One Dildo, Two Fists, and a Night at the Bar

“Is it weird,” he asked, “that when I found a life sized double ended fisting dildo, I thought of you?”

I wish I could have said yes. I used to be able to say yes to things like that, back in my not-so-distant past where I would have been at least mildly offended that a six pound double sided fisting dildo made a man I’ve never met say, “Nicole!”

But alas, that time has passed, that innocent little ship has sailed, and it’s onward and upward with an obscenely large rubber object that, when it arrived in the mail, had me questioning everything I thought I knew about my body and where things of this size could or could not fit.

I took it out of the box and my roommate watched, horrified, immediately demanding that I hide it somewhere out of her eyesight. “Behind the red chair?” I asked. “No,” she answered firmly, “I can still see it.”

Before finding a better hiding spot for it, I read through the product information and learned that our new house guest was 26” long and that it was molded from real hands. Real hands! As in, there’s a dude out there whose job it is, whose actual paid job it is to make a fist with one hand and a tapered finger position with the other hand and hold both hands still like that while someone else molds a perfect replica of them into an enormous rubber sex toy.

It’s waterproof, the box said, with angled fingers for easy insertion and fists that become slick when lubricated. The package goes on to highly suggest using lubrication for maximum pleasure. For maximum pleasure, I thought? How about for survival? I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure that the real reason to use lubrication with this product has less to do with pleasure and more to do with not destroying one’s vagina. Seriously, how in the how could you ever be expected to even attempt “easy insertion” of a 26” extra long, ultra thick double fister dong without all the lube in the history of lube?!

Maybe they’re just trying not to get sued. Like how those hot beverage cups are all, “The contents of this cup are extremely hot,” which is code for, “You ordered HOT COFFEE you idiot, don’t go all litigation on us when you spill it in your lap and it is, in fact, REALLY HOT COFFEE.”

Legal action aside, my assignment from Toy With Me luckily wasn’t to use the thing, but to make a complete asshat out of myself by bringing it out to a bar one night.

And so I did.

Picking the right night, and the right bar, quickly became a topic of debate and my roommate and I discussed strategy for days. Should we go somewhere loud and dark where no one can ask about it? Somewhere far from the apartment where we won’t know anyone? Somewhere in another state where we can ditch the thing and cross state lines and flee the scene?

In the end, we settled on the most wildly awkward course of action possible: taking Marvin the fisting dildo to the bar down the street from our apartment, the bar we frequent every single week, on a night when we were meeting not one, but two new friends from the internet for the first time “in real life.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you guys. I’m so glad you like my blog. I’m Nicole, this is Jamie, and this is Marvin and his overpowering new rubber smell. Beer?”

Talk about a successful ice breaker.

“You guys are exactly how we thought you’d be,” they said to us. Which, coupled with my being the first choice person to mail a fisting dildo to to begin with, should make my family very proud indeed.

But the night went on, drinks were had, and soon it wasn’t just the four of us taking pictures with Marvin. Apparently, having a double sided fisting dildo on your table makes for lively conversation with strangers as well. And, when you add alcohol to the mix, these strangers are more than willing to participate in a photo shoot “for the sake of your writing career.”

“This is going to be posted on the internet,” I warned them.

“Tag me!” one of them yelled. We tried to explain that the entire internet doesn’t work quite like Facebook, but he ignored us and hit his friend in the face with the dildo instead.

Safely back at home, and having completed my task and embarrassed the hell out of myself at a bar I’ll be headed back to for Margarita Monday tonight, I’m not quite sure what to do with Marvin. We’ve moved him from Jamie’s purse, to the couch, to the floor in front of the fireplace, but walking in the door and seeing him catches us off guard every time.

Maybe we should try to find him a new home? Maybe we should use him? Or maybe we should make everyone who comes over autograph him in Sharpie while we teach them what we’ve learned from the dildo packaging, namely that in Italian, the phrase “double dong” is “fallo doppio.”

Hey, the more you know.

Special thanks to BetterSex.com for sending me Marvin.

UPDATE:

Jenny (The Bloggess) wanted a picture of the dildo coming out of a shirt. Great minds think alike.

Possibly related goodness:

1. Choosing A Dildo
2. My Friends Husband Is A Dildo Nazi
3. The Day My Son Took My Dildo To School

About the Author

Nicole Antoinette, 25, is a blogger, cheese addict, and all around ridiculous girl whose main goal is to meet every single person on the planet. When she's not furiously typing over at nicoleisbetter.com, her blog that's wildly inappropriate and not at all safe for work, she can be found mainlining iced tea, tweeting about her vagina, or accidentally driving the wrong way down all the damn one way streets of San Francisco.