My friend, J, informed me that she’d used me as a reference for a job at the Hustler Hollywood store. I went through the possible things they could ask to determine if she was qualified.
“Does J have the delicate sensibility needed to guide an elderly man with a furry fetish to the proper porn without giggling?”
“Since “Fifty Shades,” S&M is all the rage. Does J have a working knowledge of the use of whips, handcuffs, and ball gags?”
“Would J be willing to try out the Dr. Pink’s Anal Bleaching Cream and give it a review?”
“We carry over 150 varieties of dildos. Can J memorize the attributes of each?”
“And, most importantly, do you think J has what it takes to inspire our customers to buy a ton of sex enhancers and then go home and use them?”
I could unequivocally recommend my friend on all counts. I love Hustler Hollywood. For me, it’s equal parts adult candy store, science museum, and comedy club—some of their products just scream for the perfect one-liner. The last time I was there and purchased a vibrator as a door prize for The Sisters Provocateur “Panty Raid” show, the checkout girl took out two AAA Everreadys and asked, “Do you want to test it?” At first, I was appalled. No, I didn’t want to try it out right there in the middle of the store. And, I didn’t want to buy it if other people had tried it out in the store. And…then I realized she just meant try it out to see if the batteries worked, not to see if it hit my snazzy spot and such.
But, speaking of my snazzy spot, from my experience, what they say about women over forty is true. My libido is the size of Toledo. Part of this is probably because I am with a man who completely does it for me. Seriously, for me to get turned on all Frank has to do is screw the lid on a two liter too tight. Then, when I’m trying to pry it off, it gets me thinking about his strong, huge hands and what they can do to me. Seriously, one of the sexiest parts of a man are his hands and forearms. As a striptease, all Frank needs to do is roll up his sleeves. Admittedly, I also like a nice ass.
So, sex. I want it constantly. And, since the “real thing” is not always an option, I will be looking forward to the 15% discount that J will receive.
When another friend asked why I hadn’t purchased any plastic pleasure aids recently, I explained, “I’m hell on a sex toy, especially the ones with an engine. I always break them.” She looked at me with confusion, horror, and pity. I understand why. I said that wrong in so many ways. What I meant was that I am careless in washing sex toys and usually end up getting the vibrating mechanism wet so it doesn’t pulsate anymore. That’s why my favorite toy is a glass wand that is made out of the same king of material that convenient stores use to keep from being robbed. It found its way into my life as a creative alternative to a typical Christmas bauble at my annual ornament exchange party. It was dangling from a big gold bow. Oh, how it caught the twinkle lights and sparkled as it hung on the tree…like it was imbued with an ancient magic. After trying it out, I was certain that it was a mystical device blessed by Aphrodite, indeed.
Gotta go…all this blogging about sex has me a bit excited, and I hear the “real thing’ waking up now.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.