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Contraption

I didn’t bother unhooking her bra. I never do anymore. I pulled it off her like a t-shirt. As I’m squeezing her boobs (and taking a mental note of her remaining “years-to-sag” based on a complicated formula I devised involving underside crease length, armpit spillover when prone, and depth of press), I glance over at her bedside table and notice an unusual object illuminated by the thrift shop lamp. It was a huge, purple vibrator — the luxury model, by the looks of it — with ridges and nubs and hooks and multiple arms sticking out from it, like a saguaro cactus.

I’m pretty sure there was even a scrolling LED screen. It sat there nonchalantly like a potted plant, or a paperweight. Wow, this is embarrassing, I thought. She forgot to put it away. It was so large and ridiculous that I had to interrupt our foreplay to ask her about it.

“Um, that’s quite a contraption you have over there. Just… laying out.”

“Oh yeah, that’s my little toy.” She didn’t sound embarrassed. “I use it every Sunday to masturbate. I can cum ten times with that baby.”

“Ten times? Straight through, or spread out over the day?”

“Like, within an hour or so.”

“Yeah. Impressive.” I tried to figure why her naughty “secret” wasn’t more titillating to me. Back when I was 18 this sort of discovery would have been exciting. Oh, yeah, I would have thought, This chick is kinky! She’s gonna do all sorts of crazy shit in bed! Now that I’m older and more discerning of women I sleep with, a giant purple saguaro vibrator staring at me from across the room doesn’t make me more turned-on by the woman who uses it. In fact, just the opposite. I lower my estimation of her as a worthy girl in whom I would be happy to take out on creative, exciting dates. Ladies, this is what a man thinks of you when he notices your purple saguaro and you don’t seem fazed by him discovering it:

  1. novelty seeking (slut)
  2. sexually adventurous (slut)
  3. horny all the time (slut)
  4. unconcerned about men’s opinions of her (good god, what a slut)

Now 1 – 3 aren’t problems if the girl possesses reasonable degrees of those urges, or if you’re just looking for an uncomplicated fling. You don’t want to hitch your weenie wagon to a frigid ice queen. Number 4 is a flashing red light that she is a cheating whore at heart. Any girl who can’t be bothered to take the two seconds worth of effort to hide her absurd sex toys when a man comes over is a girl who won’t think twice about cheating on you. Even if most girls aren’t delicate, precious chaste creatures, you at least want the girl you are dating to pretend like she is and acknowledge your opinion of her matters — and one thing that matters very much to guys, even if they won’t admit it to the girl’s face, is that the girl he is with isn’t the town orifice. Men want their women, at a bare minimum, to take token stabs at modesty. It’s endearing to us and suggests you will be worth keeping around. We don’t want women to embrace their sluttiness as if it were a postmodern badge of honor. A good woman understands this and heeds a man’s romantic sensibilities.

The trick for men is finding a balance in women between unrepressed sexuality and faithful frigidity. Too much of the former = cumguzzling slut. Too much of the latter = blue balls. A proudly displayed purple saguaro says “I’m a slut, and you’ll like it.”

I’ve found that the more power I acquire over women, the pickier I’m becoming. I won’t call back a girl who has a purple saguaro on her nightstand. This choosiness has strengthened my character. I’m a better man for it.

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