Battery Operated Boyfriend.
“Alex,” I say, staring at the sex-toy on the shelf in front of me with a frown, “when I asked you to help find me a date for your wedding, this isnotwhat I meant.” I turn to look at her. “Why are we here?”
She grins, glancing at Cat and Geoff beside me. After two days in “the writing cave” as she calls it, Alex decided she’d done enough work for the time being, and brought me out to see some of her favorite places in the city.
Apparently, one of her favorite places is a sex shop in the East Village calledO-Land. If I’d known that when we left the house this morning, I can assure you I would have protested.
“You said you want to try new things,” Alex explains. “I still can’t believe you dyed your hair! It looks so good.”
Geoff nods vigorously. “It really does.”
“Anyway,” Alex continues, “that made me wonder whatelsewould get you out of your comfort zone, and I thought you might find something here.” She gestures to a row of multi-colored vibrators on a stand beside us.
I glance between the three of them, all watching me with interest, and shift my weight. What are they expecting me to do? Wander over and flick one on, give it a whirl?
Look, it’s not like I haven’t been in an adult store before. Steph dragged me to one in Auckland once. I just didn’t, you know,buyanything.
“Well… thanks,” I mumble. I’m trying my best to act mature and knowledgeable, to show how at ease I am in this type of environment, but I can feel the flush on my neck.
Geoff wanders off to survey some devices along one wall, and Cat disappears to the lingerie section. When I turn back to Alex, she takes my arm and steers me towards the row of vibrators. I had no idea my sister was so comfortable in sex shops. But then I think about the sex in her romance novel and bite my cheek. She’s pretty comfortable all-round in this arena.
“See anything you like?” she asks, motioning to the display. Far from trying to embarrass me, she actually seems to be wanting to help.
I shrug, looking at the vibrators. They’re all different colors and sizes, but some of the shapes have me a little perplexed. There’s the standard, erm, anatomical style, but then there are these curved ones shaped like the letter C, and some have a little bit that sticks out the side. I think I know what those are for, but the curved ones have me flummoxed. Who has a vagina shaped like that? Shouldmyvagina be shaped like that? No one has complained about the shape before, but gazing at these curved devices I suddenly wonder if I’ve got some kind of defective vagina.
No, that doesn’t make any sense, does it? Otherwise guys would, well, they’d have to be that C shape. And we all know they’re not.
“What about this?” Alex picks up one with a little bit sticking out. “A rabbit.”
“What?”
She hands it to me and I tentatively lift it up to inspect it. The shaft of it is long and thick, covered in a silicon-type material that is blue and glittery. The bit that sticks out is shaped like a bunny-rabbit, with a little face and ears and everything. Poor bloody rabbit, being shoved face-first down there.
I shake my head, handing it back. “No. I cannot masturbate with a plastic rabbit,” I say matter-of-factly, and Alex snickers.
Bunnies aside, I will admit part of me is curious. I think back to what Steph said on the phone the other night—you know you can give yourself one, right?—but then I remember the handful of failed attempts in the past and push the idea aside. Besides, it’s not the orgasm I’m craving, it’s… something else. Someoneelse.
“Ooh, this one comes with a remote control,” Alex says, gesturing to a bright pink one.
“Remote control?” I repeat, bemused. Why on earth would I want a remote control? It’s not like I’ll need to switch it on from the other room or something.
“Oh my God.” Alex clamps a hand over her mouth in an attempt to suppress her mirth. “Look at this.” She reaches for a box up on a shelf. There’s a picture of John Stamos on the front and I take it from her, squinting at the image. John Stamos makes vibrators now? That can’t be right.
I read the description aloud to Alex. “Anatomically modeled on John Stamos. An exact replica of John Stamos for your pleasure.”
Alex howls with laughter and Geoff and Cat appear beside us, dissolving into giggles when I hold the box up in disbelief.
“Youhaveto get that,” Alex says, wiping tears from her eyes. “Didn’t you used to love John Stamos?”
“No, I didn’tloveJohn Stamos. I likedFull House.” I mean, what nineties kid didn’t? And besides, I always thought Bob Saget was more handsome, if I’m honest. But I’m hardly going to tell Alex that.
“Full House?” Cat frowns in confusion. “Aren’t you a little young for that?”
Alex shakes her head, grinning. “We had these VHS tapes of the show that Harriet used to watch over and over. She had such a crush on John Stamos.”
I huff, exasperated. “I did not—”
“Wait,” Geoff says, leaning over to scrutinize the box with sudden interest. “Do you think this isactuallymodeled on him? Like, did he make a mold of his—”
