You Dildo Dontcha Dough? (working title)

                                                                                       July 23 2009  

                                                       
“There’s a difference between a vibrator and a dildo, dontcha know?”
So said my worldly wise-woman friend after hearing news pg the only sex-toy I’ve ever used.
She said: “A dildo’s designed to be static, or strapped on. It’s just there, inert.
(I counted a couple of past liaisons in that group).
“Now a vibrator’s different,” she went on. “It moves of its own accord.”
(I remembered a couple of past liaisons who were in that group. Just).
After long frozen months of my winter, a thaw had set in and my glacier was retreating. I felt like getting to know me once again.
So I went to my drawer to re-make my acquaintance and to shake the hand of Mr Bold-Finger (and thumb).
But like a metaphor for my state of non-lust,
my rubber-mate’s compartment was rusted,
Ruining the moment and requiring me to write a Post-It reminder:
*
In between my Googlemails I navigated cut-price sales and clicked through offers on the rails.
All without leaving the room, and thanks to the internet sex-store boom.
Made OK for ladies now with pink, frilly websites, offering pink willy nights.
Oh yes, it’s all above board for below-stairs action, now the girls have got in on the transaction. Satisfaction guaranteed. And with no spillage of seed. What’s not to love?
So, back to the store. What am I looking for?
A big double-ender that’ll take all weekend
To work up the courage to approach.
Or a handbag-sized specimen for secretive sessions. Like in the lift.Going up? Going down…
This one’s called the rabbit. And it’s making me jumpy.
Look at the texture. The coating’s all bumpy. What’s up Doc? All the better to pleasure you. Going up. Going Watership Down more like. Let’s hope it wasn’t tested on animals.
Ah, this looks more like my thing. A pair of bunoit balls on a key-ring. But how do you get in the house when you’re using them?
Makes starting the car more attractive by far.
At last I select one that’s like an erection with remote control action. Guaranteed satisfaction. Click-whirr – there’s the transaction.
*
Ding dong!
And that’s just the doorbell. Of course the postman only knocks twice, so I dash from the cooker. He’s a bit of a looker but who needs people when you can have robots?
Sex-bots. Hot-bots. Hot sex-bots. Hot bot sex. Ahem.
He’s waiting for me to sign on the line and I smile shyly whilst he handles my parcel.
But when he nearly drops it, there’s a twitch in my arsehole.
Cafeful with that! I shriek a little too shrill. And the box starts to shudder of its own free will.
“So the batteries are included” I say to myself. And the postie.
But he’s soon gone and I’m alone with my new flame.
My latest love, my jiggling gigolo. My lectric love truncheon. My wiggle-stick. My battery-boner.
I’m saying all of this as I dance around with it, feeling like Princess Leia with a light-sabre (did I tell you it glows as it goes and goes?) “May the force be in me” I cry as I set the engines to warp drive.
But I haven’t even put it in yet. I’m not in the right mind-set. Yet.
Let’s get comfy, turn me phone off. Turn meself on – now! But how?
*
I need to get me in the mood.
Lights dimmed, sensual food, music and moonlight and love and romance.
I kick-start a trance, maybe start to dance with my fantasy partner who I keep going back to.
He looks on lasciviously and I look back deliciously and then I lie back simultaneously imagining him fiddling with my buttons…as I fiddle with my buttons.
The practicalities of the actuality invade my confectionary and I’m back to reality with a whimper.
I shoulda read the instructions before attempting seduction.
Ain’t getting laid by a real guy a lot simpler?
But these are techno-times. These strange days when a robot is an easy lay.
I try not to think of the mechanics as I re-boot my handheld-hard-on; my wind-up willy; my dick-switch; my come-bone.
And I drift back into bliss, just me and my robo-cop-off spending time all alone.

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