I knew only a handful of people at this gathering. The host was a friend of a friend by the name of Barb. She worked at a dyke bar on the west side of Detroit called Café Gigi. The demographic breakdown of the attendees went something like this: there was me, there was a married couple I was friends with, there was one single straight woman (that I knew of), and there were about two dozen lesbians. I guess you could say I was a little out of my element (whatever THAT is).
The sales rep who ran the party was an attractive, conservatively dressed woman in her late 20s who was charmingly coy about her own personal inclinations throughout the evening. She began by taking us through a little game to loosen everyone up. Yeah, well . . . this group didn’t need ANY loosening up, but that was the script, I guess. For the game, she distributed five little plastic chips, such as one might use to cover a bingo card, to each person present. The rep began – she told of an unusual way that she had had sex and deposited one of her chips in a hat. We then went around the room and anyone else who had also had sex that way could also toss a chip into the hat. We then proceeded to the next person, who told of an odd way they had had sex, and so on. The person who got rid of all their chips first would be the winner.
I heard a few memorable tales. One person tossed in their chip with the remark, “On the living room couch while my mom was in the kitchen.” Another said, “While driving on the interstate.” Several people tossed in chips for that one. One female couple tossed in their chips and spoke pretty much in unison: “On a bar table.” When the couple next to them tossed in chips as well for that one, they suddenly turned toward them and laughed, “That’s right! You were at that party too!”
As it worked out, I was sitting at about the three-quarters point in the room, and as my turn came near, I still had all my chips because, well, because I still had all my chips, so to speak. The few people who knew me began eyeing me curiously, wondering what in the world I was going to do when my turn came. When the moment arrived, I reached my chip toward the hat and spoke. “I have a unique perversion,” I began in a low tone, “and I’m willing to bet that I’m the only person here who puts in a chip on this one.” As I dropped my chip into the hat, I simply stated, “I’m a virgin!”
There was an immediate outcry. A few people shouted, “Take your chip back! It doesn’t count!” I turned toward them and answered sarcastically, “Why? Are you afraid I’m going to win the game?” That pretty much silenced them and the game proceeded. The prize for the winner, as I recall, was a pencil eraser shaped like a penis. Not really my style, you understand – I generally work in ink.
There was a follow-up moment later in the evening. There came a point where I was sitting on the couch in the living room. Across from me in an armchair sat a woman named Daryl (who, incidentally, had been the winner of that unusual eraser). She worked as a bouncer at the aforementioned Café Gigi, and she was scowling at me. When I finally made eye contact with her, she started in on me. “You ain’t no fuckin’ virgin” was her opening remark. She continued, “I been watching you, and you ain’t no fuckin’ virgin. There might be some women out there who are virgins, but there ain’t no fuckin’ men who are virgins, so don’t give me that shit!” I honestly don’t recall what I said to her, but I don’t think it was much. I had no doubt that she could kick my ass if she were so inclined, and I wasn’t prepared to feign non-virginity just to placate her, so I quickly relocated myself to a friendlier corner of the house.
Let me say a few words about the Loverware catalog, as long as we’re on the subject. As you might think, they had the usual things one might expect – the Joy Jelly, the Motion Lotion, the edible panties, a wide (and long) variety of dildos and the like. But the one item that really caught my eye (not that I was tempted to purchase one, mind you) was a device called the Electro Auto Suck. Intriguing name, isn’t it? So what was it? Well, it was described as a sort of electric vagina (not the term they used, but it will have to do for this distinguished journal). Ah, but here’s the intriguing part – so how was it powered? Wall socket? Batteries? AC/DC adapter (ahem)? No, none of the above. It seems that the only way to power the Electro Auto Suck was to plug it into your car cigarette lighter outlet. It was marketed as a way to make the miles roll by on those long road trips. As I’m typing this, there is one complication that occurs to me – if you’re the type who likes to light up a cigarette after sex, you’d better be carrying matches, ’cause your cigarette lighter is already in use.
So that’s my story. No great lessons here, but a strange and memorable night!