Good Vibrations

WARNING - THIS SHIT CONTAINS SOME TOTALLY NSFW IMAGES

I've done a lot of dating since my divorce. A lot. I know, you're thinking, "Oh my God, what a whore," but it's not like that, no sir/ma'am/gender neutral term of respect, not like that at all. Let me explain. I had recently moved to Philadelphia and even though I was born there and spent more than a few years living there, I was pretty much alone in this old and yet new city. I didn't know more than a handful of people, I was bored and I was so very lonely. I've spent entirely too much of my life feeling alone and lonely and I wanted to break the chains of my solitude. More than anything, I just wanted to meet people, maybe make a good friend or two and have a little bit of fun. I just wanted some company; a fellow reprobate. At the time, I was more interested in friendship than in sex, but I certainly wasn't going to turn down a good roll in the hay. Hell, I wasn't about to turn down a bad roll in the hay, either. After enough time, anything looks better than baling hay by yourself. Friends, sex, whatever. After all, if you can't fuck your friends, who can you fuck? Before I could fuck anyone, however, I'd need to actually meet a living, breathing person and the easiest way to meet people, and by people, I mean women, was via online dating. I've always had fast and easy friendships with women, they either want to mother me or marry me or even worse, both. Many women seem to get it into their heads that I'm so absent minded that I'm completely incapable of taking care of myself, which is complete and utter bullshit, even if I do forget to eat most days. Chicks do make for easy friendships though and I really wasn't looking to meet any dudes, it's just not my thing. You can suck all the dick you want to fellas and that's cool with me, it's just not my brand of crotch fruit. Yeah, I fucking said it. Crotch fruit. Get over it. Anyway, it's much easier for a single, straight guy to meet women than it is for said dude to meet another dude. It's socially acceptable for a man to approach a woman and strike up a conversation, but a dude generally doesn't walk up to another dude in a bar and ask him to hang out and do crazy shit. Well, they do, but not in the bars that I frequent, not without repercussions, getting your face rearranged, that sort of thing. I might not have the prettiest face in town, but I'm used to it and again, it's not my thing, but if it's yours, feel free to play Thanksgiving and gobble that shit down.

Okay, now that we've got that bullshit out of the way - RECAP: I got divorced, I moved, I dated, I wasn't a man whore - I prefer free spirit, por favor, and yadda, yadda, yadda, here the fuck we are.

Wherever the fuck that is.

I had met Mary Beth online and according to her pics, profile, messages and the tiny little brain in my dick, she was smart, sassy, sexy and very hot. Hot like in hawt hot. That worked for me. In turn, she thought I was smart, funny and cute and she agreed to meet me, which meant that she was pretty fucking dumb, so that worked for me too. I was in.

Mary Beth. That name. Jesus Christ. That fucking name. It's fucking everywhere. Seriously. If you are female, Catholic and from the Philadelphia/South Jersey area, there's better than average odds that your given name is Mary and your middle name is Beth (most likely), or Ellen, or Kate, or whatthefuckever, so the odds are that everybody calls you Mary Whatthefuckever, but more than likely, your name is Mary Beth, or some iteration thereof, you have big, huge Jersey hair and keep a fucking can of AquaNet in your purse with three backups at home and another in the car. Yeah, I've got you pegged, Mary Beth.

Shit, I have one cousin named Mary Ellen and another named, of course, Mary Beth (they're sisters, don't ask, but with fifteen kids in their family, I guess they ran out of names and had to use the same one twice; Catholics are fucking weird), who are not to be confused with my friend Mary Beth, or my other friend Meribeth, or even the legendary Maribeth. My fucking head is spinning. As a matter of fact, I personally know 39,847.5 Mary Beths. The .5 isn't actually a Mary Beth, but her name is Mary and she is a bitch, so I call her Mary Bitch, so she counts as a half and that's totally logical. Duh. 39,847.5 Mary Beths and they all lived on the same fucking street, attending the same goddamn Our Lady of Perpetual Fucking Sorrow High School. Just fucking trust me on this one, okay? I know I've dated a gaggle of Mary Beths over the years, but who the fuck knows? I can't remember most of the women I've dated and no, that most certainly does not make me a whore. I prefer the term free spirit, remember?

