Talk Thursday: The Sock Drawer

A daunting task, if ever there was. Spinning a string of witty banter about, um, the sock drawer. Hoping to make some profound comment or other about the human condition. Hoping to at least sound halfway coherent, if anything. And what's my material? A box made of wood, with runners along the sides, much beloved of cats and, uh, containing socks. Really, a lesser person than me might run screaming.

Luckily for me, my sock drawer also has something else in it: Sex toys. Yep, ya gotta keep 'em somewhere, and that's just where mine have landed. To be honest, I have a less than impressive collection, but the mere fact that I have a collection is, well, worthy of blog material. Plenty of women don't. This is kind of sad. I'm not sure I want to live in a world where not all women have sex toys. (Don LaFontaine: "In a world where women have no sex toys, a new silicone wind is about to blow.") Oo, that was good. I should write it down. Oh, wait, I just did.

Anyway, I have a less than impressive collection of sex toys. Most of them are vibrator-like structures, and very few of them even bother to look like the organs they're supposed to represent. Sure, I have a couple of longish ones, including one that's actually too long, but for the most part we're talking four inches in length, an inch and a quarter around, shaped kind of like a lipstick. They vibrate in a nice, quiet, ladylike manner. Once I had one that said, "Welcome to Utah, have a nice day" down the side but I don't for the life of me know what happened to it. Swiped by my ex in the big breakup, I expect. Oh well.

Another one actually does look like what it's purported to represent, except for being bright fuschia and, well, kinda small. It doesn't vibrate, exactly, but it's sort of meant to have the assistance of another person, if ya get mah drift, in order to best do its thing. And do its thing it does - quite well. I also have a few pairs of suction cups that attach to certain bits and then vibrate a little, but frankly they don't do a whole lot for me. The package said, "For novelty use only," and I think in this case it was the truth.

Still, for sheer joyous solo fun, there's absolutely nothing better than my old friend, the Pulsatron. This wonder of modern engineering is an ovoid ball, connected to a wire that runs up like a pair of iPod headphones and plugs into a small control panel. The control panel is the work of genius behind this device. Oh, sure, it comes on at three different speeds, but besides that, it also has some special effects. Like starting out at a very low speed, getting gradually faster, and then suddenly stopping dead. Like pulsing once every couple of seconds, falling still in between. Like starting out at a low speed again, gradually speeding up, then slowing back down to still. And another variety of the pulse that really has to be felt to be described.

In all seriousness, every woman in America should have one of these. Hell, why stop there--spread the power of the Pulsatron all over the world. The only down side would be that, for a while at least, the males of the species would get absolutely no attention whatsoever. Unless, of course, they want to try it out themselves. And why not? Why should the ladies have all the fun, says I? I am an equal opportunity pervert.

Oh, you can buy one here. Or here. Didn't think I'd leave you hanging, did ya? And somebody remind me not to write blog posts like this in a crowded La Madeleine on a Thursday night.

Hey, next week is my topic! I'm open for suggestions. Comment me. Cheers!