Just Turn Down the Lights So We Can Go Farther

“Yeah, when was the last time you f*ckin' saw a man’s penis? Can you remember for us? Who was president then? Can we get some clues? Were there cars yet or did you suck d*ck on horseback?”

My doorbell rang at six-thirty. I ran for the door, flung it open and gasped.

“Grandma?” I asked.

The woman looked like my fraternal great-grandmother. Who’s been dead for thirty-two years.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Arlene*, your Passion Consultant.”

“No shit,” I said.



I threw a Passion Party this weekend and learned more than I could possibly list in one posting. For example, I learned it is slightly unsettling when an eighty-two year-old consultant discusses ways to suck him off. Thirteen women leaned forward with the same horrified expression.

"What did you say?"

Oh yeah. She repeated herself. And we still bought stuff. However, no one bought The Tongue.

Friend Sandy established herself early on as an expert when she announced that, in the course of a year, she'd broken three vibrators due to exuberant overuse. Sandy said The Tongue was no good. We all believed her.

One of my neighbors hosted a Partylite event last year and her hostess present was a candle. Looky what I got.

I found the instructions most helpful.

A silver bullet is fine for a woman's most sensitive inner region. However, keep it away from your legs.

I gotta go.