Mary Beth and I had been messaging back and forth, as well as talking on the phone and we decided to meet in person. We agreed to meet up on South Street, a hip yet not hipsterish little urban thoroughfare in the heart of the city that is home to great food, freaky people, cool shops, live music and lots and lots and lots of fucking bars to get hammered in, so get your drink on, bitches! Get your drink on, bitches. I really just fucking said that. No shit. Wow. Next thing you know, I'll be using fucking hashtags. #nah #icallbullshit #nevergonnahappen

***Just to be clear, I do not condone, nor do I recommend the use of drugs or alcohol, but fuck, they've always worked for me.***

Cheers!

Anyway, Mary Beth left it to me to come up with a plan for our date. A plan. Gee. Thanks. Because that's what I do best. We all know how that's going to work out. Fucking yippee. Still, how hard could it be? We'd meet up, walk, talk, get to know each other and see if we clicked. If things went well, maybe a little lunch and then we would take it from there. No pressure. Easy peasy.

Mary Beth and I met outside of the TLA, a local legend and one of my favorite music venues. Calling it a bit of a shit hole would be killing it with kindness. Mary Beth was about twenty minutes late, but she had messaged me to apologize and to let me know that she would be late. It's not like it was a big deal, I pretty much expected it; women are always late. It's inevitable; I accept it, just like death and taxes. She finally shows up, which was good, because standing around on a street corner looking like a fucking idiot gets old after the first few minutes. So, I'm standing on the corner like some overripe hooker, my head swiveling back and forth like a fucking lawn sprinkler, trying to spot this chick and she comes strolling up like fucking gangbusters and my jaw about hit the fucking ground. Mary Beth's photos did her no justice. Her pics portrayed her as beautiful, but this chick was dick throbbin' hard hot. Seriously. Mary Beth was tall, around 5'8", thin, very curvy and she had an ass that I could have bounced quarters off of. I could feel the evil little smile spread across my face as she walked up to me. I wanted to rub the palms of my hands together with pernicious glee and anticipation as she introduced herself and threw her arms around me, hugging me and pressing her breasts against my chest. Nice D cups. It must have been a little chilly and overcast that day, because someone sure had their high beams on and that had a noticeable effect on me, as those sharp pointy little fuckers cut into my chest, causing quite the involuntary reaction. It twitched. Fuck. I was a little embarrassed, but fuck it. Mary Beth just giggled and pulled herself closer. My kind of girl. A real fucking champ, that one.

We started walking along South Street arm in arm, chatting away and getting to know one another, growing more comfortable with each step. We talked about our jobs, lives and families. We window shopped, pointing out things that we liked and we made fun of the things and people that were a little offbeat and strange. We popped in and out of galleries, boutiques and oddball stores. Everything was going well, we had great chemistry, we were having fun, holding hands and there was a lot of laughter and shit like that.

We stopped and grabbed a few slices for lunch at the legendary Lorenzo & Sons and then we continued our little stroll, our steps eventually leading us to the front window of the Sexploratorium.

Ah, the moment of truth had arrived...

One of my favorite things to do on a date is to take a woman out of her comfort zone, not too far mind you, because I don't want her to freak the fuck out and ruin any possibility of getting laid, I just want to deconstruct her carefully constructed dating persona. i.e., that perfectly sculpted person that they are presenting to you can be shorn away a little bit, so as to give you a glimpse at their true personality. This way you can fuck with them a little bit and not have to wait six months to find out what they're really like. It helps keep out the crazy. Sound thinking, I think. It also saves on the emotional investment and you can take that shit to the bank. Remember, 25% of women are on mood altering medications. That means that the other 75% are running around untreated.

