Friday, December 30, 2011

Battery Operated Boyfriend

When I was almost 34 years old, I finally discovered sex. I'd spent a lot of years being told that I wasn't good enough in this department, and that it was all my fault. And sure, I had the whole "boo hoo, I was molested" thing going for me, too. So when my highly unsatisfied husband decided to call it quits, I didn't waste much time in trying to figure out if I was, indeed, a 5'2" bundle of permanently damaged goods.

A while ago, a friend of mine had convinced me that I didn't like sex and never had orgasms because I didn't own a Hitachi Magic Wand. So I got one. I spent a couple of afternoons awkwardly trying to force myself on me, but things like doorbells and toddlers waking from naps kind of killed the mood, every damn time. Frustrated, I tucked that thing under my bed, where I promptly forgot about it for a couple of years. During one final marital argument, my then-husband made a sarcastic comment about the vibrator gathering dust under the bed. My reactions went as follows - First: *gasp! He knows about the vibrator? Second: *gasp! I have a vibrator!

Probably two weeks after he left, I busted that bad boy out. The kids were gone, the phone was off, my music of choice was cued and ready to make me swoon. I took a very factual assessment of what I had to do - Plug it in; Arrange myself and it under the covers; Figure out the exact spot I'm supposed to magically know about but had never really found; Turn it on. High or Low? Low is juuuuuust fine. On my first try it took my Hitachi 2 minutes to do what my ever-complaining hubby hadn't accomplished in 12 years. I was enlightened.

Turns out, all that bad sex wasn't all my fault. This was a huge relief and felt really, really good to discover. Almost as good as the mind-blowing, epically-proportioned multiple orgasms that I started having on a regular basis. I finally figured out that women around the world had NOT in fact joined forces in a like-minded unit that they left me out of, hatching a plan to fake enjoying sex for the sake of the men they loved. They probably just really, actually liked it! I became that mussy-haired, bedroom-eyed lover of self-loving that I'd always assumed I'd never be.

By now I've got this thing dialed-in. So much so that I have to be careful when listening to my ipod in public, since at this point Maxwell's Bad Habits has a Pavlovian affect on my nether-regions. My Plug-In Lover and I have become like a perfectly functioning couple - aware of each other's (aka my) specific needs in the sack, thus perfecting and heightening the experience for all involved (again, just me here).

We are very happy together.

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