Saturday, June 10, 2006
This scene is [if not astutely] juxtaposed with the book for fabulous bitches like myself who have recently found themselves microwaving TV meals for one.
On the left we have Flick the G™, with custom-made finger (complete with fingernail, very lifelike indeed), for dual orgasmic pleasure.(Adult World Claremont, R250. They also throw in two free tubes of lube.)
On the right we have my man of the moment,The Bushwhacker 3 000™. It has a three-speed setting and is cleverly embalmed in a comforting jelly exterior. It is also available in various hues, one conveniently being hot pink. This automatically makes him Dildo Fabulous. He comes (comes, geddit?) highly reccommended. (Adult World Melrose North, R299. And two free tubes of lube.)
However, I think it’s timely to mention that all the men with whom I have shared sexual integration, have been less than enamoured with my Bushwhacker. I haven’t asked them to be friends as such, but I have made the necessary introductions. Men, I have found, are intimidated by my lowly Whacker. It’s not a size issue, it’s not a colour issue, and it’s not because he has three speed settings. Men are intimidated because I can pull him out whenever the fuck I fancy.
I have only had the pleasure of using him in front of two of my lovers, who were both too tired to sort me out. (Whose crying now? Not I!) In a merge unseen before, both were coincidentally and studiously reading The Star beside me in bed. (On separate occasions, you sick fucks.) Needless to say, the daily headlines were pushed aside the moment I started climaxing. Hey, it’s a free show afterall. So it’s a useful little gadget for when the lady is randy and the man is not.
That said, a vibrator, as pleasing and as gratuitous as it is, can never fully replace a man. This you should know. Having sex with somebody – unless you find yourself banging Shrek – cannot be replaced with a jellified dick.
But for the moment it’ll do, donkey.
PS: Revolving Credit jarred my mispent memory the other day when I couldn’t remember where I had last left my elusive Whacker. It’s usual place of rest lies in my underwear drawer or under my bedside table (where my mum found it. We’ve never spoken about the incident to this day.) A jarring of memory banks was had by the delightful Revolving, and much relief was felt when I found it in the booze cabinet. Next to the house grappa, to be precise. Good God, what the hell kind of party did I have with myself that I cannot remember?
PPS: Check out Ant’s blog for her extremely witty dildo dialogue.