We both looked in the window and then I turned to look at Mary Beth and she turned to look at me. I noticed that she had the good grace to blush, but I also noticed a bit of a twinkle in her eyes. Good. That meant that she wouldn't be a total prude in the bedroom. Rock on. My kind of girl.

I casually asked Mary Beth if she'd like to explore the Sexploratorium. She blushed again, but she smiled and asked me if I were kidding.

"What do you think?" I asked her.

Mary Beth blushed a third time, but she turned and headed for the door. Rock the fuck on!

Here we go...

We walked inside the store...

Holy shit! It was like being stuffed into a pinata full of dildos. There were sex toys everywhere. There was just about everything you could possibly imagine and a ton of shit that you just couldn't even begin to guess what the fuck it could be for and I'm a pretty fucking imaginative guy who flies his freak flag proud and high.

Mary Beth's eyes lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July as we approached a table that was literally overflowing with different models of vibrators and they all had names. There was the Rabbit, the Butterfly, the Butterfly Kiss, the Temptation, the Slick Rick and the Oomph! It was like the Ballbreaker Suite and The March of the Plastic Dildos at Radio City Music Hall at fucking Christmas time, a chorus line of Cockettes. It wasn't until I reached the end of the table, however, that I found the Holy Grail, the Philosopher's Stone of sex toys, the Sith Lord.

It seemed to be standing aloof, tall and proud, massive in height and girth, gleaming in its black armor and topped with the prosthetic mask of Anakin Skywalker. I looked at the box and sure enough, it was billed as the world's greatest Master Vader.

I shook my head and grinned as I picked it up and turned it on. You could feel the fucking power of the Dark Side course through its plastic and copper veins as it came to life like some sort of misshapen alien monster. It thrashed, it swayed and it gyrated like an epileptic one-legged breakdancer in the midst of a seizure. It even jumped through fucking hoops. Hoops. Hoops! Motherfucking hoops! That fucking thing roared to life like something out of a Transformers movie, but scarier, maybe more like Maximum Overdrive on Red Bull. Fuck you and your killer toasters, Stephen King, I had nightmares for weeks after watching that fucking movie. There were murderous man-eating pocket pussies and demonically possessed RealDolls. I think I have PTSfuckingD. Anyway, that fucking thing was dancing with the stars; I'm telling you, that thing had moves like fucking Jagger.

I held it out to Mary Beth.

"Would you use something like this?" I asked her, all innocence and shit. You know, because I'm an innocent and sheltered motherfucker.

Mary Beth's face turned a deep shade of crimson. Well, that answered that question. Score!

"Can your penis do that?" she asked me.

Ouch. Touche. Score one for the perverted chick.

"Nope. Mine only knows how to sit up and beg," I answered.

I turned the device to a higher setting and I took a threatening step towards Mary Beth, the vibrating menace bouncing in my hands.

"Feel the power of the Dark Side," I threatened and advanced upon her, wielding that BBC like a Fleshlightsaber.

She squealed, giggled and took a step back. Next thing you know, I'm chasing her around the table with the vibrator and we're both giggling like idiots, but as we all know, any time that you're having some good. clean and harmless fun, somebody has to cum along and fuck up your wet dream. In this instance of buzz killing joy, it was one of the clerks, some sort of pseudo professional, vibrator wrangling, rodeo clown, who took it upon herself to interrupt our festive little soiree. What the fuck? Who does that kind of shit? I'm an adult, sort of. I don't need supervision. Fuckers. The world is full of fuckers.

At least it wasn't security, or the cops. It's kind of embarrassing when they yell for security. Even worse, I fucking hate it when they call the cops. The police never find shit as funny as you do. People need to calm the fuck down and get a sense of humor.

"Hi! Did you guys need some help?" the clerk asked us, entirely too perkily for me. I fucking hate perky people. I dream of feeding them to lions and throwing them off of cliffs and shit. You perky people need to settle the fuck down.

