So I went out for a girl's dinner last night. And we have decided: 'Book Club. Fuck it.'
Instead, I came back the president of Sex Club.
How fucking great is that? We're starting Sex Club. (Although to the prospective boyfriends and family, it's still 'Book Club.')
Book Club is lame. Sex Club is sensational. Girls only, twice a month, my God, I'm excited. And I get to whoreganise the whole thing, quite literally.
The possibilties are endless. For instance our first meeting, we'll have a fuck-aware party.
I hosted one of these before, almost three years ago. Twenty of us dressed up like slutty school girls, had a lady come over with a suitcase full of dildo's, drank lots of wine, giggled, and went out to shake slutty ass.
The Sex Toy Lady was awfully professional and straight-laced about the line of vibrators she had in her special bag of tricks. She'd wave one about, all the while whirring away, in the air, and run through each dildo's top features. So while the thing was doing it's thing, she'd say,
“So the Dolphinator S900 has three speed settings, and pearl beads. It's just snapped up. Very popular by public demand.”
Or, “Those with more conservative dildoesque taste can always opt for the Plastic Thimble S560. As you can see, it's strictly form follows function. Very post modern.”
Most of us bought lots of merchandise. Some of us giggled so much we snapped our suspenders.
I wore a vinyl French Maid's outfit, which had to be cut off me with scissors at 3:00am, because the latex had congealed with the sweat against my skin.
Yummy.
Anyway, I have her business card from then, and I'll host it next week. Sex Club, not Book Club. We could do many awesome [not to mention educational] activities:
A pole dancing lesson.
Episodes of Sex & The City if we're not up for purchasing deplorable vibrator.
Jilly Cooper novel swappage.
Porn and popcorn in our pyjamas.
A trip to Hustler on Corlett Drive.
A strip show/lesson (as long as he's dressed up like a fireman/policeman/MBA student - was the consensus)
Ann Summers lingerie parties, in bulk from overseas.
Teaz-hers. (Athough Klo says it's dope, Teazers may be better. If not to watch real life poen...or like, table legs)
Group Kegel exercises.
Whatever. Either way, it's a helluva lot spicier than normal book club.
I'll make cosmopolitans and phallic-looking cocktail sausages, roll up the rug and do goodie bags.
I might've found my calling. President of my own Sex Club.
PS: (“Not tonight Gary, I have Sex Club with the girls.”)
