Once you've published a posting about your date stealing your vibrator as I have, there's really no going back. Therefore if you're prudish, go back to whatever you were doing and forget the events I'm about to describe in this posting ever could have happened, much like I'm trying to do.
If you're not prudish however, and are in fact about to engage in some sort of sexual activity involving lubricant that you were assured would create a "gentle warming sensation," and your partner says to you that it feels like toothpaste - stop. Just. Stop.
I'm about to explain why, but I'd also be interested to know why you're reading this blog at the same time you're about to engage in sexual activity. I'm not going to pry though, so carry on.
The toothpaste comment was all the warning I had when Alex and I finally decided we'd had enough innocent snuggling and Olympic cheering for one night and decided to get down to the business. Despite our attraction to one another, geography and his redneck attitude toward travel outside of his city dictate that we only get to touch one another about once a year.
When we do see one another, I want the experience to be spectacular, because dating on an annual basis is gut-wrenching. I don't want him to forget me at all in the weeks and months in between, and sweet fancy pants, did I find a way to make myself memorable.
First, some necessary back story. Even though I love Alex, he's a man-whore. He sees more va-jay than a workaholic gynecologist, therefore dictating I can't have sex with him the way the bible intended.
While I admire the expertise fucking so many different women surely provides him, it scares the unholy crap out of me. It's difficult telling somebody you adore that you also consider him a walking cess-pool and harbinger of sexually transmitted disease, but I've tried. Several times.
I've ordered him to get tested before he sees me, he's failed to follow through, and I'm left wracking my brains on how to blow his mind without doing the actual deed. Or without a haz-mat suit.
Sometimes I wonder if my continuous refusal to have sex with him is the only reason he stays in touch with me at all. He's had nearly every woman in the province we live in, many in the U.S., the continent of Australia, and a large area of Asia.
I'm like the very last unicorn.
I was not about to give it all up for our last visit, but it's hard to wow a man with nothing but continuous foreplay, and I turned to technology for back-up. I have a very special box in my bedroom that is so private only my four readers, likely an entire moving company (please see previous posts), one or two guys I've dated, several hostesses of sex-toy parties I've attended and myself know about.
I delved into that box, removed several items requiring batteries and one bottle of lube I had not yet tried before, packed it all in my suitcase and prayed my suitcase did not start vibrating, leading to mass panic and a shut-down of the airport for security reasons. God forbid I remember to remove the batteries before travelling.
Alex was suitably impressed with my selections, and we seemed to be off to a great start. If you're prudish and still reading, this should be your cue to go away now...
I poured some lube on my hands, grabbed a hold of Alex, and I don't mean by his shoulders. We were kissing, he's telling me that feels amazing and then - "Huh. That feels like toothpaste."
Toothpaste? I was pretty sure he couldn't have said toothpaste, because what would that even mean? I had looked at the bottle before throwing it in with my stuff, and it promised a gentle warming sensation. My hands felt normal, and so I really must have misheard.
"Does that feel really cold to you?"
Me? No, it didn't feel cold. All I was feeling was him, and that was great, so why was he still talking when I'm obviously trying to be all porn-star up over here which is really hard to do at the same time as sucking in my stomach.
"Huh. It feels cold like toothpaste - I like it."
Well finally. Now maybe he can shut up, enjoy it and then we can get around to me.
We took some time out, took a lovely bubble bath, made out some more and then it was back to the stuff that would give my Dad a heart attack should he ever suspect I even know about first-hand.
Because Alex had seemed to like it so much before, I thought we'd start off with some repeat action. Wherein things went seriously sideways.
"Are you touching me?"
Of course I'm touching you. What the hell kind of question is that. Try looking down.
"Holy crap. Bambi, I can't feel you touching me. I can see you're touching me, I'm not feeling it."
Umm. What?
"It's frozen."
Sure enough, it was. He could feel nothing I tried, including poking it, which for the record, was not appreciated. He was remarkably calm for just having his dick rendered completely inoperable, and a very good sport for declaring that I wasn't going to get much more out of him anyway.
I thought for sure he must have been kidding me or exaggerating, which was why when he decided it was time to play with the other toys I brought I actually suggested he use some of the "warming" lubricant on me.
Fast forward about 20 minutes to when I'm curled into a ball, beating Alex with a pillow and yelling about my ovaries being frozen. My whole uterus actually, and he needs to make it stop, right now. Everything. SO. COLD.
I was even less impressed when he reminded me that my ovaries being frozen solid was not really a big deal because I hate children, which only made me hit him harder and then roll myself into a blanket because I was certain I was dying of acute hypothermia of the vagina.
A man will usually pick the wrong time to bring up minor details like who started what and who not only brought the lubricant, but used it first on him, and then failed to listen the first time he said it felt like toothpaste. Alex was no exception.
Then I felt miserable because I had ruined our good time, and frozen his dick. He assured me that he had a great time - the first time I used it on him but it definitely lost its novelty the second time around. It had worn off though, so he felt fine.
My dose of sexual dry ice wasn't wearing off though, likely because none of my affected parts are commonly exposed to air. My ovaries and everything nearby stayed frozen for hours.
I had achieved spectacular alright, just not in the way I'd want him to remember me. Since I've been home, Alex and I haven't spoken and the bottle of lube has been sent to an independent lab for testing and consideration as an alternative to anesthesia. Only the first part of that sentence is true, and I sincerely wish it were the other way around.
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