Monday, February 13, 2012

Go Cupid



Happy V-Day and May You Get What You Wish For

(Dick in a Box before there was Dick In a Box!)

The dick collection started with "Oh Henry." You see, my boy toy Oh Henry was the rather exciting pants whisperer and sady, a rather boring date. I needed to jump-start some pillow talk, so I asked the obvious question. “Well, what’s his name?”

“Huh?” was the reply.

“Does your penis have a name?”

Oh Henry didn’t have a name – that is, until I named him. The "relationship" didn't go far, but I'll tell ya, that was the last time I ever dated a nameless man, er, dick. From that point on, the question came first, even before meeting for beers or a walk in the park. It’s a sign of weakness, shameful even, for a guy not to honor the life source between his legs with the small, simple gesture of a name!

Incidentally, I have a special place name for my soul patch (I’ll tell you later) as it is less a traveler than destination – the cave man’s dwelling. The puss to the octo.

To be honest, without spilling the seeds, Oh Henry and I became very attached. He had quite an amazing persona and I fell hard. Wakey-wakey Oh Henry! Oh, Henry! Yes! Is Oh Henry hungry? Tell me, Oh Henry. Tell me what you want! And yet, all good things must go. I wasn’t about to commit. It was time to move on. But I couldn’t part with Oh Henry. The rest, as they say, is history.

I never intended to expand beyond my own personal museum. But word of my custom dildo collection somehow got out. My friend Martha asked me to help her cast her boyfriend’s dick before he left for Army duty. Then Rachel wanted a replica of Excalibur as a gift for her husband’s birthday. It simply snowballed from there.

Before I knew it, “Guy’s Night Out” was drawing 20-30 people.

Guy's Night Out trumped them all -- better than Scentsy candle parties, jewelry shows, Pampered Chef -- even pool night and poker night  -- because it offered something for fucking everyone.

The guys typically hung out around the bar, watching sports, checking out the magazine subscriptions & porn videos & talking trash until it was “their turn” in the back room. The ladies got loaded up with appletinis and wine and all that shit, then milled about checking out the sex toys in the spare bedroom and lingerie in the laundry room.

Meanwhile, in the master bedroom, I worked with my clients to create beautiful works of art.

4 comments:

Jeremy Edwards said...

Oh, I love this piece! Though I confess I don't personally crave a subtitle (or should I say "chapter heading"?). As I once quipped in a related (and very off-topic) mailing-list discussion, "don't hang a name on me."

Gina Marie said...

LOL, Jeremy. It doesn't have a name & that's just a snippet....any ideas from the Master?

Jeremy Edwards said...

Hahaha, "the Master"! The Jester, maybe...

If this were my story, I'd really want to call it "Nomencliture." But that doesn't exactly make sense, does it?

Gina Marie said...

Nomencockture? Love you, Jeremy!!