Next thing you know, Mary Beth and I are balls deep into a conversation about vibrators with the sales chick as she held up each one, turned it on and proceeded to extol its virtues. This chick knew entirely too much about vibrators. I wanted to ask her if her sales pitch was based upon personal experience, but I was on my best behavior and so I held my tongue. Not like that, you fucking pervert, I pride myself on being a gentleman, so I limited myself to grinding on her. Chivalry ain't completely dead. Anyway, after pitching four or five different vibrator models to us, the clerk picked up the smallest vibrator on the table. It was about two inches long and silver.

"That doesn't look like it would be much competition for me," I remember saying.

The clerk smiled a secret little smile.

"This is called the Magic Silver Bullet," the clerk stated with a flourish. Again with the secret little smile.

I'm not a big fan of fucking secrets, not when they're being kept from me.

The clerk turned on the Magic Silver Bullet and dropped it into the palm of Mary Beth's hand. It sounded like a fucking industrial chainsaw and it flopped around in her palm like a hummingbird with a broken wing, on crack. The look on Mary Beth's face said it all. She was transfixed. I eyed my replacement warily. Mary Beth's smile grew wider and she let out a little squeal; I swear her eyes rolled back in her head.

Rock on! This chick was a total freak. Can I pick them or what?

"How much is it?" Mary Beth asked the clerk.

Aha! I knew that I'd been spot on in my appraisal of Mary Beth's freak potential.

"It's $39.99, but this is the last one. I can give you 20% off, because it's the display model," the clerk said.

The last one? The display model? What she really meant was that it was the whore that no one wants to be seen with, the redheaded stepchild, the slut that's been fingered by many, yet wanted by none. The last one? Who the fuck wants the last one? Even when I'm at the grocery store, I never take the one in front, it has fucking cooties.

"No, thanks," said Mary Beth, "Maybe something else. I think we'll look around a bit more, but thanks again."

And with those parting words, we were able to escape from the clutches of the evil, pseudo professional, vibrator wrangling, rodeo clown.

We strolled along to the next display and what at first appeared to be necklaces turned out to be racks of nipple clamps, next up were various restraints including things that looked like they belonged in a medieval dungeon or maybe on the cover of a Judas Priest album, it's pretty much the same thing, isn't it? Throw them in the Iron Maiden!

There were whips and chains and Brony tail buttplugs. Anal beads, Ben Wa balls and cock rings. Chastity belts, cock cages and clit clamps. Penis pumps, pocket pussies and prostate pokers. Double dongs, dildos, donkey dicks (totally lifelike!) and even an 18.5" pony pud.

Strap-ons, sex machines and stimulators of every type.

You're going to need those fucking crutches by the time that thing's done with you.

Locks, collars, rings, harnesses, Fifis, extensions and sleeves. Fuck me, they even had a sex robot. I could go on for hours, but I think you're starting to get the picture.

Short Circuit 4: Johnny Five Does Anal

They also had a large selection of latex, lingerie and pleather. It was a regular fucking pleasure palace, I'm fucking telling you.

My lightsaber's a'poppin'.

As Mary Beth and I were coming to the end of our tour of the Sexploratorium, we came upon yet another display of vibrators, shelf upon shelf of them.

I reached out, picked one up and turned it on to the highest speed possible and put it back on the shelf. I proceeded to do this with the next seven or eight vibrators that were on the shelf until I had an entire fucking chorus line of dancing vibrators gyrating happily on the shelf. Mary Beth and I started laughing at our little can can line. This was all fine and dandy until disaster struck. My best guess at reconstructing what happened next is that the combined vibrations from the mass of dancing dildos caused the supports for the shelf to loosen and weaken, at which point the shelf collapsed with a loud crash, pancaking into the shelf below with another loud crash and then continuing downward through another three or four shelves of vibrators. It wasn't fucking pretty. Nope, not pretty at all.

