Although I’m quite the “as a matter of fact, yes this dildo IS awesome” online, I am quite the opposite in real life — or at least, with people I do not know.
Whether I pack my special toys in my main suitcase or in my carry-on, there’s serious intrusion of privacy shit that can play out either way.
Why not just leave my toys at home, you ask? Well, fuck. I’m a firm believer of the old proverb: “Don’t leave home without it.” (Don’t fool yourself, that shit did NOT start with American Express.)
Sunni, especially in this world we’re living in, there is a very strong likelihood that your private-ness could be put on display for everyone to see. Do you have some pointers as to A. How to hide said special objects in a stealth-like manner? and B. How would you handle such a situation when you’re travelling?
Lady E, Adventures in Estrogen
I am right there with you – not in that I travel with my Happy Maker to every destination, but in that I have twice now gone to conferences in the past few months where Lady Pleasurers were given as swag [and a big thank you, to you, too, Sweetie!]. The husband is thrilled with this turn of events, as am I, but since I’ve flown both places, I’ve also been subject to the invasive search [no, not body cavity invasive; standard TSA invasive].
In both these instances, I’ve just put my carry-on bag on the XRay scanner and walked right through [well, I’ve more minced right through, because I’ve been barefoot and PUBLIC FLOORS ARE DISGUSTING], head held high, daring anyone to say anything about the interestingly shaped objects in my bag.
Because, to answer B, they can go fuck themselves [but not with anything from my bag, thanks]. If they’re flipping out about formula and bottled water, I’d love to see how they’re going to handle a rotating pleasure machine. You know why? Because they won’t. They’re more embarrassed than you are – trust me. They have no interest whatsoever getting into your Lady Business. Because the odds are, if you’re flying with a 10-inch long vibrating Enjoyment Enhancer, you are not going to be quiet when they start asking questions. And they do not want to hear your answers.
So, to answer A – there’s no reason to stealthily hide your goodies. Why bother trying? The XRay machine is going to see it, so even if you add googly eyes and a hat, it’ll still be evident that you are a woman who has needs. And fuck them if they can’t deal.
Standing proud and unashamed in an hour long line to get through security,
How do I explain all the drinking to my 10 year old?
Christine, Quasi Agitato
What can you tell your child – one who is entering the age of D.A.R.E. and peer pressure and Just Say No – about that miraculous elixir, that, when proportioned correctly, makes every holiday gathering that much more magical?
Do you extol the virtues of loosening up the perpetually pinched Aunt Sally?
Do you wax rhapsodic about its calming effects on Overly-Loud Uncle Paul?
Do you explain that the correct way to use a rocks glass is to fill that fucker all the way to the top; yes, all the way, don’t skimp on the vodka, please, it’s been a long fucking week?
Do you mention that grown-ups like grown-up things and that sometimes those grown-up things lead to quiet weeping in the bathroom?
Or you could send the kids into another room and tell them you’ll see them when it’s time for the second round of food, because Mommy’s got to get through yet another political discussion with Brash Brother-in-Law Brett, who will tell you one more thing about why you’re always wrong and –
And you know what?
I’m thinking our parents were right. Some things don’t need explaining. If there was ever a case of Do As I Say and Not As I Do, this is it.
Tell your 10 year old that being a grown-up has its perks, and they’ll understand when they’re older.
Meet me by the gravy – I’ll be the one with the flask,