I have a love/hate relationship with sex toys. I mean, every now and again, I’ll decide that I need or want one, and every time I do, something fucks up.
My first set of toys was one of those starter kits. I forgot I even had it, in fact, for years, I forgot I had the kit with the egg thing and sleeves and some other stuff. Until, of course, I moved several states away and was unpacking a box… a box in which my little love kit had been carefully wrapped in newsprint by anonymous movers. Between laughing and cringing, I tossed them, feeling they were somehow tainted by the hands of some creepy guy who clearly had done bad things to them before delicately placing them in a box as a symbol of his undying love for me.
My next adventure involved a pretty personal care package that included a vibe and a Rabbit. It was a tragic love story. You should read it.
But there is more, because I don’t learn my lesson and I am fascinated by sex toys
and how I can fuck them up. One day, Superman and I were chatting, and even after I explained my bad karma with silicone, we were both kinda keen on the idea of seeing what would happen with a little non-latex love. I hop on Amazon and do a quick search and find something that I’m pretty sure will do the job, and that I won’t somehow break, destroy or otherwise end up needing surgery as a result of its use.
Then, of course, Amazon offers me a bundle.
Who am I to say no to Amazon?
That’s where I should have stopped. I told myself to stop. I said, “Melia, you know where this is going to lead. You have an uncontrollable dildo addiction and you need to seek help.”
(I hate that particular voice in my head. If you’ve ever tried to be my voice of reason, you know what I did. That’s right, I ignored that voice and kept on shopping.)
One of the suggestions was for a blue, veiny vibrator. I’m all about aliens, so I started looking at it and reading reviews that all said…
Great toy, kind of rough, very stiff, my wife/gf loved it.
Well, if THEY loved it, I was going to love it, too! I shrugged off the fact that it was an 8″ dildo that was made of something other than soft, flexible silicone.
I should also mention that I struggle with depth perception. And, obviously, sanity.
I decided all my other toys vibrated, and I wanted an actual dildo. Coincidentally, there were dildos in the suggested items that say…
Customers also bought…
WELL! If they loved the blue vibe, and still bought one of those (9″) humdingers down there, I WAS GOING TO AS WELL!
And, I did. It had really good reviews… and a suction cup!
So, I waited. I told Superman what I’d gotten and he said something like…
Are you fucking crazy?
Yes, Superman, yes, I am.
The first packages to arrive were the first three items. A sleek purple vibrator, one with the butterfly thing, and what is now known as Scary Smurf.
I opened those at home, alone, and quite possibly started to giggle maniacally, while tears streamed down my face. There was no way Scary Smurf was going to be my new BFF. HO. LEE. SHIT. BIG. BLUE. VEINY. HARD. OUCH.
Superman… he laughed, said, “I told you so,” and then dared me to…
It took a couple of days
to heal for the next package to arrive, and since I was traumatized frightened by Scary Smurf, I waited until Superman got here to open the final toy. The dildo. I waited because when I went to lift the package, it was fucking heavy.
This is not good.
As I unveiled my final prize, and tore off the wrapping, my eyes fell on the floor and ran away screaming.
This was the biggest thing I’ve seen, aside from the huge anal plug on display at a sex shop I used to visit in college.
9″ long. 300″ around. I kid you not.
I pulled it out of the package, crying. My vagina cried. Your vagina probably cried in sympathy.
Then, it hit me.
There was a hairy man on the package, without a shirt.
The light came on.
I laughed so, so hard. Harder than Scary Smurf. Harder than the penis used to make this real-size model of…
A big, gay cock.
I, friends, am now the proud owner of a big, gay cock.