Last week I caught Joshua cleaning our vibrator with Formula 409. Do you know what 409 is? Do they sell that in your country? Good god, he might as well have been putting industrial-strength chemicals straight into my vagina. My precious!
“What the fuck, Josh?” He hates when I call him Josh without the –ua. Plus, I was a bit shrill.
He told me I was being irrational. He, who burns his nail clippings because he’s afraid tossing them in the trash will leave him susceptible to the nefarious spells his dumpster-diving ex-girlfriend (the witch) liked to cast. No really.
He, who plucks all the sausage, pepperoni, pork nuggets and ham from his Meat Lover’s Pizza and eats them one at a time before rolling the cheese off and discarding it. Yep. Eats the triangle of dough last like it’s dessert before starting all over again. Order it without the cheese, I always tell him. He says he likes the flavor of cheesy-meaty oil just not the gooey texture.
How did I ever fall in love with this man who eats cheese oil, but cleans sex toys with dimethylbenzyl ammonium chloride and says I’m irrational?
“You’re just afraid of it because of all the syllables,” he said that afternoon, stirring his hot chocolate with a candy cane. I used to find it cute that he thinks he invented peppermint cocoa.
“It says right here.” I pointed to my laptop screen. “Corrosive to the skin. Corrosive! You’re corroding my clitoris!”
“I dried it off!”
“What if I’m burning?!” I wiggled in my chair.
“Oh you’re burning, all right.” He bent down and kissed my neck; then scooped his palm between my legs, clasping my groin with his thumb and said, “Wikipedia’s written by random idiots, you know.”
As you can imagine, I pitched that old toxic dildo. Not even a Silkwood scrubbing could redeem it. Let the witch see what she could conjure with a used plastic phallus.
Next, Joshua’s credit card funded a replacement. No more kidding around. I went for Desire’s Luxury G-spot Vibrator by Lovehoney. USB rechargeable. Silky. Rush shipping. Most importantly, I found a safe cleanser from Intimate Organics. Vegan to boot. Awesome.
The day the box arrived in the post, Joshua was sitting in the living room in front of the TV with a pizza box and a plate full of little miscellaneous meats. I unpacked my goodies there on the other end of the coffee table.
“Guava bark?” He said, reading the label on the cleaner.
“It’s a natural astringent.”
“My pussy is stinging,” he mimicked my voice even though he knows I never say the p-word.
“It’s not sprayed on me.”
“Neither was the 409.” He said before popping a square of ham into his mouth.
I stood up and pulled down my pants and underwear.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying out my new toy.”
“I’m watching the game here!”
“I won’t bother you.” I sat on the wingback chair, leaned back, spread my legs and skimmed my vulva with my fingers. I wasn’t the least bit turned on, but the new gadget would fix that in an instant. Circling my clit with my left pointer finger, I held the deep purple vibrator in my right hand and thumbed the on button. Nothing.
Fuck. It wasn’t charged. Dammit.
I looked over at Josh, who was dissecting more toppings from his pizza. He hadn’t looked at me all afternoon. Not even now that I was pantless and playing with myself. That’s when I realized it was a chance to show him what irrational actually looks like.
I crossed my legs and kissed the tip of the dildo. “Hello, baby,” I said in the voice I use with puppies and cockatoos.
Holding the shaft with both hands, letting the G-spot hook-part rest in my left palm, I realized it felt like a doll. In fact, it almost had a little neck and face. I wrapped my index finger and thumb around the would-be scalp and chin and kissed it again where its mini lips would be.
“Yes! You are my baby,” I said.
“Hon, you’re scaring me.”
“Why? I’m perfectly rational, Josh.”
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