Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Losing the Silver Bullet
Disclaimer: I will neither confirm nor deny the validity of this story. It could all be fabricated or it could be true. I could have dreamt this all up or I could have actually lived through this. I'll let you figure it out. And remember, I read ALOT of books. I've never read anything like this, but that just makes me very creative, right? So again, I will neither confirm nor deny the events described in this story.
I blame E.L James for this. Her and her "Oh, let’s use this toy on you, Ana. It will be fun, Ana" from her book. So, yeah, it did sound like fun and I found myself at a store that sold that kind of "fun". I really should have just gone with some girlfriends and not gone alone. It's a creepy feeling to be walking around the store looking at all the different colored dicks, nipple clamps, pocket pussies, numbing lube, and rabbits. It's all very overwhelming.
Then the pimple-faced girl that works there comes over to me and asks if I need help finding anything. I said, "Does your mother know you work here?" She looked at me like I was crazy but I was totally serious. I then just went ahead and said it out loud; "I'm looking for something small, I think it’s called a "bullet"?
The toddler then shows me all different kinds of “bullets" ranging from affordable to "you've got to be freaking kidding me" expensive. She then starts going through all the functions of the different types of bullets and which one’s better than the other one…all while I kept thinking that she probably still watches Hannah Montana reruns.
So I pick out the $16 one, not listening to the baby babble about "you might want one with a cord to pull it out with" nonsense. Shut up, I've had four kids rip through my vagina; I think I know what I'm doing, thank you very much. Shoo now, be gone, poof, run along, leave me alone to gawk at the insanely huge purple dicks on the wall here in peace.
I also bought a set of those balls that E.L. James also told us about. So I got the cheap, small marble sized balls, thinking they would be enough for us to play with. I mean, who needs to spend $100 on those things? The cheap small ones will do the same thing. Am I right? Sadly, no, I was so very wrong.
I get home, I show my Baby Daddy what I bought, and I can't wait play with our new toys. It's still early in the day, so I go in the bathroom to put the little balls in. Okay, they're in, and I can't feel them. Maybe I need to walk around like E.L. James had Ana do. Well, I still can't feel them. Maybe if I jump up and down, I'll feel them moving around. I jump up and down. Oh…I felt them all right. I felt them fall out into my panties! WHAT THE EFF?? Now I'm just standing there, all pissed off and sad that my vagina, the one that pushed out four big-headed boys just let these balls just fall right out of me. I'm remembering all those jokes the comedians would say about loose women...about “needing to strap a board across their asses so they wouldn't fall in" sort of jokes.
Now I'm totally not in the mood. I'm mad at E.L. James and I'm mad that I bought the stupid little ball bearings and I want to cry because I'm wondering if he ever thinks he needs to strap a board across his ass so he won't fall in.
Anyway, I've already shown the balls to him, so I have to use them, or explain why I don't want to use them. I choose using them.
I put them in again, making sure that I walk slowly the bed (because I may step too hard and have them fall out again), and I lay down on the bed quickly. Okay. Maybe I'll feel the balls when he's doing his wonderful thing to me. Yeah, that's got to be the key to how these things work. I say, "Can you feel them?" He says, "No, can you feel them?" I say, "No." Pound, pound, pound. I say, "Okay, these suck. Stop so I can take them out and then we can play with the bullet!" He's easy, so we stop, and I jump out of the bed and I hear "bing, bing" on the floor. I turn and look at my husband and say cheerfully, "They're out!" I jump back into the bed.
Now, it's the bullet's turn. Don't get me wrong, that little bullet can be a girl’s best friend. And when held properly on your man's jewels, he will be amazed at how much he likes it too. So you both find that the little cheap bullet is now your new best friend! High five.
Over time, you tend to become more and braver with the little guy. Sticking him in places where you feel pretty safe that he will just come right back out. Now let’s pause here for a second. Remember that pimple faced toddler that tried to get me to buy the one with the cord? Okay, that's about to become extremely relevant here. Let's continue.
My very zealous husband and I are literally going at it caveman style. And he puts my buzzing BFF in my butt. Okaaaay. I'm not going to be mad at him. Shocked, but I'm not mad. He seems to really, really, really like it. And I'm happy for him because he finishes soon after. Good for me because there for a minute I thought I was going to die of too many orgasms. True story. It's called him having a "beer dick". It’s a real thing, but that's another story. Moving along.
As we come down from our heavy breathing, I'm still feeling the bzzzzzzzzzzzz going on in my ass. I ask him, "Can you hear it? Because it feels like you can hear it". He says no he can't, so I go into the bathroom to remove the thing. I push…nothing happens. Bzzzzzzzzzzzz (enter in the pimpled-faced toddler's voice reminding me that I might want one with a cord). I'm not going to freak out, it's not like it can go too far, right? I push again. Bzzzzzzzzzz.
My heart starts flipping in my chest. This clearly isn’t working. I go back to bed. He asks me if everything is all right. I whimper and say, "No, I can't get it out." He truly doesn't know whether to laugh or be worried. He chooses to laugh. "Just go to sleep, it will come out tomorrow." Laughing. I lay there. BZZZZZZZZZZZZ vibrating my innards. He's still laughing. "The battery will die out, I'm sure. Don't worry, go to sleep." More laughing.
I'm not laughing. Tears are building up in my eyes. Flashes of those Facebook posts titled "Real ER X-rays of Things People have Gotten Stuck in their Butts" are playing in my mind over and over again. Ohmagawd, I'm not going to be one of those people!! I grabbed my phone and jumped out of bed (praying that the jumping would make it fall out like it did the balls. It didn't) and locked myself into the bathroom.
There I am, Googling how to get something out of your butt while sitting on the toilet. Here's some advice, don't Google how to get something out of your butt because…OMG!!! I can't believe this is happening to me!!!! Punctured intestines?? Surgical removal?? NOOOOOO!!!!
After a few "you can do this, it will come out, just believe, it will be a funny story one day to tell the grandkids, you can do this!) One more deep breath and…okay, I'm going in. And as I violate myself in ways that my husband could only dream of, I am mentally screaming to our former BFF, "I HATE YOU YOU STUPID FREAKING BULLET UP MY ASS. YOU FREAKING VIBRATING STUPID BULLET STUPID PIMPLED-FACED GIRL KNOW IT ALL. STUPID HUSBAND ALWAYS TRYING TO PUT IT IN MY ASS. STUPID E.L. JAMES. I HATE EVERYONE OF YOU” as I barely grab the bullet and pull it out. Whew. That. Totally. Sucked. There’s a lesson to be learned here, kids. You’re gonna want to spring for that cord.
I go back to bed. He asks, "Is everything okay? Did you get it out? You didn't throw it away did you? We can go buy another one right?"
Yes, I bought another one.