still have much of the alphabet to go.) With lube, however, I think most people are apt to find something that gets it wet and then they stop looking. That is like settling for Prego because it is red. People, there has to be more out there!

Just yesterday I was musing over the many different kinds of lube when my eyes fell upon a bottle of Liquid Silk sitting on my partner's bedside table. I brought it home months ago to see what all of the fuss was about (it is by and away our best selling water-based lubricant) and it has not been moved from its place sandwiched between a silver picture frame (us in costume) and an Indian Garden take-out menu (still haven't tried it but refuse to move it to the kitchen). We were unimpressed by this lube. While more like a lotion that more traditional formulas, and while it does say wet without drying up or getting greasy, Liquid Silk tastes horrible. Like lemon juice and band-aids gone bad. If you are ever in the mood for oral action after dabbing on a bit of lube, this product will make you think again.

The one thing I love about Liquid Silk (and its hair-gel-like counterpart Maximus -- much better for anal play or fisting) is the pump top. Brilliant. Who wants to try and unscrew a tiny cap with sloppy fingers in the darkness anyhow?

So, yesterday afternoon while the pre-Fourth of July traffic honked its horns through the Castro of San Francisco and our new batch of home brew beer began to bubble in the pantry, I emptied out our bottle of Liquid Silk into the toilet. I even went as far as to peel off the label, leaving a bit of a sticky surface on the plastic. I then re-filled the bottle with Colt (men's? I say it can be for everyone!) water-based lube, a clear formula with much, much less of a flavor. Ta-da! Easy access lube for all occasions! Then I placed it back on the bedside table, without moving the menu of course. I can only accomplish so much in a single day.

Getting it up (and running)...

2006-07-02T11:00:00.000-07:00

I remember my very first sex toy. I was thirteen, a gymnast (sadly, I can claim "gymnast" as a title no longer), and I had pulled a hip abductor muscle on the left side of my groin. It hurt like the dickens and I was inexperienced enough in the realm of sexuality to find humor in the situation when I would tell my coaches, "I need something to help me really get into my groin."

Alas, it was with no ulterior motive that I headed to the mall with my older sister (KC), to search for a wand massager for my thigh. A bit of hunting around at the Sharper Image led me deeper into the mall to find the same massager at half price in a Wal-mart knock-off store. I hugged it tight to my lap in the car ride home, ignorantly blissful of the sensations to come.

Dutifully I performed my pilates-type stretches (pilates had not yet been invented when I was a young teen or, if they had, no one in my life was rich enough to practice them correctly) every morning and evening. After pulling and lifting and rolling and tensing, I would reach behind my dresser and pull out my trusty 13" long, baseball-bat-inspired massager, and sink back into my waterbed while my aches subsided. (My LEG aches, you dirty-minded heathens!)

One fateful day, long after my massager had been discovered by friends and family and jokingly nicknamed my "vibrator" (an idea that made me flush, whether out of embarrassment or pleasure, to this day I have no idea), I was mid-massage when I decided to let the softball-sized vibrating head venture north and rest on my crotch. (Yes, it was my crotch back then, not my pussy or cunt or even my vagina. Those terms of endearment would come later.)

I froze. My eyes popped open and lips clamped shut mid-gasp. The sensation was overwhelming and I was terrified. Terrified of the feelings raging through my body, terrified that they would stop, and, most of all, terrified that I had discovered something that made my body feel so much. Jaw-clenched, I was unable to tear my hands away from the massager and all of thirty seconds later, I fell off the edge of the bed, shaking and trembling. It wasn't the orgasm that affected me so much, it was the sheer intensity of the sensation. I felt like I had discovered something dangerous.

It was the dark feeling that invaded my head after that first orgasm that really affected me. Why did something that felt so good make me so scared?

Many people in my life ask what brought me to being a professional sex toy buyer, of all things. "Where was that booth at the high school job fair?" they muse. I often wonder why I did come into this line of work as pushing sex toys into people's bedrooms is not my real passion (heck, hands work just as well if not better, sometimes). Sex toys are, however, how I discovered what passion could feel like. If I am able as just one small woman in this big, sex-negative world, to help someone else find pleasure inside themselves, then I feel that am doing my job as a buyer. And if I am able to convince them (and you, friendly reader) that what they are finding in themselves is good and powerful and true, then that might just make me the happiest grown-up, ex-gymnast, smut-peddling sex-activist that I can possibly be.