Liberation!

A few months ago I was telling a couple of my girlfriends a particularly embarrassing story of mine. It's not chart topping, but it does come close (you will understand the pun hiding naughtily in that sentence in good time).

The story was loosely based around the following facts:

a) I own a vibrator. No, I am NOT ashamed of admitting that in the public sphere. I am a Woman who has Needs and Things Like That. I embrace my sexuality with open arms. I say "Hello, sexuality! We do not discriminate against you in these parts, oh no we DO NOT." So, yeah. I own a vibrator, and I write about it on the Internet. So Fucking Liberated.
b) I am quite an untidy person. And you know, when I say 'quite untidy' I mean so hellishly messy that my cleaner in halls of residence at uni wouldn't come and clean my room because she declared it "too filthy to clean". To which I replied "Screw you Maria you lazy bitch I was just trying to make things more interesting for you"*. So it is perfectly feasible that I would not put my vibrator away in it's box at the back of my wardrobe diligently, and there is a large chance that I would just leave it carelessly snuggled up in my bed. In my parents' house.
c) My Mum was toying with the idea of employing a new cleaner recently, so she had asked one to come round and, well, clean for a bit I guess. Including my room.

*I didn't really. I think I probably cried a little bit and then continued playing with the mini-civilizations that were inventing the wheel in a coffee cup on my desk.

I think you can guess what happened. Got back to my room, was blinded by the spotlessness of it. The pure, white, sparkly glory. I began spinning round with glee and touching surfaces, in a kind of grotesque hybrid of Julie Andrews in her two finest roles: Maria from The Sound Of Music and Mary Poppins.

"Hang on" I thought to myself, mid-spin.

"Where the hell's my...?"

Cue scrabbling around on immaculately made bed. Under pillows? Nope. Under duvet? Nope. Anywhere? NOPE.

I found it, eventually, wrapped in a silk nightie and tucked away neatly in my ostensibly-knicker-but-really-anything-I-can't-be-bothered-to-put-away-properly drawer. Which was a place that I DEFINITELY DID NOT leave it.

Oh God.

ANYWAY.

I was recounting this little tale to some of my girlfriends a few months ago, and we moved on to the subject of Vibrators, subheading: Possesion Thereof. And I was the only one who had active use of one. I mean, COME ON. We are Liberated. Unleash the Sex Toys! I continued in that vein for a while, until they tied me down and shoved a massive black dildo in my mouth to shut me up, and said OK! ALRIGHT! We'll have an Ann Summers Party!

So we did. And we played with stuff, dressed up in stuff and drank oh so much wine. There were rubs and gels and stuff that works really well if you stand on your head and make pincer movements with your legs. There were uniforms and basques and bras that showed nipples and knickers that showed, well, what knickers traditionally cover but Oh NoNot Anymore Because We Are Liberated Now (I declined to try those on). There were purple and pink and sliver and, oh, every colour of the rainbow was accounted for when it came to the vibrators. We held them to our noses and gripped them with our hands and generally had a LOT OF FUN.

And then, when we were suitably riled up (read: drunk), the nice Ann Summers lady murmured something along the lines of "So, ladies. Anyone want to place any orders..?" at which point we all threw our money at her with wild abandon.

Including me.

£65.

But LOOK! And also LOOK! (Giggles uncontrollably)

And they arrived yesterday and were left for me in The Crush's bedroom. And the people at Ann Summers had thrown in a load of other stuff as well. Some of it, well, I don't even know what some of it is. Last night I got it all out and The Crush and I did a lot of exclaiming and laughing about it, and then we went to sleep because we were SHATTERED because he had a gig last night and I have a gig tonight. So I, in my normal scatty way, just left the stuff around.

So the reason I have told you all this was so that I could share with you an AWESOME text message I received from The Crush this morning after I got to work (I don't think he'll mind if I do).

"I'm loving the sex toys just littered across my room. You rock my world. Hope you have a good day."

And then some other stuff that is irrelevant to the post. But it made me laugh a LOT. Hurray for Ann Summers! Hurray for the Sexual Liberation Of Women!

And, most importantly:

Hurray for Men Who Are Not Intimidated By Massive Purple Vibrators!

Hurray. (More giggling...)