It was the Dildo Deathmarch, the Anal Apocalypse, a Menagerie of Gadgetry... You get the picture.

The entire store was silent. You could have heard a ball gag drop.

Heads turned; everyone was staring at us. Shit. You know it's fucking bad when you're the one that the fucking freaks are staring at. Mind your fucking manners, people; staring is rude.

It was more than a little embarrassing. To be honest, it was way the fuck beyond embarrassing.

There was only one thing I could do. 

It was time to get the fuck out of Dodge.

I grabbed Mary Beth's hand and we hightailed it out the door and around the block just as quick as we could, escaping before the staff could react. We were laughing our asses off as I led us through a maze of streets and alleyways until we popped out who the fuck knows where, but we were in front of a bar, proof that God smiles kindly upon fools, deviants and miscreants. Hallefuckinglujah! We walked inside, went straight to the bar, sat down, ordered drinks and that's when things started to get a little weird.

To be continued...

If you enjoyed this story, try this one:

A Fish Story

Chapter One

Here's a sneak peek at chapter one of the book that I've just started writing. I'm hoping to work hard and have it finished by the end of January. Please let me know what you think. Thanks!

Not with a bang but a whimper. - T.S. Eliot

When I first moved back to Philadelphia after my divorce, I thought that I was moving back home; a delusional idea, if ever there was one, for the old adage holds true; you can never really go back home. I was looking for something, though I'm not quite sure what it was; perhaps it was safety and security; the remnants of family and old friends; love, comfort and understanding; peace and acceptance; maybe all of the above, maybe none of it. Maybe I just needed to get laid. Who knows? Whatever it was that I was seeking remained elusive. Perhaps it still does.

What I found instead was a city that was distant and cold, populated by people that were self-absorbed and shallow. The sidewalks teemed with people but so many of them seemed soulless and empty, like the shells of the abandoned buildings that they shambled past every day. Existing moment to moment, heads bowed and collars turned to the wind, they ignored the world around them as they lived from one step to the next. I thought about The Hollow Men and I shivered, bowed my head and turned my collar to the wind before shuffling off. There ain't a whole lotta' love in The City of Brotherly Love.

The city had become a stranger; neighborhoods had changed and so much that was familiar was gone. Old friends had moved on, many others were casualties of life; the living, the dead and the living dead. I worked and worked, drifting from day to day, never realizing that I too was a casualty; another member of the living dead. I desperately tried to keep myself occupied; I wrote a lot of stories and I watched way too many movies. I was spending entirely too much time with myself and I was starting to annoy the shit out of me. I began using my time off to explore Philadelphia and the surrounding area. Ten and twenty mile hikes to wherever became a regular thing. With camera in hand, I traveled hither and yon in search of adventure, discovering some incredible places and taking some amazing photographs along the way. I also did some incredibly reckless, dangerous and downright stupid things, but we'll get to that later. I still wasn't meeting new people or making new friends like I wanted to and truth be told, I was starting to feel a bit lonely. I craved human contact, but I was unsure of how to find it. It's not like you can just walk up to a random stranger on the street and say, "Hey, you look like a pretty cool motherfucker. Would you be my friend?" and then they say, "You look like you're a pretty cool motherfucker, too. Let's be besties," and then you just hang out and do cool shit together. Now, as great as that sounds, unfortunately, life doesn't work that way, but it sure would be cool if it did. I think I'd like that, though. Life would certainly be a lot richer.

