One of the phenomena that seems to occur in the life of a married woman with children is the “party.” You know what I’m talking about…the Tupperware party. Only these days the parties have grown to include clothing, beauty products, food, jewelry and sex toys.

I was once invited to a sex toy party and, in a moment of weakness, I accepted the invitation. I had a toddler and and infant at home, David was working out of state all week long and the party was right up the street at a friend’s house. I figured that a few drinks and some laughs was just what the doctor ordered. Well, I was wrong.

In my defense, the invitation referred to it as a “Romance Party.” My acceptance of the invitation was made under the naive belief that it would be about things like edible underwear and massage oil.

Who knew?

What I know for sure is that I don’t want to know what kind of kinky shit the mother of my son’s classmate is into.

I sat in my friend’s living room looking through the catalog, trying to look calm, cool and collected. If anyone had looked closely, they’d have seen the thin sheen of sweat coating my brow. I hadn’t expected the sex toy party products to be so…so..publicly raunchy!



Alberto Vargas

 I became preoccupied with trying to appear nonchalant. As is usually the case with me when I’m out of my comfort zone, I start cracking jokes and over-sharing, working the crowd and making everyone laugh. Really, all I could think was, what’s the safest, least weird thing I can buy to get the of here with my dignity?

The Passion Consultant started the evening with ’safe’ things like the love coupons and a dirty dice game but cocktails were consumed and, before I knew what was happening she was talking about the Playful Anal Plug and Triple Tickle Dolphins. She instructed that all orders could be made privately, in a seperate room.

image courtesy Google image search

Listen, I’m all for keeping things spicy. I am, truly I am, but can we please keep the ingredients for our spiciness a bit closer to the vest? I don’t want to know what Sue Jones* from the carpool bought at the sex toy party. Really, I don’t. Unfortunately, after that party I did. This group shared way too much information.

I suddenly knew way too much about Sue Jones. In fact, more than I ever wanted to. I really didn’t know Sue Jones at all except for the fact that she drove a black Toyota Sienna and was now the proud owner of a hot pink vibrator and some massage oil.

Suddenly, small talk at the park became awkward.

For the next few weeks, I was plagued by flashbacks. Instead of seeing Brigit, mother of Matt, she became Anal Beads. Cheri, mother of Aidan became Tongue Tickler. Jill mother of Sara became Trickling Trio Penis Sleeves.

Thankfully, we moved away a few months later. I haven’t stayed in touch.

*All names have been changed to protect actual the actual identities the persons involved, but I don’t know that they’d really care since I am now privy to their kink.