We decided to head to our favorite local bar close to our respective apartments. And by "favorite local bar," I mean the only bar not playing Madonna on repeat and serves something other than flavored vodka martinis.
On our drunk walk through the West Village back to Chelsea, we pass a local porn shop. It's got your standard leather jock straps, boobie tassels, double sided dildos, crotchless panties, and videos. Lots and lots of videos. The good thing about this porn shop is there isn't a "viewing area" where old men emerge from back curtains with their feet slightly sticking to the floor.
I'm not sure who brought it up, but suddenly I'm telling her that I don't own a vibrator. She tells me that she doesn't have one either. Perfect. I'm drunk and with my straight best friend. Always the perfect time to buy sex toys.
Now let me tell you a little bit about Han. Han is great. She is fabulous. I can call Han up at any time of day, wave a drink in front of her, and she is always ready to go. Before I went on my self imposed penis break, she was making out as much as me, if not more. Let's just say she is my drunk, cock teasing soul mate (Gates, don't kid yourself. You totally put out). However, when it comes to speaking about actual real live sex, she is a little timid. I'm not going to go into her personal history by any means, but lets just say she is a little less vocal about her sexual practices than me. Yes, I do realize that like saying I've had less dicks inside me than Paris Hilton, but you get where I am going here.
So I suggest we go in. I'm excited. I've been wanting a toy for a while, especially on my penis sabbatical, but I just never really got around to walking in a porn shop on a sunny Sunday afternoon. She hesitates, but concludes that if our mutual friend suggested she get one, it must be ok. She she goes in.
Immediately I go for the 20 inch dildos with an anal prong. I hold it up triumphantly, "Hanny! Do you see this? How can anyone possibly...?" (shut it TK) She laughs, but I get a look from the sales clerk that that behavior is not appropriate. Defeated, I move on from the crazy shit back to my overwhelmed friend in the vibrator section. I have no idea what to buy, and if I don't know what to buy, there is no way in hell she knows what to buy.
Another sales associate comes by and asks if we need help. Despite how open I am about jokingly talking about sex, when a creepy 40 year old man comes up to help me pick out a vibrator, I shy up. Sue me. Suddenly, my friend takes over. "WE'RELOOKINGFORVIBRATORSANDWEDON'TKNOWWHATTOBUY."
Whoa, where'd that come from Hanny?
The clerk politely smiles, and brings us over to a rack filled with multi-colored Pocket Rockets. He tells us it is the most popular brand of vibrator. I guess it's like the Camry of vibrators. Not exactly battery friendly, but it will consistently get the job done without the unnecessary bells and whistles. Sold.
So now the real decision has to be made: what color do we buy?
It comes in green, blue, pink, and orange. Immediately I dismiss blue and pink. They are too gender specific. If I wanted my vibrator to be manly, I'd get a real live penis. Pink is too...cliche. Orange isn't exactly my favorite color, so I went with green. Nice and neutral. It's the color you buy an expecting mother when you don't know the sex of the baby. How appropriate!
Han went with blue, and I'm not really sure why. But the best part of the night came when she went to pay and was too nervous to pay with her credit card (you better believe I charged that shit UP), so she paid with cash. She looked at the receipt and giggled that it said "Vibe Toy." That's my girl.
Han displaying our new purchases for the camera.
And how does this story end for me, your heroine? Oh my friend, that is private. What I will say though is my new friend gets top billing now on my night stand behind the alarm clock (I do need to get up for work you know), and ironically, in front of the tissues.
[cue buzzing sound]
I gotta go.