My options for meeting people were pretty limited though, with churches, bars and the Internet offering the best chances to make new friends. I didn't think that the whole church thing would work out too well, what with me being an atheist and all. Plus, there was no way in fucking hell that I was going to populate a pew in any church, pretending to worship and idolize a deity that I didn't believe in, just so that I could hang out with people who were high on Jesus or maybe I might get to squeeze a pair of tits. Tits are great and all, but I was going to need a much better inducement than that. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot that I'd do to squeeze a righteous pair of tits, but chillin' in church ain't on the fucking list. Pass. That left bars and the Internet. I'm a bit too old for the club scene and I've never been much of a drinker; it's just not my thing. Plus, I can't stand to be around drunk people, they annoy the living shit out of me and I really didn't want a group of friends whose lives were centered around alcohol. So, bars were out too. Another pass. That left the Internet. Oh boy, the fucking Internet, home of freaks and geeks and people like me. I was totally fucking screwed, is what I was if that was my best option. I tried using MeetUp, hoping to find people with interests that were similar to mine, but that was a bust too. Apparently, there aren't quite as many people who are into llamas and dwarves as I would have thought, if I thought about that kind of shit, which I don't. Swear. Alpacas are much softer, anyway. Still not thinking about it... 

Against my better judgment and let's face it, even my best judgment is still a bad decision, I decided to check out the world of online dating. What the hell, it had been sixteen years since I had last waded into the dating pool, so why not dive back in, headfirst, into the shallow end? That way, I might be able to kill two birds with one stone; meeting people and getting laid. I mean, finding my soulmate. It's the same fucking thing though, isn't it? I mean, I'm going to fuck my soulmate, aren't I? I sure would fucking hope I'd rate a little shag time from my one true love. So, I'm just stating the facts, right? Don't shake your head at me. Look, if I went to the animal shelter and I rescued some fucking mutt that shit all over my house, I'd be a motherfucking hero. However, if I went to the women's shelter to find a new girlfriend, you'd freak the fuck out and suddenly, I'd be some kind of fucking monster. Think of it as dating creatively. You're entitled to your own opinion, though. I guess. Besides, with my luck, I'd only end up meeting some nice woman named Lorena, who would then proceed to bone and Bobbitt me. Getting boned? A resounding YES! That's a good thing. Getting deboned? Yeah... not so much and definitely not a good thing. I'm quite attached to my penis and I have a strong preference for keeping it attached to me, thank you very much. Other than my penis though, I really didn't have much to lose and even when considering my penis, I still didn't have all that much to lose, if you know what I mean. I hit the interwebz and I Googled up some free dating websites; free, because I'm way too cheap to spend any money on that shit.

Still not thinking about it...

Out of the multitude of dating websites that turned up during my search, there were two that caught my eye; OkCupid and Plenty of Fish. OkCupid was simple and easy to use, with a great user interface, whereas Plenty of Fish felt clunky and cumbersome, like I was using my left hand; it was just awkward. OkCupid also had a great little app for my phone and PoF didn't have jack shit, which was unfortunate. I used both websites, but OkCupid was definitely my preference. 

Not one to limit my options, I signed myself up and filled out my online profiles. I'm a writer, so that should have been pretty easy, right? Wrong. How the hell are you supposed to sell an old, used piece of shit car that no one wants to drive? You lie your fucking ass off, that's how. Not really. I was very honest and I showed my sensitive side, you know, the soul of a poet. Okay, that's absolute bullshit, because I have no soul and I can't write poetry for shit, but I was myself and I was honest and no one was ever going to be stupid enough to want to fuck me. Hell, I even uploaded  a few decent pics of myself, which is no mean feat, because I'm not the most photogenic person in the world; decent pics are few and far between, but I have one that just drives all of the little babushkas hog wild and yes, I am sporting the sexy lederhosen. When I had finished with my profiles, which I have to admit were works of literary genius, I perused a plethora of pics, liked a few profiles and I even sent off a message or two. Congratulating myself on a job well done, I sat back to await the results of my endeavors, expecting to be squeezing tons of titties soon. Party animal unchained, I promptly fell asleep. Story of my life.

As it turned out however, I didn't have very long to wait.

This is the fourth and probably not the last edit of this chapter, so expect it to change. If you've enjoyed what you've read, please give this story a shot. Thanks!

Get Thee Behind Me, Satan