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I attended an interesting party last Friday night, though I can't say whether or not I'd care to go to another one. I mostly just attended because I like seeing weird stuff. I'm into freakshows.
The party was called a Secret party. It's a Tupperware party for sex toys. They must be trendy now; Wired magazine recently had a short item:
Schtupperware Party
A sex-ed salon where women gather over cocktails and hors d'oeuvres to shop for sex toys. As New York magazine noted: "If the Tupperware party was the girls' night of the '70s, today's girls' night is the schtupperware party, where participants test vibrators instead of burp plastic."
Another rower had hosted one of these parties several months ago. I couldn't go, but I heard I had missed an absolute riot. The hostess receives free merchandise for hosting one of these things -- the more people there, the more free merch -- so not surprisingly, a couple of the ladies were eager to host another.
I came in a few minutes late, and the saleswoman had already started in on the merchandise. She was a 30-something loud redhead, hair tied back in a high, tight bun, with a big chest protruding from a form-fitting black tank top. N. giddily handed me a long order form, plus a slip of paper to fill out for a door prize. Some of the items on the order form: Zenith Cream, Man in a Can, Peckermints, Golden Genie, Midnight Oil, Mighty Mite. I grabbed a Molson from the cooler and found an empty seat in the back.
The pencil I was given was topped off with a little pink wee wee-shaped eraser.
I felt a bit uncomfortable, but I imagine I wasn't the only one. Personally, though, it wasn't the subject matter. I'm typically just loathe to having to schmooze at parties with strangers.
"Now this one is edible," said the sales lady from the other side of the room, "but don't use too much or the inside of your or his mouth will go numb."
OK.
The saleswoman frenetically ran down the gamut of creams, powders and oils. She passed around each item for sampling. Most of it I just handed straight along to the people standing behind me who came in late. The edible stuff bores me and usually tastes nasty.
It didn't take long for my left arm to turn pungent and sparkly from all the creams. Ew.
"If you like this one, only use a couple of drops!" the saleswoman obnoxiously warned. "That's all you need. If you use too much, you and your partner will be slipping off each other!"
I kept passing along the merchandise to the crowd of about five or six behind me who were getting louder and sillier with every beer.
The saleswoman asked for a volunteer. She wanted someone to take a swab of the "Cli-max Cream" into the bathroom and report back to everyone what it felt like. She said you wouldn't necessarily do what the cream implied, at least not without a partner. But you'd feel something.
Drunk ladies started volunteering each other's friends. I didn't think I was in any danger of being singled out. People don't pay that much attention to me, and for the most part I enjoy staying underneath the radar.
"She'll go!" exclaimed N., pointing in my direction at the young, large woman behind me. The woman resisted, and they went back and forth. Finally, since N. couldn't get anyone else to go, she'd go herself. She took a small sample and disappeared into the tiny downstairs bathroom. N. quickly emerged without comment, but within five minutes, she said it had kicked in -- it was hot. She said with a smirk that it definitely wasn't bad. I thought "Ben-Gay."
The presentation continued. "I highly recommend this one," said J., a middle-aged rower who had attended the last party, to me as she passed the Zenith cream. We giggled. I don't quite know how I feel about knowing about the sex lives of all the middle-aged women in my rowing group, but I'm happy they've still got it.
Enough with the creams and oils. I smelled like a Walgreens perfume counter at this point.
The saleswoman eventually moved on to the fun stuff: the toys.
Toys of all sizes and colors started coming my way. Women's guffaws filled the room.
I was enjoying this. I couldn't help but push all the buttons on every gadget that went by. Some were small -- how do the batteries fit? -- some lit up, and all were of varying colors. Some were for "the two of you," others were for him to wear.
A buzzed N., fluttering between groups of her guests, proclaimed, "I think I'm going to get 'B.O.B.'! I think I want 'B.O.B.' "
I wondered who else was buying.
After the toy presentation, the saleswoman announced that she'd be taking orders in the next room. The women, loud and giddy, queued up surprisingly orderly.
You have to hand it to the company selling these products. This is the perfect way to do it. You get a bunch of drunk women together. They have a great time giggling over sex toys, wiggling "Thunder Bunnies" in each other's faces and telling each other an endless supply of jokes. Then you let them play with the toys for a while and then offer to let them buy stuff anonymously in a back bedroom. The bags and boxes are unmarked, so no one has to know what you left with. It's like going to Fairvilla (link NSFW) with a friend to gawk and laugh over what's there but actually being able to buy something without being embarrassed or mocked.
Leave it to me to respect the practicality of the whole thing.
Of 24 women, I think two left without purchasing anything. I'll leave it to you to decide what I did.
Current mood: Exhausted
Replies: 1 shoutout
you tease.
Posted by tiff @ 07/19/2003 08:49 PM EST