I Took My Husband Vibrator Shopping

This is embarrasingIn hindsight, I never should have said, “Don’t worry, we’ll just pop in and out. It’s not like anyone will want to talk to us or anything.”

Foolishly, having learned absolutely nothing in our 6 years together, my husband, The Daver, believed me. For richer or poorer, in sickness or health, with leather studded cock ring or without, we were bound together. Forever. I grabbed his hand and dragged him inside the sex toy shop.

For my birthday, I needed a new vibrator to replace Big Pink, my trustworthy sidekick since Lesbian Valentine’s Day of 2003, and since we were out without the kids for the first time in months, tonight seemed like The Night (with ALL apologies to Rod Stewart).

My husband, The Daver, is the yin to my yang, fiercely private where I am willing to tell complete strangers about my choice of sex toys, and reserved where I am likely to streak naked through the streets singing Spice Girls songs at the top of my lungs. Not that I *ahem* would know anything about that *ahem.*

I think he may have even blushed the last time he bought condoms, while I discussed the merits of different types of lube with a friend. So getting him into a sex toy shop–a sex toy shop IN THE SUBURBS, I should add, where there were no transsexual midgets beating each other about the head with gigantic black fists–was a Big Deal, Indeed.

We walked into a sea of naughty nurses costumes, snickering like teenagers–because we are very mature–at the crotchless undies and pink faux fur-lined handcuffs. The last time we’d been in a sex toy shop was 5 years prior, and it was in a very gay section of the city, so most of the toys were geared towards men.

Heading back to the (very limited) selection of sex toys, we were accosted by a smoking hot blond chick, easily ten years our junior, who asked us very cheerfully if we needed any help.

I think this was the first time that Dave blushed heavily, as I replied that I knew what we were looking for and steered him along with me, lest he get tangled in a sea of realistically shaped penis lollipops, never to emerge again. Thankfully, I knew precisely what I wanted (years of sex toy Tupperware-esqe parties had taught me well) and grabbed it.

Clinging to me for dear life, Dave followed behind me, like a particularly adorable mole. Knowing that we did have to get back home, I turned from the wall of dildos, ready to make my (our) way back to the front so that I could purchase my simple, plain, boring toy. As I turned around, I noticed that the hot blond cashier had followed us over to the wall-o-toys and was now standing next to The Daver. Spying the simple, boring toy in my hand, she quickly launched into her spiel.

“Is that what you’re buying?!” She thundered in a voice that was probably heard 2 or 3 counties away.

“Yep,” I replied. “I finally broke my last vibrator.”

“Oh yeah?” She asked. “How long did you have it?”

Dave, still standing behind me began to radiate palpable waves of discomfort as he realized that oh yes, his worst nightmare had come true.

I screwed up my face and thought for a second, “Hm. What…7 years now?”

She took a step backwards, obviously in shock. “No WAY! Those things are supposed to last like A YEAR maximum!”

“Heh,” I responded, less lecherously than it sounds. “And trust me. IT GOT WELL USED.”

I took this moment to look at my poor husband, who had turned the exact same of burgundy as the carpet below our feet. He stayed rooted into place there, probably more out of shock than anything else, dying a little bit inside.

“Well,” she kept on, oblivious to The Daver’s plight. “You should try THESE toys” as she gestured to a line of specialty items whose price tags ran into the triple digits. “They’re GREEN because they’re rechargeable.” A consummate cheap-ass, I wasn’t about to exchange my $10 no-frills-attached toy for something ten times that. I would have told her as much had she stopped yammering for a second.

“First, you have this one for clitoral stimulation, and this one is designed for your g-spot,” she continued as The Daver considered ways to kill himself from where he was standing. Maybe asphyxiation by a rogue thong?

“THEN,” she turned to my husband, who had been largely ignored by her ruthless hotness and up-selling, “you have THIS as a rechargeable cock ring.” She grabbed the device and began manipulating it, stretching around in a circle, as she flicked the on button.

Dave quickly buried his head in the rack of soft core pornography to his left, pretending to be entranced by a copy of Hollywood Sex Fantasies. Leaving it to me to break the news to my sexy friend that no, no cock ring, not this time, sorry.

I can’t be sure if she was merely oblivious or deeply thrilled to be causing someone such overwhelming distress, because it didn’t seem to hold any malice whatsoever. But it seems unfathomable that she had no idea the discomfort she was causing my husband.

As we checked out, she simply kept blathering away, telling us happily about a HUGE SALE the following weekend. She even handed The Daver, who had removed himself from the movies and was standing unhappily next to me, shifting from one foot to the next, a pamphlet advertising “HALF OFF LINGERIE!!!”

He shoved it into his pocket furtively as I signed my name to the charge slip, and I bid my new friend farewell, promising to return to purchase some warming oil–or maybe some whimsical penis ice cubes!–some other year.

On our way out, my hand crushed by Daver’s white-knuckled grasp, I apologized to him. He whispered to me, more forcibly than the time that I tried to invest our life savings into Twinkies, “You SO owe me.” He paused briefly.

“For my birthday? I want a Porsche.”

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56 comments

  1. Mike

    Im the odd man out. I love to go toy shopping. Toys and sex are valued the same as air,water, and food. Something required. my ex has a 1K toy box and I have already got.my first 12 toys in 4 months time and have shopping lists going for another dozen. I usually teach the people in our local stores about things.

    Guys that don't play with/are scared of, toys are always the ones who always whine about not being able to get dates.

  2. Jen G

    The Other Katy, I actually live near that cross! I do have to correct the myth, though, there is no adult store near the cross. A very rural interstate exit, the only businesses within a mile of it are a dentist’s office, a winery, and the church that has the cross on their property. As a friend of mine once said when we were driving by it, “that musta been a big-ass Jesus!” :O

    Aunt Becky, you have a new fan for life!

  3. Ellen

    I love the new Blog! Thanks for posting the link to it on the “clean” one. ;P

    This one is right up my *ahem* alley as well.

    I’d link it up with Facebook but I don’t see the option for that…is that intentional?

    Good Luck! Happy Blogging!

  4. I like your crotch talk! I have a vibrator that cost almost $200.00. I was single when I bought it. I have enjoyed my 6 settings, twirling beads, moveable head, and vibrating light up clit massager… but… I think I would rather have the money now to buy my kids school clothes. Motherhood will do that to ya lol lol

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